Rabbi's Blog

Aharon ben Avraham haCohen v’Sarah  April 26th 1927 – July 1st 2016

Above my father’s hospital bed was a sign that said “name of patient, name you want to be known by, consultant, nurse” on the left side, and on the right side a box with the title “what matters most to me,” which was always blank.  One day, just a couple of weeks ago when dad was still able to communicate clearly, I asked him what does matter most to you?  He responded without pause and said “having the immediate family around me.”  Last Friday, my mother, Alan’s devoted wife of 55 years, dad’s little sister Flora, who has of course known dad her whole life, my sister Louise, my cousin the doctor sweet Caroline and me were all right by dad, holding him as he breathed his last breaths.  Amidst the intense sadness of this loss, there have been so many blessings and moments of intimacy.  Mum, Louise and I have basically been spending about 10 hours every day for a month with him and our immediate family, including dad’s beloved nieces, nephews, brothers and sisters in law, his son-in-law Rey who was here for a few days and has now come back, so many of us have been so present with him throughout this quick and mysterious disease.  My uncle and aunt John and Irene have been there every day and supported us in multiple ways with great love and sensitivity. Traditionally we are not meant to thank people for acts of kindness, but Irene offered great wisdom that we can let people know how we feel in response to what they have done, and we all feel so moved and grateful for all this support. Dad loved his family and was adored by so many people.  One of his last lucid and alert moments was when his lovely grandson Jesse arrived from Hong Kong and hugged dad as he sweetly said “hello grandpa. Are you feeling better?” My dad sat up and beamed, as he and Jesse smiled at each other. One time during all this when he was barely speaking, I was reminding dad of just how loved he was. “There are so many people who love you dad,” I said.  He opened his eyes and said “so you keep saying.” “Well, it’s true,” I said. He looked at me and weakly whispered “why?”  So I told him that he was funny, charming, kind, caring, loyal, compassionate and very generous.  He embodied all of these qualities and many more.

It was so depressing and frustrating for dad to lose his sight, his appetite, his balance, his strength, his ability to speak, and towards the end he kept saying “I can’t eat, I can’t read, I can’t hear, I can’t speak. I feel like a lost soul.” It was very hard for him to contemplate life without being able to see and hear the world around him, to keep up with the latest news on his ipad or iphone, to participate in life with my mother and all of us, to enjoy good food and drink, to sail his boat, and if his life was not going to allow him those experiences, he was clear that he would rather not continue living. And yet in many ways he suffered so little really; he had hardly any pain, even after a terrible fall in his hospital room, he was constantly surrounded by people who really loved him, and this was not a long drawn-out illness. Just over 2 months ago, we celebrated dad’s 89th birthday and Passover in my home in Boulder, Colorado and my father was so vibrant and happy and energetic (partly as a result of the steroids that temporarily restored his vision) and he declared that every day he was there as a wonderful adventure.

Really my father’s whole life was a series of adventures and he was a bon viveur who drank in life’s experiences with an almost childish appreciation and interest.  My parents raised Louise and me to share that sense of adventure and even though it has been challenging that we both live so far away, I reminded dad the other day that he always encouraged and supported us to travel and explore and so it is no surprise that we ended up across continents, with lives that include lots of sailing and skiing!

So, the amazing adventures of Alan Soloway, born to Arthur and Sylvia in Stamford Hill on April 26th 1927, include crazy pranks (mostly involving his sister Flora), who always adored and looked up to him, even though he was constantly playing tricks on her, but he was a kind and loyal brother; adventures in the British army where dad was a Lieutenant, acting Captain in the Beds and Herts Regiment and served in India during the partition in 1947. Dad had extraordinary skiing and sailing adventures, including a dramatic shipwreck of his boat The Mayfly in the English Channel in the 1950s, and a series of wonderful boats of all shapes and sizes that have hosted so many people over the years in Burnham on Crouch.  Our family Alpine adventures usually involved dad driving for hours across Europe fueled by the occasional can of Guinness and mum’s sandwiches and various soundtracks, like Buddy Holly as Louise was remembering recently, to drown out the sounds of us fighting on the back seat and eventually getting to our destination for fabulous skiing holidays. Dad’s business adventures included his time in the book business where he was one of the first to distribute Lady Chatterley’s Lover and went to court over it. He worked with his father Arthur and eventually got into promotional gifts, creatively developing technologies to get a name and a logo on just about anything you could think of and developing quite a reputation as a captain in that industry and the person no one could say no to. Mum and dad worked together, sharing an office as well as a home for so many years and growing the EMC empire.  In fact 55 years of marriage to my amazing mother has been its own adventure; I think my dashing father swept my beautiful mother off her feet at his cousin’s engagement party in 1960 and they were married 6 months later and have had many remarkable adventures together, including so many wonderful trips all over the world, not just following us around, but a spirit of curiosity took them to all kinds of exotic places.  Mum, of course, has been an incredible and devoted wife throughout, taking care of my father with such love and attention and we feel sure that he would not have survived as long as he did without mum by his side.

