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.
_________
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.