amirlopatin

Always Hearing About Amir

I didn’t know Amir. In fact I never even met him.

My cousin, David Virenius, was Amir’s roommate in New York. Though I never knew Amir personally, I learned an awful lot about him just by the way my cousin spoke about him.

I heard so much about how kind and smart and motivated this “Amir” was. It was obvious that my cousin had a tremendous amount of respect and admiration for this person.

When David told me that Amir had died in a car accident, I couldn’t help but be moved by the loss of someone who was so loved and admired by so many people.

I just wanted to have the chance to say how incredible I think he must have been to be able to affect me, someone he had never even met.

I wish that I had had the chance to meet him.

My condolences to all who knew him on your immeasurable loss,

Ryan Paulson

my first friend at Brown

My condolences go to Uri, Shoshana, and Mrs. Lopatin on your recent losses. He spoke very highly of you all, and thought about you often.

I met Amir my first day of freshman orientation at Brown and we immediately became friends. I confided in Amir only things he and my [now] husband know; I knew my secrets were safe with him. He had such quirky commentaries on life. I loved how brutally honest he was about everything. And I admired how he never took anything in life for granted.

Since I am floundering for words, I will keep it short. Amir was so good telling stories and I can picture him now joking “What crappy stories you are telling… A writer you are not.” It is hard to believe we even had a conversation about this at one point (I wish I could remember the little details better so I could comply with his thoughts regarding the topic).

Amir and I have been in and out of touch over the years. Since the last we talked about was looking forward to when he was coming to Washington DC and would be able to make some time to visit, I say so long, not goodbye.

So long Amir,
Emmanuelle

“Ultimate Mourns the Loss of Amir Lopatin”

Posted by the editors of DISCFORUM.COM, a website dedicated to Ultimate:

ULTIMATE MOURNS THE LOSS OF AMIR LOPATIN

We would like to note that it is generally felt that no one has done more for ultimate in Manhattan than Amir, as a founder of NYCPUL and as an excellent model of fair play and sportsmanship. We join with Amir’s family in their grief.

I’m So Sorry

I was very shocked to learn of this sad news just before the Passover Sedar. Amir was one of my first friends at Brown. I remember girls chasing him around at the freshman Hillel retreat. We had the same Freshman Advisor, Prof. Jacobson and enjoyed reading Jewish fiction together, taking walks and having great talks. While we were only close for a brief period of time in college, I was always so delighted to see him around campus and particularly at Hillel. I always knew I had a friend there, especially on those lonely Jewish Holidays when you wanted to be home. I would no doubt be greeted with a witty remark and a twinkling eye. And would leave the encounter with a new revelation on something of import, as well as a laugh. To a great young man who touched many; you will be missed.

Amir, you will be missed

I have yet to see it mentioned, but Amir was a member of the Zeta Delta Xi fraternity while at Brown. If I am the first Zete to post here, I’m certain I won’t be the last.
My name is Ian Dembsky; Brown U. class of ’99. I met Amir through computer science my sophmore year at school. We worked together on various projects in CS32. When I first met him, it was an easy decision to choose to work with him- He was a very friendly guy, very social, and very funny. We became fast friends. One night, after working late at the CIT, he invited me back to Zete, where he currently resided. We played pool for awhile, and he introduced me to the other brothers of the house. I enjoyed myself so much that I joined next year, and I believe my fraternity experience has been among the best things to happen to me in my life. In fact, I met my wife at the house. Among other things, I’m always thankful to Amir for bringing me to Zete that night.
As time went on, however, it was clear that while Amir lived in Zete, his heart was not truly into it, and he moved on to other parts of the campus. We would still get together for pool now and then, and share a good laugh and a beer. We kind of fell out of touch as our time at Brown went on, but I’ll never forget the impact he had on my life, or our friendship.
My thoughts go out to those close to him. Amir, I miss you buddy.

Memories of Amir

Dear Mrs. Lopatin,

I have been trying to write this letter, and in the end, I just don’t know what to say. There really are no words that can express the loss we all feel at Amir’s passing. Amir was becoming a close friend of mine, and I actively feel his loss around campus, in my life, and in my future. Again, I don’t know what I might possibly say – there is no rhyme or reason. All I can do is offer you a few glimpses of Amir through my eyes, and hopefully convey to you how much he was loved and respected by those of us here at Stanford.

The last time I saw Amir was in early March, before I left for a three and a half week vacation. We had tentative plans to get together for a walk or for lunch this week to catch up after not seeing each other in almost a month – plans to which I was truly looking forward. I found out late on Sunday night that we would not be able to have lunch or take a walk – not this week. Not ever. And I cannot remember the last time I cried so hard.

