Amir’s First Yahrzeit

B”H

Extract from a talk given at Shabbat Dinner at the Chabad House of Stanford,
April 15, 2005

By Rabbi Dov Greenberg

This past week we marked the first Yahrzeit of our dear friend, Amir Lopatin, who was tragically and suddenly taken from us on the third of Nissan, 5764. On Amir’s first Yartzeit the hakamat matzevah (unveiling) took place at the Ahavath Torah Cemetery in New Jersey.

Tonight, I would like to reflect upon the language of the Torah and our tradition, which employs three distinct and paradoxical names for a cemetery:

1) Beit Hakvarot: a home for burial
2) Bait Olam: a home of eternity
3) Beit Hachaim: a home for the living

What is the significance behind the strikingly different names conferred by Jewish tradition on a cemetery?

The answer is profound.

These three titles – a home for burial, for eternity and for the living — represent three ways in which we can understand death. These three interpretations are expressions of three ways in which we can understand life. The way we define life, is the way we define death.

If we define life as an exclusively physical experience, an opportunity to maintain, nurture and gratify our material selves; if life is merely about tending to the appetites of our bodies and hearts, then death – that unfathomable moment when the body turns lifeless – constitutes the tragic cessation of life. The cemetery, then, is a home for burial. A life has, sadly, reached its final chapter.

“It ain’t over ’til it’s over,” Yogi Berra taught us. But in the cemetery, “it’s over.”

But there is another perspective on the meaning of life: Seeing life as a spiritual experience, in addition to a physical one. If life is also about nurturing and nourishing our souls, our spiritual identity, our inner spark of G-d, then death, as irrevocable as it is, is not the interruption of life.

Tragic and horrendously painful? Absolutely yes. The end of one’s life? Absolutely not. Because a soul never dies. It continues to live, love and feel in another dimension, on a spiritual plane, one that cannot be grasped through our senses of seeing, hearing, touching, smelling or tasting. Yet, the soul, which is an aspect of G-d, a fragment of the divine, is not subjected to death, only to travel from one realm of experience to another.

In this perception of life and death, a cemetery is a home of eternity. The body is interred, but the soul remains eternal.

Yet there is something even greater we can achieve. If we, those left behind, use the passion and the values of our loved ones who are not here with us, to inspire and affect our daily lives and behavior, then the cemetery becomes a “home for the living.” By inspiring and touching the daily lives of their loved ones, fellow students, friends and community members, they are in some very real sense still alive. Their own dreams and ideals continue to exist, in a very tangible way, in the earthly lives of the people touched by their love and goodness.

This is true of our dear friend Amir Lopatin, who was loved by his family and his many friends. In Congregation Emek Beracha and here, The Chabad House at Stanford, he shared his warmth with others and lit the fire of compassion in many hearts.

Over the past year, I have often thought of those moving words, “Tzadikim be-mitatam nikraim chayim,” the righteous, even in their death, are called living, because a trace of them remains. The good they do lives after them; their influence leaves a mark on many lives. For Rachel, myself and many of you, that is true of Amir Lopatin. May his memory be an inspiration and a blessing…

Shabbat Shalom

Bill Gates on Computers in High Schools

A New York Times Op-Ed piece quotes a speech Bill Gates made for the Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation:

“American high schools are obsolete. By obsolete, I don’t just mean that our high schools are broken, flawed and underfunded. By obsolete, I mean that our high schools – even when they are working exactly as designed – cannot teach our kids what they need to know today.

Training the work force of tomorrow with the high schools of today is like trying to teach kids about today’s computers on a 50-year-old mainframe…Our high schools were designed 50 years ago to meet the needs of another age. Until we design them to meet the needs of the 21st century, we will keep limiting – even ruining – the lives of millions of Americans every year.

Two years ago, I visited High Tech High in San Diego. It was conceived in 1998 by a group of San Diego business leaders who became alarmed by the city’s shortage of talented high-tech workers. Thirty-five percent of High Tech High students are black or Hispanic. All of them study courses like computer animation and biotechnology in the school’s state-of-the-art labs. High Tech High’s scores on statewide academic tests are 15 percent higher than the rest of the district; their SAT scores are an average of 139 points higher.”

