Eulogy for Artur Isenberg

A week ago, my father, Artur Isenberg, turned 89. Those of us who knew him well will recall the long, joyful hours he would spend on mathematics, playing with patterns and numbers. Knowing this about him, it is easy to understand the satisfaction he felt about having made it to his ninetieth year. This seemingly trifling matter is significant in that it contains something of his essence. Most of us would think to ourselves that 89 is so close to 90, too bad he didn’t make that milestone. But my father, who always tended to reach for positives in life, would look at it differently. His 89^th birthday was the start of his 90^th year.

It is ironic that his life began and ended amidst explosions, since he himself was a man of peace. When he was an infant in Saarbruecken, Germany during World War I, bombs were falling all about. Sadly, 89 years later, as he lay gravely ill in hospital in Afula, rockets were exploding not far away. The fact that human beings have still not learned to live together in peace was undoubtedly the biggest disappointment in his life.

That life was long, mostly happy, and unusually interesting. He lived in three continents. He worked for the US Department of War Information, the United Nations, the Ford Foundation, Syracuse University, Friends’ World College, and the Israeli Foreign Office. He was a translator, consultant on publishing, graduate school program administrator, and magazine editor, as well as a scholar. He was a man of uncommon integrity, who was a positive influence on all who knew him.  His remarkable optimism, intellect, knowledge and humor made him a unique and wonderful person.  A born educator who loved to talk, he was refreshingly well informed and always interesting.  He had an unbelievable repertoire of jokes and stories to make you laugh. We will miss him greatly as a colorful, warm family man, friend, teacher, and human being.

My dad was a survivor of the Holocaust. Remarkably, he never passed on any bitterness or prejudice towards anyone.  The lesson he taught us was one of acceptance of all people as equals, each with something of worth to offer.  When he and my mother moved to Israel after 16 years in India, they were active in friendship groups between Jews and Arabs, doing what they could to foster understanding between the two.

My father was an extremely friendly person, who genuinely liked people. He would strike up conversations with everyone with whom he came in contact—shop keepers, secretaries, students, doctors, taxi-drivers, musicians, priests, hippies, politicians, professors, whoever they were, he was always interested in their lives and their views. Above all, he loved children. He always had time to talk with them, tell them stories from Hindu mythology, teach them about the world, sing funny songs, introduce them to magic squares, or teach them not only the definition of a word, but also its origin.

He was a Renaissance man, incredibly well read and educated, who was interested in everything. He graduated cum laude from Harvard in 1940 with a degree in psychology, and continued to educate himself the rest of his life. He had a special love for language, and was amazingly articulate. He could converse in nine languages (German, English, French, Spanish, Hebrew, Latin, Ancient Greek, Hindi, and Yiddish.) He studied Sanskrit and Tamil, and taught himself to read Egyptian hieroglyphics.

He was deeply interested in Indian philosophy and religion. He loved science and ancient history, and read Herodotus many times. He corresponded with Immanuel Velikovsky, whose scholarliness and insight he greatly admired. He also admired Socrates, but so far has not been able to correspond with him.

He had a passion for books, and his house was filled with them. He often advised us not to accept another’s summary of what has been said or written, but “go to the source and make up your own mind”. I remember that he would go to bed with a stack of books on his night table, and would have them read by morning. He was able to quote entire passages from memory from so many of his books. He also loved to read aloud to family and friends, everything from newspaper articles to poetry to entire novels.

He loved the arts—music, paintings, sculptures, theater, and dance. In addition to being a library, his house became a museum of Indian art. He had so many friends who were artists, musicians, writers, and dancers. He himself enjoyed playing the violin. While he was courting my mother he used to play “The Song of India” on his violin for her over the telephone, little knowing then the role India was to play in their lives.

He loved to sing and taught us the words to so many songs. He also taught us—by example—to sing for your own pleasure, even if your singing would empty out a concert hall. I consider this one of his greatest gifts to me. In truth, he sang pretty well and we enjoyed it. He loved to whistle, and was pretty good at that, too. He was a joyful person who could brighten up a room with his presence.

He loved India. He loved Israel. He loved the United States for taking his family in when they were refugees. Though he was never there in person, he loved Tibet and its gentle people. He loved the Swiss Alps. But to him the most beautiful place on earth was Kashmir, another place that is tragically caught up in years of unrest and destruction.

