amirlopatin

Mark Axelrod remembers Amir

Mark Axelrod related the followind during Chabad at Stanford’s memorial for Amir, March 29, 2004.
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Its amazing to me what a good listener Amir was – I’d see him at services; we’d talk about how hard our work was and how we need to do other things; and yet we had that conversation every week- it goes to show how many things were happening in his life at that time.

I wrote something last night for Amir:

In a world where it often seems that a lot of people don’t think for themselves, Amir made it very clear from the first time I met him that he was an independent thinker. Whether discussing Middle East politics, culinary preferences, or Jewish beliefs, he seldom presented a position that I had heard before. And he was not one to condescend either, hoping that any dialogue would be a mutual learning experience. To me, that is the essence of community, an environment in which thoughts are shared, accepted, and eventually improved for everyone’s benefit. But more importantly, Amir was always around to lighten up the day, always excited to see you, and always the familiar face you wanted to see. He was a great companion for sharing stories about camping trips, or school, or literature. And he was interested in whatever interested you, and excited to hear what was going on in your life. He was a truly thoughtful listener in a world of voices always trying to be heard.

I lamented, on a number of occasions, that we always seemed to be on different schedules — Amir would be at Chabad and I would go to the co-op. Or vice versa. And that brings up his amazing commitment to principled action. This is a guy who one time responded that he would be joining the Greenbergs for Shabbat dinner, and just couldn’t be persuaded to join the
rest of a crowd headed in the other direction after services. He made it clear that it wasn’t that he didn’t want to hang out and share dinner. It was that he had made a commitment to people who were counting on his presence, even if only as part of a big group. But that’s exactly the point, he wasn’t just one among the masses. The Greenbergs would have missed him if he didn’t come because he was absolutely one of a kind. And we did miss him in his absence that evening. And now we’ll all miss him together, I guess. So I think it is most appropriate that we have chosen to commemorate Amir’s life together here as a community, because he taught us all how important an individual contribution could be to the life of a community. And I hope we can take Amir as an example as we carry on in this community without him.

Rabbi Feldman, Rabbi of Emek Bracha, the Orthodox shul of Palo Alto, remembers Amir

Rabbi Feldman, Rabbi of Emek Bracha, the Orthodox shul of Palo Alto, shared the following at Chabad at Stanford’s memorial for Amir, March 29, 2004.
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I didn’t come here to speak, but to praise…

Amir would come to say Kaddish at Emek Bracha. We spoke in the beginning, and then weeks stretched into weeks/months, and we didn’t have a meaningful conversation, so I told him 2 weeks ago that I was telling my wife about him and invited him to come for Shabbes. He said, I won’t be able to until after Pesach…am I in trouble? I said, you’re not in high school anymore – the Rabbi doesn’t invite you for Shabbat just because you’re in trouble!

There is very little to say for these very, very significant events. One thing that I appreciate very much…the only thing that can sort of serve to envelop this pain is a community. I appreciate that this community was able to come together, but one coming together is not going to do the job. That is why there are these sets of mourning periods – the week, the month, the year. I would urge people not to rely on a single cry but to continue to talk this out and share – there is no way to turn it into a livable scar, a livable scar unless it can be understood in the context of community…

A fellow student remembers Amir

A fellow graduate student shared the following at Chabad at Stanford’s memorial for Amir, held March 29, 2004.
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I’m waiting for the alarm clock to ring and have this be over; The whole thing hasn’t hit me.

I want to read a song by Jackson brown – “For a Dancer” – it’s a song for someone who has died. I never thought I’d be singing it now.

Keep a fire burning in your eye
Pay attention to the open sky
You never know what will be coming down
I don’t remember losing track of you
You were always dancing in and out of view
I must have thought you’d always be around
Always keeping things real by playing the clown
Now you’re nowhere to be found

I don’t know what happens when people die
Can’t seem to grasp it as hard as I try
It’s like a song I can hear playing right in my ear
That I can’t sing
I can’t help listening
And I can’t help feeling stupid standing ’round
Crying as they ease you down
‘Cause I know that you’d rather we were dancing
Dancing our sorrow away
(Right on dancing)
No matter what fate chooses to play
(There’s nothing you can do about it anyway)

Just do the steps that you’ve been shown
By everyone you’ve ever known
Until the dance becomes your very own
No matter how close to yours
Another’s steps have grown
In the end there is one dance you’ll do alone

Keep a fire for the human race
Let your prayers go drifting into space
You never know what will be coming down
Perhaps a better world is drawing near
And just as easily it could all disappear
Along with whatever meaning you might have found
Don’t let the uncertainty turn you around
(The world keeps turning around and around)
Go on and make a joyful sound

Into a dancer you have grown
From a seed somebody else has thrown
Go on ahead and throw some seeds of your own
And somewhere between the time you arrive
And the time you go
May lie a reason you were alive
But you’ll never know

Doug Daher, psychologist at Center for Religious Life at Stanford, remembers Amir

Doug Daher, psychologist at Center for Religious Life at Stanford, shared the following thoughts during Chabad at Stanford’s memorial for Amir, held March 29, 2004.
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The Navajos have a saying when someone leaves, “something great has happened” – great means large – it is so apparent that this is true now.

