"Uncle Steve" - by Jonathan Sassoon

Rabbi and Mrs. Moskowitz asked me to post this short essay about Shmully, written by Jonathan Sassoon for his 9th grade Language Arts class. The Sassoons were very close with Shmully. Jonathan's mother considered Shmully to be like a brother - hence, the nickname "Uncle Steve." This essay shows the lighter side of Shmully and captures memories from when he would frequent their home.

Jonathan S.

Language arts I-A

Description of uncle Steve

10/3/10

Uncle Steve

            Standing next to the open kitchen refrigerator is my very lovable uncle Steve. He is wearing the familiar faded dark green T-shirt with his flimsy, black sunglasses in his breast pocket. His worn out black baggy sweatpants are mud stained from his nightly treks in the woods. Uncle Steve’s brown boots have left a trail of dirt, leading from the front door straight to the refrigerator.

The stench of alcohol and cigarettes radiated off of him, emitting the smell of an old bar. His wavy salt and pepper hair lay matted on the top of his tired and unshaven face. Wide-eyed, yet not fully aware of his surroundings, he looks very animated and excited. It is a very recognizable look, one he wears when he is about to share a funny, (often crazy) yet true observation.

Clearing his phlegm filled throat, uncle Steve reaches for the long, stainless steel handle of the sub-zero refrigerator. The sudden light of the refrigerator stuns him briefly. He quickly recovers from the shock and begins his ransack of the refrigerator. Uncle Steve shouts in his deep and demanding voice, “Is there any good food in here? All you have in here is meat; you know I won’t eat anything I can become friends with.” He interrupts himself with his own excitement about his great find, “Ooh some humus, cheese, and some bread! I can make an un-believable sandwich!” Uncle Steve declared over excitedly. “It’s a real Mediterranean meal, reminds me of when I was in Israel and all I ate was olives and avocado!” 

As he munches on his sandwiches his head bobs with joy. His wide smile beams as the crumbs spill from his mouth and land on his beard. He is quite pleased with his culinary creation. Uncle Steve doesn’t bother to get a plate. That would mean exerting more energy than necessary. Silverware is rarely a need for uncle Steve. Fingers work just fine for spreading and grabbing food. 

Naturally, my siblings and I immediately break out in laughter at the sight of this chubby, pseudo mountain man. “What’s so funny?” he asks with a smirk. I smile and say sarcastically, “Tell me more about how you could possibly be friends with a cow.” “The cow is easy to be friends with,” he softly explains, “the fish is where it gets difficult.” By now my siblings and I are convulsing with laughter. “I feel more of a connection to cows and dogs, then I do towards people. People can be such low lives, especially lawyers; they’re the scum of the earth.” 

            Uncle Steve reaches down to pet my dog, kisses him on the head, and says lovingly, “ You’re the most perfect creature in the whole world. When I die I want to come back as one of you!” With that proclamation, he grabs our cheeks in his strong hands, kisses our faces, places his dirty sunglasses over his eyes while heading for the front door and says with a twang, “Y’all be cool.”

Hesped (Eulogy) of Shmully Moskowitz

Click on this link (or this link) for the mp3 recording of the hespedim given at Shmully Moskowitz's funeral.

Shmully Moskowitz on Purim of 1983

The Moskowitz's expressed their appreciation for the stories and memories people have shared in the comments on the post In Memory of Shmully Moskowitz. Please continue to do so either there or here, and I will print out the comments and give them to the Moskowitz's.

In Memory of Shmully Moskowitz

On July 1st of this year, just 17 days ago, I started working on a blog post. Here is how it began:

This morning we were informed that a member of our community had to be hospitalized for pneumonia. Thank God, they caught it in time and, as of this afternoon, the antibiotics appear to be working (though he's not out of the woods yet). 

I had forgotten that pneumonia could be fatal. According to the Wikipedia article, pneumonia was once regarded as "the captain of the men of death." Before antibiotics, the mortality rate was typically 30% for hospitalized patients. In the third world, pneumonia remains a leading cause of death.

