Julian - 14.5 months

Cheeky

 
 

Back at work today, trying to focus. I never knew losing someone was like this, where instead of this all-consuming grief you feel exhaustion. You feel foggy. Everything is blurry. Every time I wake up in the morning, I need to remind myself what's happened, what day it is, what I'm supposed to be doing that day. And, all throughout the day, I forget each of those things. It's weird.

For the seven-day period of shiva, I had to burn a seven-day Yarzheit candle. My mother bought it for me, and gave one to my brother and sister. Theirs all burned out by Thursday or Friday, the seven day mark. Mine kept burning until 3pm today: day 11, or at least three full days after the others. It was a comforting thing.

In other news, I finally stopped breastfeeding a week ago. After months of agonising, it was a no-brainer: Julian had started playing around during feeds and didn't seem interested. I stopped one morning, and he didn't seem to miss it for a moment. Kids are funny that way.

Thirteen months, 9 days

 
 

Tribute

Since this blog was created mainly for Julian to read one day, I want to include the eulogy I read at my father's funeral yesterday. Hopefully he will remember a bit of Zaida, but I want him to know the man as much as possible. Still, this is just a glimpse.

The Rabbi first gave a beautiful speech, describing my father as a real tzadik, or righteous person. He said that although he had moved far from his birthplace, he never forgot his heritage. He lived his beliefs, and he is an example for us to follow, said the rabbi. My brother and sister also spoke incredibly movingly. And, my dad would have been happy that so many people came to show their respect. In Jewish law, a person is buried within 24 hours. Although he died at Friday morning at 12:15 am, people only learned the news after 9am. And yet there were still about 120 people at the funeral at 1pm.

The Rabbi also said that truly blessed/ righteous people die on Erev Shabbat - the Sabbath eve - because that is the day that the doors of Gan Eden (The Garden of Eden) are opened, and the very righteous are ushered in straight away. That was lovely to hear. So, here is my speech...

How do I describe my father? The thing that resounds most with my family and I is his goodness. He genuinely strove to do as many mitzvot (good deeds) as he could during his lifetime. He taught us that righteousness is honoring God, but it is also being generous to a stranger. It is being kind in a world that is often cruel. It is wanting little, asking for less, but giving so much. His love knew no bounds; no sacrifice was too great.

Manny, or Menachem, born in Czechoslovakia, was raised in a family of seven brothers and one sister, to frum (religious) parents, who had little material wealth but were rich in spirituality and love. Although he lost his parents and his beloved sister in the war, it was not the hardships and loss that defined his life, but his achievements. His life was full of adventure: he went to Palestine, he was Golda Meir’s bodyguard, he was a wrestler, he lived in Paris and London, he was a decorated soldier in the Czechoslovakian army, he fought in Dunkirk on D-day. He moved to Australia and was successful in his endeavours. And his life was so full that it wasn’t until he met my mother that he finally married, no longer a bachelor at 49.

He loved my mother passionately, and she, in turn, was a wonderful wife to him. He was proud of each member of his family, always speaking about our accomplishments, making us feel buoyed by his encouragement and support. For instance, even though I gave up his long-held dream for me to practice law, he loved my writing. He read every article I wrote, bought every copy of each magazine, and showed it to people down the street: neighbours, shopkeepers, whomever was passing. He spoke constantly of all his children and his grandchildren.

By the same token, he was completely modest when it came to his own achievements. He hated to show off. When he gave tzedaka (charity), it was without anyone knowing. When he helped someone out, it was a private affair. For his whole life, people knew that they could count on Manny for any kind of assistance. He gave it without question, and even when he did not have it to give, he would still find a way. He had more integrity, and was more honest than anyone I knew.

He was passionate about life, enjoying every moment, Every day, he prayed, thanking God for each second that he was still able to do the things he loved. And he had incredible strength. Not just of character, but of spirit. To the end, he was the solider of old, but instead of battling on the frontlines and receiving a cross of bravery from President Benesh, he was fighting in his hospital bed for every single breath. He surprised doctors many times, with his resilience and courage. He was special in so many ways.

To sum up a man’s life in just a few words is a difficult thing. It’s even harder when that man is Manny, beloved husband of Mira, adored father of myself, Freddy, Jeannette and Lilianne, wonderful father in law to David, Alan, Fred and Naomi, and loving grandfather to Adam, Natalie, Bianca, Rebecca, Anton, Josh, Jake and Julian. He had such an impact on my 1 year old son that Julian uttered the words “Zaida, Zaida,” more often than he said “mumma.” Even yesterday, at his hospital bed, Julian said Zaida’s name, and waved. And Zaida’s eyes lit up, and he waved back.

We are grateful to Hashem for the rich life that he led. We are privileged to have been able to share it. We thank God that until the end he was blessed with a quick mind, a gracious personality and a loving heart.

He thought of others, always, even towards the end, when he made me promise that we would be happy without him. He said that his work here was done. He had raised beautiful children and grandchildren, he had forty years with a wife who made him happy, he lived until almost 90 years of age. He worried about everyone but himself, and now, we hope, he worries no more.

We know he is looking out for us, and that he smiles upon us today. We miss him. Our lives feel so empty without him here, but they are also fuller for having had him in it.

Manny/ Zaida/ Daddy: January 5, 1916 - November 11, 2005

A visit

I was at the hospital four times yesterday, visiting my dad/ zaida. Julian came in one of those times. In the car, I explained to him that zaida wouldn't look exactly the same, because he was hooked up to wires. I said, though, that Julian shouldn't be scared, and that we were going to make zaida feel good on the inside. I told him it would be great if he could smile a lot. Well, I don't know how much that little boy took in, but he was in great spirits in the room, and kept waving to zaida. Zaida even had the strength to lift up his hand and wave back. Definitely a silver lining moment.

Zaida

 

I just wanted to write a quick entry about Julian's beloved Zaida, who went into hospital last week with a small complaint. Unfortunately, he suffered cardiac arrest yesterday, and is now in the fight of his life. Today he has defied the odds by regaining consciousness and clearly responding via gestures and expressions to conversation. But, he still has a long road to go. Daddy, I love you. You've been an incredible father to me so far, and I look forward to many more beautiful moments in the future. My father has a special relationship with Julian, who always said "Zaida" loud and clear. Today I tape recorded him saying that over and over, and played it to my dad a few times in hospital. I think he was pleased. 

Can we get that baby music rubbish off?

 
 


Happy at last!

KISS fan

 
Julian in his KISS t-shirt, checking out a Neil Young CD. 

13.5 months

Food

 


Perhaps you're noticing that my little peanut is not as rotund as he used to be. It's not for my lack of trying: yesterday I spent an hour - really! - cooking up pumpkin risotto. It was a slow process that entailed four phone calls to my brother (expert risotto maker) and lots of stirring. The result? I ate it. David ate it. Julian ate a bite, and shook his head noooooo. Back to the old standard: he had his usual lamb stew (frozen in the freezer, luckily) instead.