I did not know him extensively – We offer a grieving workshop each quarter and Amir found his way to our workshop this fall, and that’s when we met; I was surprised when he sought me out individually – we had only exchanged a few words beforehand…

…The loss of someone in their 20s can be very baffling for a community and for individuals – I’ll share with you one experience I had…
My son four and a half years ago had graduated from Stanford and was killed a year later at 22.
The following spring break, I was at a home near where I live having a rough time… I was picking up the various Redwood branches that fall near my house – the way Redwoods fall – well, one Redwood can grow for 100s of years, and then it drops it’s seedlings. When that Redwood dies, it creates a “sacred circle” of Redwood seedlings. When the sun is at its peak, it can illuminate this sacred circle. It dawned on me that these seedlings probably aren’t going to make it to full trees…the privilege of being in the sacred circle comes at this dear price.

Amy Finklestein Remembers Amir

Amy Finklestein shared the following thoughts at Chabad at Stanford’s memorial for Amir, March 29, 2004.
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I found out about the accident – I started thinking about where I knew Amir from – we went to Brown together – we were both a part of the Jewish community there… as soon as I saw him at Stanford – people were already looking for him, because Daniel had told them to – I was looking out for him.

Recently it really feels like I saw him a lot…

When I read Dov’s email, I thought about a conversation Friday night at David Singer’s – there were 4 or 5 of us – and Jen brought up Amir – and this was one of the most positive conversations about a person I have ever been a part of – it was almost like a five minute speech about how wonderful Amir was; I feel really good knowing there was this great conversation about how great he is; somehow it makes me feel a little better knowing he was on his way out of the world with all these positive thoughts about him…

Rabbi Mychal Copeland, Rabbi at Stanford Hillel, remembers Amir

Rabbi Mychal Copeland, the Rabbi at Stanford Hillel, participated in Chabad at Stanford’s memorial for Amir, held on March 29, 2004.

Rabbi Copeland lit a yartzeit candle and said:

“The soul is akin to a flame…it has not gone out – as Lizzie so beautifully said, his soul has returned to its source…”

Rabbi Copeland then read psalm 23…

“The lord is my shepherd”
The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want.
He makes me to lie down in green pastures:
He leads me beside the still waters.
He restores my soul:
He leads me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.
Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil:
For you are with me;
Your rod and your staff they comfort me.
You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies:
You anoint my head with oil; My cup runneth over.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life,
And I will dwell in the house of God for ever.

Then she read words of Rabbi Kushner:

“‘…I walk thru the valley of the shadow death’… – the miracle is that we find our way out…The advice of the psalmist is – Don’t be afraid to love people; don’t be afraid of losing. Trust God to enter into your pain and make it less dark; less frightening…”

Daniel Silverberg Remembers Amir

The following was delivered by Daniel Silverberg as part of Chabad at Stanford’s memorial service for Amir, March 29, 2004.
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I first met Amir in Yeshiva 10 years ago. We overlapped a month before I returned to college.

I got back in touch with him after his father died over the summer. Shortly after Amir arrived in California, we met up at the Law School Caf to talk. I was amazed by the sensitivity and thoughtfulness he demonstrated about the events that had engulfed his family for the past year. His father’s illness and recent passing, the Shiva period, his moving out to Stanford. He was so honest and aware of his emotions, so full of life, which at this most difficult moment made him such an optimist. He told me about a woman he was in love with. He shared with me his honest fears about being away from his family, but how excited he was to start at Stanford. We immediately began speaking about issues of faith and Torah; including his newfound appreciation for the practical aspects of Jewish law following his father’s death.

I felt motivated by his intensity, his willingness to maintain avenues of questioning and to press himself intellectually in a manner I hadn’t done in years. Amir was a person who kept his feet to the spiritual fire; whereas I felt complacent in my questioning and spiritual development since yeshiva, Amir was still engaged in learning and growing. I told my wife Sarah after meeting him that I felt like I was back in Yeshiva while talking to Amir, back in an environment where people asked themselves each day, “where am I spiritually,” how am I doing?