All of them study courses like computer animation and biotechnology in the school’s state-of-the-art labs. It seems Amir had a vision comparable to Bill Gates. That certainly is good company.

A weekend at Brown

I visited Amir at Brown in the spring of 1997. Dylan was playing in their hockey rink, like, in person. They dragged him out for a third encore, and he closed it up with Rainy Day Woman. Amir and I left halfway through the song, feeling slightly appalled but satisfied overall. We walked around the campus and town for a while, going from party to party. Amir stopped at a dorm where a girl that he liked was living. I remember him talking with her over the intercom. I don’t remember what he said to her, but it was something so sweet and gentle. To this day I can’t think about Amir without remembering that sweetness.

Memorial Speech

I would like to begin my speech by reciting some things that Amir wrote, along with my comments, interpretations, and memories. I knew Amir extremely well. He never allowed his deep thoughts to remain in his brain; he always had to share them with somebody. Because we were so close and because I was so often around him, I think I have a good take on the meanings and of the context of the things that he said.

Amir wrote this in his essay to Stanford, in his application to the program of Learning and Technology:

“I believe that computers and technology hold great potential in helping teachers meet this challenge and this is where I feel I can make a contribution. It is my belief that there is potential in modern computer technology to make elementary and high-school education far more engaging. At Teacher’s College, I would like to use my technical skills to explore these possibilities.”

I remember when we were in third grade at Moriah. It was 1985. Amir was nine or ten. One day, Mrs. Einhorn supervised us as we used the Apple IIe computers in Mr. Rand’s computer room. Amir, who was known for having sloppy handwriting, typed a lot faster than most students in his class. Amir was an expert in Gertrude’s Puzzles, the game we played that day. Most notably, Amir was a wizard at using The Print Shop, and he used the software to make a banner that said “Happy Birthday, Mrs. Einhorn” with a beautiful cake graphic. Mr. Rand the computer teacher was impressed. Even Mrs. Einhorn, who always yelled at Amir, was impressed, and I think she hugged him. Mrs. Einhorn did her weekly spot check of the desks to make sure the desks were cleaned. Usually, she dumped Amir’s desk because it was too messy, and blew her whistle repeatedly. Amir usually made a frowning face. That day, however, she simply passed over his desk and did not dump it. Amir smiled. He beamed that day, because everyone in class treated him as this computer superman. Amir said how easy the stuff was, and we all thought he was a genius, more of a genius than we thought of him previously.

One of my first impressions of Amir is thus exactly what he wrote in his essay: He writes that he believes computers should be more utilized in elementary school, which is something he clearly felt eighteen years before. “It is my belief that there is potential in modern computer technology to make elementary school education far more engaging”, he says. That was the chief part of elementary school that engaged Amir. It was so rare for us to use computers. It was so rare for Amir to be engaged. However, the few times we did use computers, Amir became a superman. He became engaged. He realized even at age nine that there is something powerful and engaging about using computers. At age 27, Amir felt it was time to actualize this. This is why he wanted to go to Stanford.

This triggers another memory. It was in Mr. Berman’s computer class in senior year at Ramaz, in 1994. The class was in Pascal. I remember Amir just plowed ahead in the books remarking how he studied arrays last week and today he is up to procedures and functions. I did not have a clue what he was talking about, but I smiled politely as he discussed all about Pascal with glee and excitement and passion. I thought to myself, “Gee, how nerdy. Amir is smart, but he is so obsessed with this computer stuff, that the girls will be turned off.” Amir gathered enough Pascal knowledge to create a program that determined how cool you were. It asked you lots of questions, and the questions were different depending on how you answered. The questions were like, “Who is cooler, Kurt Cobain, Beavis, or Butthead?” If you answered Beavis you scored very low, because Beavis was a conformist to Butthead. The program actually gained popularity. I noticed people flocking to Amir’s desk to play with this program. I noticed that pretty girls in the class manifested a certain attraction to Amir. I did not understand it then. How does nerdiness attract looks? How is a computer programmer attractive? I could not answer that question until fall 1997, during my freshman year of college, when I decided to major in computer science due to the popularity of the internet, and subconsciously I think it was to try to emulate Amir, who became a computer science major the previous year. I realized the attractiveness of computer programming then. I realized the art of it then, the art which makes it beautiful, which makes it attractive. Throughout my three years as a CS major, I always took a certain pride in what I was doing because I was then aware of how attractive of a subject it was. Amir attracted people as a computer scientist because of the way his computer science manifested itself as art. I was inspired, and perhaps the world was inspired, which is why today, doing computer oriented things, like building web sites, or making blogs, or downloading MP3’s, is considered hip, cool, trendy, and beautiful, and related to art. Amir expressed this a few years before the rest of the world figured it out, he was that precocious. I have no doubt that Amir would have beautified computers even more, to a segment of the population that were not experiencing the beauty of computers- elementary school children. In the late 1960’s, Ed Palmer revolutionized the way pre-schoolers learn by being involved in Sesame Street. He noticed how kids watch TV and made the Sesame Street program accordingly. Amir chose the School of Education so he could get a similar opportunity to revolutionize the way in which elementary school children learn.