The world of words, stories, jokes, monologues were an adventure for Alan too and pasted into his 2016 diary are collections of 1276 phrases, 218 jokes, some of them clean, with a line from each to remind him of the joke that he could tell on demand, and 383 homonyms.  He knew so many jokes and poems by heart and, of course, was renowned for his spontaneous recitation of Stanley Holloway monologues and we are so sad that we do not have videos of these performances, even though we were sometimes mildly embarrassed by them. Even though dad was always into the latest gadget and up-to-date with technology, comfortable with Face Time and email, he still insisted that all of these lists were typed and printed and pasted and he also printed out every email he received, which drove my mother crazy!  Dad did not like to be criticized, which runs in our family, so he had his unique and stubborn way of doing all kinds of things and sometimes found it hard to see another way, and when challenged by any of us, would not receive the feedback so well. Even though he did have his solo way of doing things and sometimes found it hard to understand the world around him, often saying “it’s strange” when he didn’t get people’s differences or understand how there could be so much violence, yet he had infinite curiosity and a genuine love of people, however they showed up in the world, that made him accepting and supportive of us and others, even when he did not approve or understand what we were doing.  His last day of really communicating was the day before the Brexit referendum and he was totally aware of what was happening and every nurse that took his blood pressure, tried to feed him, test his blood sugar was asked that day in his faint voice “are you in or out?”  He did not get to vote, which is both sad and possibly fortunate and I am not sure if he grasped what had happened the next day. Dad was very emotional and would often burst into tears; could be tears of joy or wonder, grief over a loss, he would often cry watching or reading the news, which he was addicted to, and the latest horror, and would certainly cry over soppy films.  Now it is our turn to cry, over this great loss.  

Dad definitely had some health adventures too with two major heart surgeries, almost not surviving the second, but he has been physically so incredibly strong, like an ox and defied all of the doctors, even the legendary Dr. Wu.  Right up to the end, dad’s heart was strong, his blood pressure, pulse, temperature and oxygen levels all normal, his grip in his mighty hands was tight until his last day.

Having survived his heart surgeries, dad decided to embark on another adventure six years ago in the form of a second Bar Mitzvah at 83.  Even though he thought of himself as a secular agnostic, he was inspired by my mother’s cousin’s husband Stanley having his second Bar Mitzvah and encouraged by Rabbi Miriam and other rabbis in his life and it was a wonderful celebration that coincided with my mother’s 70th birthday.  He spoke about how you can be holy and ethical without necessarily believing in God.  Dad was both –  holy and ethical in his own way.  

There is a short and powerful teaching in the rabbinic book of wisdom known as Pirkei Avot that says: Rabi Shimon omer shelosha ketarim hen; keter Torah, v’cheter kahuna v’cheter malchut v’cheter shem tov oleh al gabehen (Avot 4:17) Rabbi Shimon says there are three crowns; the crown of Torah, the crown of priesthood (being a Kohen), the crown of Kingship and the crown of a shem tov, a good name, rises above all of them.  This feels so right for my father.  Crown of Torah: Even though his Jewish identity was really important to him and he had that second Bar Mitzvah, he did not consider himself a religious man, nor did he have a deep relationship with the Torah, but he was guided by its wisdom. Crown of Kahuna: I only found out in my late 20s when I was becoming more observant and I was sitting next to my dad in a synagogue where the Kohanim, the descendants of the priests, were offering the special blessing and my dad turned to me and said “you know I think we are kohanim.”  It turns out that we are and I recently had a Y chromosome genetic test done and got a positive match for the Kohen Modal Haplotype gene.  It is something that has become real and important for me, even though it did not mean much to dad. Traditionally a father gives the Priestly Blessing to his son, but a couple of weeks ago, when that blessing coincided with the Torah portion, I laid my hands on my father’s head in his hospital bed and gave this blessing to him – May God bless you and keep you, may God’s face shine on you and be gracious to you, may God lift up God’s face to you and grant you peace. Crown of Kingship; well dad was a King in a way – in our family, in his business empire; but it is the keter shem tov, the crown of a good name, the trump card if you will pardon the expression, that is most relevant.  As a husband, brother, father, grandfather, father-in-law, uncle, great uncle, cousin, respected businessman and, perhaps most of all, a good friend to so many, Alan Soloway has and will continue to have a good name beyond any title or religious piety and was deeply, deeply loved. All of my sister’s friends in Hong Kong and my friends and community members in Boulder have fallen in love with dad on their visits, along with everyone else, whoever they were.

A few nights ago, late into the night, I was sitting alone with my father in his hospital room and I suddenly felt like the two of us were alone on a yacht, sailing on a moonlit, calm sea in total silence.  At times my relationship with dad was awkward and we didn’t quite know what to say to each other, but when it was just the two of us sailing together, there was an intimacy and unspoken love in the silence that was so real.  We didn’t always understand each other, but I feel so grateful and privileged that less than a year ago, dad was with me at The White House when I was honored there, and that he and mum got to see me in the context of my life and my community in Boulder and I know that he was immensely proud of his talented darling daughter Louise and of me, even in the silences and even though he didn’t get more grandchildren.  That night of still sailing at the Royal Free Hospital caused me to wonder what seafaring adventures my father might have in a different realm, in the yachts of eternity.  Dad was curious in the recent conversations he had with me and various other rabbis about what was next in the journey and I am not sure what, if anything, he believed, but my hope is that he is skipper of a different ship now, setting sail on a whole new adventure and continuing to bless us with his adorable presence and lovely memories.  

Y’hi zichron avi mori livracha – may the the memory of my father, my teacher endure as a great blessing to all who knew him.