I was referring to Shmully Moskowitz, the son of my rebbi, Rabbi Moskowitz. Rabbi and Mrs. Moskowitz are in their seventies, and Shmully recently turned 50 (I believe). He had just flown to New York for a wedding and was there when the pneumonia struck. When we heard that his parents flew to New York to be with him, we knew it was serious, but we didn't know how serious it was until we started receiving email updates from members of the community. For instance, three days after he was hospitalized we received an email update saying that "Shmuly is still in the ICU but he is now aware." And two days later: "the fluid in the lungs is less, and his kidneys are working. He still has a fever of 102."

At the end of last week, after spending many nerve-wracking days in the danger zone, Shmully was finally able to be weaned off of life support and to begin the road to recovery. The most recent email concluded by saying that "the particulars are not great but the over all picture is good." This was yesterday. 

Tonight, less than three hours ago, we received the terrible and shocking news that Shmully died . . .
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Shmully was the only child of my rebbi, my rav muvhak, to whom I owe my life. He had no siblings, no children, and was unmarried. He was "a lone and solitary man who has neither son nor brother . . . this, too, is a futility; indeed, it is a sorry task" (Koheles 4:8).

I did not know Shmully personally. What I did know of him was that he was regarded by everyone as a creative, humorous, fun-loving guy with many beloved friends . . . oh yeah, and he was an unparalleled genius. And I do not mean "genius" in the loose sense of the term, the way people use it today. He was a real genius, and unanimously hailed as such. According to local "yeshiva folklore," Shmully distinguished himself from an early age as a prodigy, and received semichah in his first year of yeshiva (citation needed - but I'm sure it's not far off from the truth). We heard tales of how he would take on the Rosh Yeshiva head to head, and often prevail. His abstract, independent-thinking mind was always eager to find new and fresh ways of thinking about the subject at hand, no matter what it might be. I did have the privilege of witnessing this firsthand on several occasions, and it was a wonder to behold. He had an energetic, boisterous, animated way of talking. Whenever I saw him talk, it was like watching Einstein cranked up on Starbucks combined with a Feynman-esque charm and casualness. Scratch that: it was uniquely Shmully. 

Although I never learned with Shmully in person, I know that my own development was greatly influenced by his thinking. Rabbi Moskowitz learned with Shmully all the time, and often quoted his son's ideas. Of course, Rabbi Moskowitz usually disagreed with Shmully's ideas, and would say so with no hesitation, but only after highlighting their noteworthy virtues and originality. It was in this manner that Shmully played a tremendous role in my own development, both directly (i.e. the ideas themselves) and indirectly (by what they yielded in playing counterpoint to my rebbi's ideas).

For that, I owe him my deepest gratitude. I only wish that I could have learned with him more . . .
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What was I going to write about in the post I started? Well, as soon as I heard that Shmully had been hospitalized with a potentially fatal disease, I immediately thought of the halacha in Hilchos Avel (The Laws of a Mourner) 13:12:

Any person who does not mourn as the Sages commanded is achzari (lit. "cruel" or "indifferent"). Rather, he should be fearful and worried and should examine his deeds and return in teshuvah. If a member of one's chavurah (social group) dies, the entire chavurah should worry [in the aforementioned manner].  

For the first three days, one should see himself as though a sword is resting on his shoulder. From three days until seven days, [he should view it as though the sword is] waiting in the corner. From then and on, [he should view it as though the sword is] passing before him in the marketplace. All of this is so that a person should prepare himself to return [in teshuvah] and awaken from his slumber, for it is written, "You have stricken them, but they have not trembled" (Yirmiyahu 5:3). The implication is that one should awaken and tremble. 

At that time I thought to myself, "Even though Shmully is on the upswing, the underlying principle of this halacha still applies, even though the halacha itself is not relevant, thank God." How I wish I had not been wrong.