Now I am going to read a poem that Amir wrote entitled “Reflections on Infinity”. I remember when Amir wrote this in Ramaz:

Stuck behind glass walls,
There is no light outside.
Or maybe it’s just a hell of a lot
Brighter in here.
So I see me and my reflection,
And over again.
Reflection upon reflection,
Until I am very small,
In repetition, and still shrinking,
Into that oblivion Called ‘Infinity’.
Waiting, straining, to see into that verifiable
Everything
Where all is nothing.
Where framed in these portals of eternity,
I am no more.
Until my head gets in the way.

As many of you know who have been to Amir’s house, his downstairs bathroom has two opposite mirrors. Thus when you look into the wall, you see yourself reflected to Infinity. The problem is that it is very hard to view this Infinity without your head getting in the way. The glass walls are the mirrors. The fact that there is no light outside means it is inside an indoor room. The “Waiting, straining to see into that verifiable everything” is the attempt to see the reflections ad infinitum. “Where all is nothing” refers to how the reflections get smaller and smaller as they accumulate. I know that in high school, Amir had this obsession with infinity. He told me all about infinity, about Aleph 0, and c, and how c is a greater infinity than Aleph 0. Why was he so obsessed with infinity? Because he wanted to be infinite! He wanted infinite potential. Infinite ability. He felt he had that power within him. And his frustration at being unable to clearly see the infinity was his frustration at being unable to fully actualize infinite potential. He realized he was, in fact, finite. So then what? Did he give up and say, “Because I cannot be infinite, I quit.”? No. Amir was modest. He realized he could only be finite, but he tried to fully actualize every cell, every single atom, of his finite being. He aspired to infinity even though he understood his own finitude.

This relates to the very first time I met Amir. This memory is as vivid as the last time I met Amir, which is when I fell asleep in the car, at around 1:30. I was in first grade, in 1982. I was sitting by the side of the Moriah building during the end of recess. Amir and Benjy came over to me and Benjy said, “Amiris, listen to this guy: Tell me what the highest number is.” So I replied, “Googol Plex”. Benjy said, “No, it is a million.” And Amir said, “No. It is a hundred. Nothing is higher than a hundred.” And Amir had a puzzling look on his face, as if to imply that the very question itself is problematic. Amir realized at that point when he was six, something that he clarified to me over the next twenty one years: there is simply no such thing as a highest number. Even at this early age, Amir’s mind was toying and experimenting with the concept of infinity. Infinity was one of Amir’s passions. It is why he capitalized this word in the poem Reflections on Infinity.

Right now, Amir is experiencing infinity without his head getting in the way.

I’m Thinking of You On Your Yartzheit

Hi Amir,

I was thinking of you today on your yarzheit. At 5:30 p.m. when your unveiling started, the light bulbs in my bathroom went off. At around 8 p.m. when your memorial service started, I suddenly burst into tears and lost my self-control. I knew today would be a hard day for me as indeed it was.

I remember the cemetery where I went to your burial and the shul where I went to your funeral. My heart still breaks for your family who suffers so much from your heart-rending death.

I will never forget you and will pursue my hopes and dreams and passions in your memory. I will strive to be a better Jew and a better person and to make the world a better place and to reach out to others.

The tears continue to flow along with the knowledge that you remain in our hearts and have given me a lot of strength and hope in the past year.