I didn’t see much of Amir after that, but I appreciate what he gave me that day.

Adina Danzig, Executive Director of Stanford Hillel, Remembers Amir

The following was delivered by Adina Danzig, Executive Director of Stanford Hillel, as part of Chabad at Stanford’s memorial service for Amir, March 29, 2004.
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I met Amir when he first came to Stanford. He was looking for the right place to go to pray.

I was amazed at how quickly you could see this person honoring so deeply his father; and at the same time struggling with his own relationship with Judaism – but wanting to honor his father in a way that his father would want.

He had such a generous spirit of honesty and wisdom…

Reverend Scotty McClellan, Dean of Religious Life at Stanford, remembers Amir

The following poem was read by Reverend Scotty McClellan, Dean of Religious Life at Stanford, as part of Chabad at Stanford’s memorial service for Amir, March 29, 2004.
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Time is too slow for those who wait
Too swift for those who fear
Too long for those who grieve
Too short for those who rejoice
But for those who live in present – time is eternity
Hours fly, flowers die; but love stays.

–Henry Jackson van Dyke

Rabbi Dov Greenberg Remembers Amir

The following was delivered by Rabbi Dov Greenberg, Chabad Rabbi at Stanford, as part of a memorial service held for Amir on March 29, 2004, at the Greenberg’s home in Palo Alto, CA.
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This is an informal gathering – it’s not about speeches, it’s about friends coming together to mourn. I want to encourage everyone to be open and honest so we can honor the soul of Amir.

I first met Amir a few hours after he came to Stanford. Sunday morning, he knocked on my door. I knew about Amir because [his sister] Shoshana had emailed me, and Daniel Silverberg had let me know he would be here. I knew he just lost his father. So he told me about his background; how he used to be somewhat of a rebel. He was saying Kaddish for his Dad; that first day, he asked many questions–he wanted to know where the shul was, wanted to say Kaddish for his father…

One of our last times together was Purim – we were in the Treehouse, dancing, making l’chaims; Amir was there on the side smiling – he didn’t dance – he didn’t seem to want to. I was wondering why. Then on the way home, I realized he was right: Jewish law says that no dancing is allowed for a year when one has lost a close relative; Amir knew the law and that I had forgotten, and he didn’t say anything. He knew if he had said “I can’t,” maybe I would have been embarrassed; or it would have dampened others’ happiness. It was so classic Amir. He just smiled with a certain love and sensitivity.

We say the Kaddish when someone dies. Yitgadal v’yitkadash shimei rabah. The Kaddish glorifies and magnifies God’s name. Why do we say this now? In a sense, when someone is taken, its not like a few people are mourning. In a deeper sense, when a person is taken who reflects God’s image – when that person is taken, a certain love is taken; a certain piece of God – Kaddish tries to put back a piece of that part of God.

…Another story–We were building a large Sukkah – having a tough time!
Amir rides by. “Rabbi let me help.” He was behind in his studies. He was trying to help! I said, “you should go”…He said, “Rabbi I’m not leaving until the Sukkah’s standing.” I remember thinking, if only his mom and dad could see him now – they raised a real mensch.

To conclude, I want to thank Amir for something I never got to thank him for. We got involved with a project at Stanford called “Linking Hearts” to help kids with special needs. He started objecting to the project based on funding and analysis – he didn’t like the unprofessional approach we were taking. A few weeks ago, he sent a significant contribution to “Linking Hearts.” We sent a thank you note to him; a week and a half ago it came back – we got the address wrong. Rachel called Amir and we got the address and sent it to him. I doubt he ever opened it. And so I want to thank him now for being part of that process. We are now calling the project “Linking Hearts for Amir Lopatin” and there will be a plaque in his memory.

When the Torah talks about Aaron’s passing, it says that the whole House of Israel wept; when Moshe died it says that the House of Israel wept. It doesn’t say “whole.” Why? Aaron represented love and peace – and peace only has friends. Moshe brought truth – truth has friends and enemies – Amir in Hebrew is a combination of Moshe and Aaron – and he had both a tremendous knack for truth and honesty, and an incredible ability to love and bring peace…

One of the times Amir stopped by, he took out his palm pilot – it had many different melodies recorded on it… Mendel, my two-and-a-half-year-old son came in and played with it. I told Amir he probably shouldn’t give it to Mendel. When Amir left, [Mendel] wasn’t happy that his new toy had departed.

The next day, there was knock at the door, and there was Amir with a box all wrapped up… It was a tape recorder that you could record and sing into – and it was exactly what Mendel loved about the palm pilot. Amir was someone who truly wanted to change the world – and he somehow understood what a child wanted.

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