He loved omelets, and claimed to worship Viener schnitzel. He loved Harvard University, of which he was extremely proud. He loved to play Scrabble, and do crossword puzzles—the harder the better. He loved flowers, and would send them to people to brighten their day whenever the occasion called for it. He was such a thoughtful man.

The love of his life was my mother, Shirley. They were married for nearly 60 years, and were devoted to each other. He became her caregiver near the end of her life, and did everything he could to keep her happy.

He loved my brother Buddy, his firstborn, who was his intellectual equal and another amazing person. He loved my brother Mark, who has been there looking out for him for so many years, with selflessness, love, and dedication. And he loved me.

There was a special place in his heart for Seema and Peter. He loved all the spouses of his children, welcomed them into the family, and was grateful to them for enriching our lives.

His grandchildren gave him such joy and he loved them all so much. They in turn loved him, enjoyed him, and knew how special he was. Each one has something of him in them to which he could relate (no pun intended).

He delighted in the intellectual discussions he had with Shai, and enjoyed his way with words. Shai was his only grandchild to attempt playing the violin.

He was so proud of Yasmin for her accomplishments in the Special Olympics, since he himself enjoyed swimming, although she won far more medals than he ever did. He was very touched by Yasmin’s visit not long ago. It meant a lot to him.

Ayelet shares with him a love for India, which pleased him very much. He was happy to see someone from the next generation of Isenbergs return to India on an extended basis.

He often commented on what an exceptionally kind and good person Daphna is, qualities which he valued very much, and which were a part of his make-up as well.

He liked the way Yoel pursued his interest in snakes by becoming an expert on the subject, learning everything he could about them, with the same passion that Saba had for the subjects that interested him.

He appreciated Amy’s talent for dance, something he also loved. She shares his quick mind, love for puzzles, and ear for language.

Miriam shares his love for people, and he admired her dedication to helping those in need.

Saba, who used to play soccer as a youth and enjoyed the Harvard football games, was proud that at college Aviv excelled not only in academics, but also in baseball.

He loved Naomi for being her own person and for sticking up for what she thinks is right, not being swayed by what others do or say. That streak comes from him, and he recognized in her his own integrity.

Although he never had a chance to meet them, there was a place in his heart for his great-granddaughters, Grace and Emma. He loved to hear about them, and kept their photographs near him. The last time he visited the USA was in 2000, to attend their parents’ wedding. He was glad to welcome Jennifer into the family. It was the last time he was able to be with his brother Norbert and sister-in-law Edith. It was wonderful to see the two brothers, now old men, sitting side by side on our sofa after the Thanksgiving dinner, both of them giggling and laughing like schoolboys.

Even though he lived so far away from them, his nieces, nephews, and extended family members were also dear to him—as were his many, many friends. We are very appreciative of the love and kindness that was shown him during his last years by so many who took the time to call and visit him, and to those who helped him in other ways. Your friendship was something he treasured.

To Ed, who has been his faithful caregiver for the past four years, we cannot thank you enough. Our family is so grateful for the kindness, dedication, and excellent care that you gave my father, even during these recent stressful times. It is because of you that he was able to live at home as he had wished. He liked you very much.

My father was not religious, but he was a very spiritual man. Though he read the Bible many times, it was more for intellectual reasons. He also studied texts from most of the other world religions, and often quoted from the Upanishads. He was friends with a Jesuit priest in Madras, met with many Hindu sages, and had a long talk with a highly regarded Muslim holy woman at our home in New Delhi. He admired Mahatma Gandhi, Lao Tse, the Buddha, and the present Dalai Lama, with whom he once had an audience. What attracted him most to these people was their message of peace and compassion.

As word of his passing spreads, I have been receiving e-mails from all over the world expressing sympathy. The phrase that seems to be used over and over in them is “He was a great man”. That he was. He was well loved, one of a kind, and in his own way a great man, of whom we are so very proud.

I would like to close with my father’s own words, which he wrote to replace a passage in the Passover Haggadah, and would read at every seder he conducted. Instead of the passage that begins with “Pour forth thy wrath, oh Lord…” and asks for God to destroy our enemies, my beloved father, Artur Isenberg wrote and read:

“Grant peace to all the nations, oh Lord, whether they know thee or not, whether they helped or harmed Israel; all the people need peace. Grant them—ALL OF THEM—peace, oh Lord. Amen.”