My father passed away at the age of 94 on July 4th weekend. He was a sweet, smart, kind man who adored my mother and all his family, and we all knew it. He had a wonderful sense of humor and loved to make people laugh.

He also had a rock solid sense of integrity and an innate spirituality that led him to embrace Observant Judaism as an adult.
He was a Depression baby, the child of immigrants, who grew up in terrible poverty but managed to raise his children in suburbia. He was a World War II veteran, and one of the gifts that he passed on to me was his deep, abiding love for America. He believed it was a blessèd place, especially for Jews. It was to him truly the Golden Land of his parents' dreams.
At his funeral the rabbi said that in the last few years when he walked my father in his wheelchair to the synagogue on the Sabbath, my dad asked him to stop every time they saw an American flag. They would stop and my dad would salute.
He died at 3:45 AM on July 5th at home in New York. But for me in California, it was 12:45 AM . When my sister called me with the sad news, I could still hear the fireworks. As my dearest friend said, he was a patriotic soldier to the end.
Dad was all that was good about this country. He understood its greatness and its boundless opportunity. He taught his children to embrace all it had to offer while giving to those less fortunate.
Everyone who knew him loved him. We will dearly miss him. May peace be upon him.

He also had a rock solid sense of integrity and an innate spirituality that led him to embrace Observant Judaism as an adult.
He was a Depression baby, the child of immigrants, who grew up in terrible poverty but managed to raise his children in suburbia. He was a World War II veteran, and one of the gifts that he passed on to me was his deep, abiding love for America. He believed it was a blessèd place, especially for Jews. It was to him truly the Golden Land of his parents' dreams.
At his funeral the rabbi said that in the last few years when he walked my father in his wheelchair to the synagogue on the Sabbath, my dad asked him to stop every time they saw an American flag. They would stop and my dad would salute.
He died at 3:45 AM on July 5th at home in New York. But for me in California, it was 12:45 AM . When my sister called me with the sad news, I could still hear the fireworks. As my dearest friend said, he was a patriotic soldier to the end.
Dad was all that was good about this country. He understood its greatness and its boundless opportunity. He taught his children to embrace all it had to offer while giving to those less fortunate.
Everyone who knew him loved him. We will dearly miss him. May peace be upon him.

In honor of Father’s Day, June 15th, and National Sweet Tooth Day, June 9th, I thought it appropriate to write about my father’s sweet tooth. He is 93 years old, G-d bless him, and it is still prodigious.

In honor of Father’s Day, June 15th, and National Sweet Tooth Day, June 9th, I thought it appropriate to write about my father’s sweet tooth. He is 93 years old, G-d bless him, and it is still prodigious. His favorite sweet is chocolate. He loves chocolate ice cream and has had a cup every night before bed for as long as I can remember. But the Holy Grail for him was always Hershey Bars. In every desk in every office he ever worked in, there was always a designated Hershey Bar drawer. But nothing beats the World War II story.
My father had been a sickly child and as a young adult weighed about the same 125 pounds he weighs today. He was drafted out of law school, and the Army in its infinite wisdom promptly put him in the medics. Now, it seems there was a rule that the male officers were not allowed to sneak the female nurses into their quarters at night. But – ahem – they did, and bribed the hapless draftees to look the other way. So in keeping with the-way-things-were-done, my father’s commanding officer brought him a case of cigarettes as an offering.
“Thank you, sir, but I don’t smoke,” my father said.
So the officer brought him a couple of bottles of whiskey. “Thank you, sir, but I don’t drink,” my father said.
The exasperated officer exclaimed, “You must do something! What do you like?”
“Well,” my father said, “I really like chocolate.”
And that was how my father came to have a steady supply of Hershey Bars for the entire four years of his service in the Armed Forces of the United States of America.

In honor of Father’s Day, June 15th, and National Sweet Tooth Day, June 9th, I thought it appropriate to write about my father’s sweet tooth. He is 93 years old, G-d bless him, and it is still prodigious. His favorite sweet is chocolate. He loves chocolate ice cream and has had a cup every night before bed for as long as I can remember. But the Holy Grail for him was always Hershey Bars. In every desk in every office he ever worked in, there was always a designated Hershey Bar drawer. But nothing beats the World War II story.
My father had been a sickly child and as a young adult weighed about the same 125 pounds he weighs today. He was drafted out of law school, and the Army in its infinite wisdom promptly put him in the medics. Now, it seems there was a rule that the male officers were not allowed to sneak the female nurses into their quarters at night. But – ahem – they did, and bribed the hapless draftees to look the other way. So in keeping with the-way-things-were-done, my father’s commanding officer brought him a case of cigarettes as an offering.
“Thank you, sir, but I don’t smoke,” my father said.
So the officer brought him a couple of bottles of whiskey. “Thank you, sir, but I don’t drink,” my father said.
The exasperated officer exclaimed, “You must do something! What do you like?”
“Well,” my father said, “I really like chocolate.”
And that was how my father came to have a steady supply of Hershey Bars for the entire four years of his service in the Armed Forces of the United States of America.