We are now faced with the situation described in the halacha. A member of our chavurah was stricken. Will we be cognizant of the sword? Will we prepare to return in teshuvah? Will we awaken from our slumber and tremble? I pray that we will, and that the Dayan ha'Emes will assist us, for I am fearful of my ability (and willingness) to do so on my own. 

My God, before I was fashioned I was unworthy, and now that I have been fashioned, it is as if I had not been fashioned. I am dust in my life and will surely be so in my death. Before You I am like a vessel filled with shame and humiliation. May it be Your will, Hashem, my God, and the God of my forefathers, that I not sin [again]. And what I have sinned before You, may You wipe away in Your abundant mercy, but not through suffering or serious illness (Tefilas Neilah).

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Shmully fell ill less than 20 days ago. I saw him in New York just a few days before that. Judging by appearances, he was as healthy as anybody else. Healthy, alive, and thinking. Always thinking.

And just like that, he is gone. 

My mind cannot help but turn to the words of Koheles (9:3-12), be they true or false. 

This is the worst of all the things that go on under the sun: that the same fate is in store for all. Then, too, men's hearts are full of evil, and there is madness in their hearts while they live; and after that - to the dead! For he who is counted with all the living still has hope - even a live dog is better than a dead lion - because the living know they will die. But the dead know nothing; they have no more reward, for all recollection of them is forgotten. Their love, their hate, their jealousy have long since perished, and for all eternity they will never again have a share in all that goes on under the sun.

Go, eat your bread with joy and drink your wine with gladness, for God has already approved your deeds. Let your clothes always be clean and your head never lack ointment. Enjoy life with the woman you love all the days of your fleeting existence which He has granted you under the sun - all the days of your futile existence. For that alone is your portion in life, and in all your labor under the sun. Whatever it is in your power to do, do with all your might. For there is neither action, nor accounting, nor knowledge, nor wisdom in the grave, where you are heading. 

Once more I observed that under the sun the race is not won by the swift, nor the battle by the mighty; nor does bread come to the wise, nor wealth to the intelligent, nor favor to the learned. Yet time and death visit them all. And a man cannot even know his time. As fish are caught in a flimsy net, and as birds are trapped in a snare, so are men caught at a time of misfortune, when it befalls them without warning.

I will conclude this post by attempting to cast these thoughts in a framework which we know to be true, and which might help us to utilize this tragedy as a means for awakening ourselves to teshuvah. Here is Tehilim 90 in its entirety:

A prayer by Moshe, the man of God: O Lord. You have been an abode for us in all generations; before the mountains were born and You had not yet fashioned the earth and the inhabited land, and from the remotest past and to the most distant future, You are God. You reduce man to pulp and You say, "Repent, O sons of man." For even a thousand years in Your eyes are but a bygone yesterday, and like a watch in the night. You flood them away, they become sleeplike; by morning they are like grass that withers. In the morning it blossoms and is rejuvenated; by evening it is cut down and brittle. For we are consumed by Your anger; and we are confounded by Your wrath. You have set our iniquities before Yourself, our immaturity before the light of Your countenance. For all our days passed by because of Your fury, we consumed our years like a fleeting thought. The days of our years among them are seventy years, and if with might, eighty years; their proudest success is but toil and pain, for it is cut off swiftly and we fly away. Who knows the power of Your anger? As You are feared, so is Your fury. Teach us to count our days, then we shall acquire a heart of wisdom. Return, Hashem, until when? Relent concerning Your servants. Satisfy us in the morning with Your kindness, then we shall sing out and rejoice throughout our days. Gladden us according to the days You afflicted us, the years when we saw evil. May Your works be visible to Your servants, and Your majesty upon their children. May the pleasantness of the Lord, our God, be upon us; our handiwork, establish for us; our handiwork, establish it. 

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We will miss you, Shmully. 

לזכר נשמת שמואל זלמן בן מאיר
תהא נשמתו צרורה בצרור החיים

(Click here or here for an audio recording of the eulogies)