But I digress, because I do want to share with you the last time I saw Amir, and maybe a few other stories besides that one. I was sitting at my desk, in my office, working hard on a paper that was due for presentation the next day. In rushed Amir, looking a bit flustered, and very excited. “Do you have a lamp?” he demanded. I looked up, stumped. “A lamp?” I asked, “Um. No. Amir, why do you need a lamp?” I glanced down at my watch and continued “and aren’t you supposed to be in class right now?” He looked at me with those sparking blue-green eyes and his disarming smile, and explained to me that he had this absolutely fantastic idea for an experiment, and he wanted to catch his classmates on their way out of class, and he needed a lamp for the experiment. “Ah. I see. Nope – no lamp over here. Sorry.” I laughed at his exasperated look and his rushed demeanor as he raced out of my office, in pursuit of a lamp with which to run his experiment. I giggled to myself and reflected on how amazing it is to find someone with such a passion for his studies and so much enthusiasm for his work. It made me pause to consider how drudgingly I had been pursuing my own studies, and I made a mental note to “be more like Amir,” and remember how interesting my own work was, and how fortunate I am to be a learner.

This episode has been continuously crossing my mind ever since I heard of Amir’s passing, not just because it was the last time I saw him, but because of how much it speaks to his personality. Amir was one of the most curious, intelligent, excited and enthusiastic people I have ever had the fortune to meet. But even more, Amir was constantly looking for illumination. In the questions he asked, the rigor with which he analyzed a topic, the excitement in his eyes and the query in his words – Amir was always looking to learn and to teach – he was both a light for others and a receiver of light from others. As I continue to live each day, I aim to both provide and receive illumination as enthusiastically and inspiringly as did your son.

Another funny Amir vignette: We were out for a walk on a misty afternoon. We had considered canceling for rain, but he assured me that he looked just as good wet as he did dry, so he was not opposed to venturing out in the rain. We were immersed in conversation about some political theory or another, when suddenly and without warning he completely changed the topic on me. Perplexed, I asked him how on earth he had gotten from point A to point B. He informed me that he had been thinking about point B for 10-15 minutes already, while we had been debating point A. You see, Amir never just thought about one thing at a time, as he explained to me that afternoon. Instead, he had to store up the other conversation topics that came to mind. Sometimes, apparently, he forgot some of the ones he was storing, so if he thought of something particularly interesting, he would just change the subject, so as to make sure it got covered in a given conversation. After our 90 minute walk, he climbed onto his bike and off he rode. When he reached the stop sign he turned and looked at me over his shoulder, and I swear he was about to double back to start on some other topic, point Z perhaps, that he didn’t want to forget before next time. And today, I am left wondering what point Z was all about, and feeling saddened that I will never know.

Amir and I were in the same school at Stanford, although our specialties within the field of education were very different. We both shared a love of the outdoors and an interest in theories and philosophies beyond basic education. The first time we spent time together outside of school, we decided to meet at a coffee shop near campus, although he warned me that he was not sure that particular coffee shop was open past 9pm. I assured him in no uncertain terms that it was, and we made our plans. When I walked up to Harmony Café at 9pm on a Wednesday night in early February, he was leaning against an outside table, next to a very dark and very closed coffee shop. “Bad choice.” He called out to me, this person he barely knew. And with this honest assessment we moved on to the pub next door, and spent the next many hours debating theories of socialism, communism, the capital markets, technology and Judaism. I quickly saw that he had an astounding sense of humor, an incredible brilliance, and an extremely generous soul. We began one of the most fulfilling friendships of my time at Stanford, and one which I have been actively looking forward to pursuing over the next many years. I still cannot quite fully comprehend his absence, and I am only beginning to mourn the loss of such an amazing person in my life and the lives of all those around me. It seems that I cannot stop thinking about his mischievous smile, his glittering eyes, and his honest words.

I know that the memorial service at the Chabad Center was taped so you and your family might be able to see the wonderful things people said about Amir, but I wanted to highlight one thing that really stood out to me at that service. So many of the stories began with “Amir was riding by on his bike, and he stopped to say hi…” and I think that that one action, his stopping his bike to say hi to someone, really speaks to who Amir was. He was someone who took the time to stop and say hello, to ask how you were, to remember the details of your life and follow up on the little things that were important to you – he had a gift for listening and comforting and prodding and inciting.

Mrs. Lopatin, in the short two months in which I knew Amir, he changed my perspective on life and on friendship. Never before have I so deeply felt the loss of someone’s passing – not only will I miss your son, but I will miss out on your son, which is in itself a true tragedy. But Amir affected me tremendously in the short time we did spend together, and in the memories I and his other friends hold of him, in the ways that he influenced our lives, Amir’s spirit will live on, and continue to affect people in countless ways.

Thank you for providing us with such a wonderful friend and teacher – we will never forget the lessons he unwittingly taught us in his own quirky way.

With all my heart,

Katharine Strunk

An email to Shoshana…

Jonathan Novich of Palo Alto, CA sent this email to Shoshana (they’ve been friends since their Princeton days) after Amir was suddenly taken from us.

——-

Shoshana-

Since Motzai Shabbat, when we heard of the tragedy, Beruria and I have been thinking.
We thought about Amir — gosh, I’ve known him since 1990 — how much he’s grown, how he could “play” on so many levels – from the profound to the profane. I’d see him in shul most mornings (“most” is when I was there). And I admired his passion for life. He reminded me of you when we reconnected. He was studying computers and philosophy and education all in one. Boy, that sounds like something Shoshana could talk about (not necessarily the Computer Science part, actually) – the blending of various disciplines.