We all miss him

Amir Lopatin, who tragically was taken from us one year ago, on March 25, 2004, was a most memorable person. To a great extent, I feel, this was because he embodied so many wonderful contrasts. He was a very ambitious young man with sparkling gentle eyes. He was a bright student of Sciences with a very spiritual mind. For all his vast knowledge and sophistication, he retained a marvelous childlike innocence and curiosity.

More then anything, Amir was a thinker, a seeker who in his last year, was constantly looking toward heaven. He was a large personality, outgoing, entertaining, and original. He was a great conversationalist, and could hold you spellbound for hours with ideas about our planet and its great potential.

He was loved by his family and his many friends. In our home, The Chabad House at Stanford University, he shared his warmth with others and lit the fire of compassion in many hearts. We all miss him.

Over the past year, I have often thought of those moving words, “Tzadikim be-mitatam nikraim chayim”: the righteous, even in their death, are called living, because a trace of them remains. The good they do lives after them; their influence leaves a mark on many lives. For Rachel and myself, that is true of Amir Lopatin. May his memory be an inspiration and a blessing.

-Rabbi Dov Greenberg

Law School Graduation Card From Amir

From Amir
Congratulations on Your graduation Shoshana!
I am very proud to say that I have a sister who is a harvard law school graduate! I must say your academic successes have made you a very hard sister to compete with. You really should slow down a bit and give your less talented brother a chance to catch up. Aw, who am I kidding? Uri doesnt stand a chance compared to the two of us. (Just joking;) Really I am very proud to have such a smart and accomplished sister. But dont rest on your laurels, I am eagerly awaiting your nomination as the first female jewish president! On that, i am not joking. I look up to you in much more ways than just for your academic accomplishments. Yo are honestly one of the most helpful and selfless people I have ever me. I cannot thank you enough for all the great help you have given me over the years. I love you! Thanks for being such a great sister.
-amir
p.s. I am sorry this present is so late. Blame Mobshop. Now that you have the skills I think you should sue them

Ultimate Frisbee Tournament

Amir, we are thinking a lot about you today…and will continue thinking about you over the next few days. There will be an Ultimate Frisbee tournament this weekend in your memory. It’s called “In the Spirit of the Game” in your honor…to thank
you for being the kind and gentle person we in the ultimate community knew you to be!!

Thanks for all your hard work and dedication.

3/25

I went to the NY Auto Show today at the Javits Center. When I was there, I saw an orange Honda Element filled with playful kids climbing around in the back and saying how cool the car was. I felt like getting them the hell out of the car, that is how I felt. I sat in the back seat on the right hand side and it was actually around 2 or 3 PM, and I tried to the best of my ability to change time from 3/25/05 2 PM to 3/25/04 2 PM, but I could not do it.

I only received a single call from my dad telling me how he loves me and is thankful to Hashem for my life, and a single email from my mom saying the same thing in her words. To me, this indicates how far I have come, and once again I now feel guilty that the whole thing is so way behind me but it can never be behind the Lopatins.

3/25 is my own miniature 9/11. I am like a guy who fell off a twin tower and landed on a huge pillow, it is so miraculous that I am here now, and I am fine. But the potency of the knowledge of Amir’s death hits me like 9/11.

The interesting thing is, you know how I found out about 9/11? Amir and I lived together on 82nd St. in 2001. I fell asleep on the living room couch watching some DVD on his computer. Amir woke me up at about 9:30 and I heard his voice from his bedroom, “Hey Jon, a plane just crashed into the World Trade Center…”

One Year

Amir,
It is hard to believe that you left us one year ago today. This date, March 25, however, does not hold much significance with me. This is not only because we hold the Jewish date of your yahrzeit, or because I didn’t find out what happened to you until the next day, March 26, 2004. It is because I think about you every day, and you continue to have an impact on my daily life. You continue to help me through tough situations, because I can imagine what you would say to make them seem better. I think a lot of your friends and family do the same! I am posting this to your website, where those who loved you and admired you continue to share thoughts and stories about you, all of them describing your unique views on life and your sincere interest in other people. I can only hope that you are in a place of ultimate fields free of soccer players, endless tree-lined bike paths, and peace.