And for me it added to my understanding of those characteristics that your parents perhaps nurtured – your vibrancy and zest for life, your tastes for the eclectic. I fondly remember spending 4th of July in DC with you, Uri, and a few others after our sophomore year in college. And that weekend I also learned about that passion – from Uri (we even drove back to NJ together and played a game of Tikken — an arcade game — at a rest stop on the way). Uri walked through the Mall with a set of devil sticks juggling and performing. He was all at once – challenging and warm, thoughtful and deep, complete with a facade just in case.

For me, I connected with Amir in a wonderful way – I remember talking to him on our way back to our house for lunch one Shabbat afternoon, and stepping through time with him – talking about Ramaz, yeshiva, Brown, Salt Lake City, Shiva, and his up-to-the-minute perspective on religion. But the part that touched me most was that he was willing to share with me his dreams and his hopes. I remember thinking how much I wanted it to work out for him. A brief interaction with him after Thanksgiving indicated that things were changing course – but I never had the privilege of learning more – and taking his insights with me.

We are so sorry for your loss, Shoshana. It has been my privilege to know your family – whether it was only a few conversations with your father, a few more with your mother, a weekend with your brother, years of interactions with Amir, and most of all – sharing so much with you.

Amir never shyed away from a solid question – so here’s my best try: there’s a transition from the body of Magid to the Hallel section- it’s short, but in light of these events, it will be difficult for me as well. The question speaks for itself – “How, in light of Amir’s passing, can we really be obligated to praise? Have we not literally been brought from evel to yom tov — mourning to festivity? How can we do it?”

From the Hagaddah:
“Lefichach anachnu chayavim – lehodot, lehallel, leshabayach, lefa’er, leromem, lehader, levarech, lealeh, oo’lkales. Lemi, she’asa, l’a’voteinu velanu, et kol hanisim ha’eleh, hotzianu me’avdut le’cherut, meyagon lesimcha, me’evel liyomtov, oo’me’afelah, le’or gadol, m’shi’bud legualah, venomar lefanav shira chadasha, halleluya!”

“Thus it is our duty to thank, to laud, to praise, to glorify, to exalt, to adore, to bless, to elevate and to honor the One who did all these miracles for our fathers and for us. He took us from slavery to freedom, from sorrow to joy, and from mourning to festivity, and from deep darkness to great light and from bondage to redemption. Let us therefore recite before Him Halleluyah, Praise G-d!”

HaMakom yinachem otach betoch sh’ar avelei tzion veyrushalayim.

Best to you, your mother, and brother-

-Jonathan and Beruria

From his Israeli friend

It has been almost 3 hours now that I’ve been reading most if not all of the stories and memories about Amir. I feel that I can’t internalize what happened. Especially since I haven’t seen Amir in a while now…so the fact that I don’t hear from him is normal. It doesn’t mean that something horrifying just happened. Thinking about Amir in past tense doesn’t make any sense to me. It all seems to be a big mistake.

I had the privilege to work with Amir when I lived in NYC 2.5 years ago. I was his Israeli friend. Ever since I’ve heard about the accident, my brain has been flooded with memories of him, and I have so many of them.
Amir is one of the most curious, funny, genuine people I know. His enthusiasm for life was endless.
I used to have an English-Hebrew-English dictionary that both of us used. Me, trying to find a lost word in English and Amir, not giving up the idea that we should speak Hebrew to one another. No matter how hard it is. Since most of his Hebrew was kind of ‘biblical’ one, he wrote himself a contemporary dictionary that contained slang and more up to date phrases. He wanted to pass as an Israeli and practiced the ‘rough’ accent…
I remember he had a green IDF (Israel Defense Forces – TZAHAL) t-shirt he was wearing, asking me if he looks like he had been to the army. Oh, how much he loved asking me about the army service.

I can’t think of Amir without smiling. He was always making me laugh with his stories, thoughts and crazy ideas. That was what made him so special. It still does.
In Hebrew there is a saying – ‘Bemoto Tziva Lanu et Ha’chaim’ which means ‘In his death he ordered us on keep living’. I presume myself to think, Amir would want that.

Shelly.

A Posting to the Online Ultimate Community

It is with deep sadness that I post this message, but I wanted to make sure folks knew….

Amir Lopatin, founder of the New York City Public Ultimate League and friend to countless, passed away last Friday afternoon. Amir was returning from Las Vegas to Stanford, where he had just begun a PhD program in education, when his car flipped in a freak accident.

I am sure many from Englewood, NJ (his hometown), Brown University, NYC, and most recently, Palo Alto/Stanford will want to express condolences; those interested can visit the website his family has set up at www.amirlopatin.com for contact information and to share stories or make a donation in his name.

May we all live our lives, let alone play this game, with the kind of spirit Amir embodied.

Jennifer Burney

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