EULOGY
YITZHAK ("PATZ") PETEL
I’ve never been to a funeral of an angel, a magical being who knew when to show up in your life at the exact time you needed his help or advice
Small words don’t do him justice since he was both godly and angelic. I want to find the words to both describe and thank him, but they refuse to come willingly. As his friend Amos Heilicher z”l used to say, “If I have to sum up his life on a bumper sticker, it would say ‘his standard of living was equal to his standard of giving.’” I felt that whatever he possessed was held “on deposit” until he found a better user than himself. He would share his time, knowledge, intelligence, education, money and possessions with anyone who demonstrated a need.
It’s hard to digest that this big ice-cream cone of life called Elliott is totally “licked out.” What does death have to do with him? It is such a waste of life.
In my book he was a man who wore a column of hats taller than himself. He was a son whose respect and honor for his mother Lily was exemplary. He was a good husband, an excellent father and a creative and loving grandfather. He was a good friend to many and a good uncle. But then he added more hats: pilot, flight instructor, musician, businessman, builder, baker, photographer, player in a marching band, food tasting steward, trampoline jumper, instructor of safe falling for the elderly and a philanthropist. But the hat that topped this towering heap was that he was a Mensch, a good and pleasant human being to anyone he met.
He took an interest in my family; he remembered the names of Yacov, Moshe and Rachel’s kids and remembered their fields of interest. If he came across an article, a book or a movie relevant to their interests, he would find a way to send it to them. For years he gathered and shipped used musical instruments to Israel for a music school in the city of Gyvataim.
He was preoccupied with “gobbling up” life and squeezing it until the last drop. His basic assumption was that with the genes he inherited from his mother, he would live to be 108.
Whatever he did, he excited everyone around him; this was both sweeping and contagious. There is hardly any activity he didn’t touch in our lives—conversations, trips, food, games, music and family debates.
I find myself talking to others and feeling that he is listening in the background. Or maybe I’m doing a good deed, and he is there feeling proud. Or needing someone to help and he is the first one to give a helping hand. Or goofing up or failing and he is the first one to forgive. This is more than a father—it’s a guardian angel.
He elevated generosity to a level of poetry, as most who knew him had their own “Elliott moment of generosity.” I can name many such moments…he welcomed me into his home when I first met Judy. He taught me to drive and explained the American way of doing things. But I think the gift that sticks with me the most is his advice that I can do the unlikely and sometimes the impossible. He used to say, “If you have a problem with the bank, talk to the president” or “If you can’t get a lease signed with Emery Airfreight, fly over and talk to their president”. And if you didn’t like a lawyer, “tell him we’ll use another.”
He used to say that getting older is a lot of work. He worked on his memory, he shaped up his body and changed his diet. But he also had a “clean heart”. He didn’t hold a grudge, didn’t cry over spilt milk, took an interest in people, and liked the unique and the different.
I think that everything he knew he taught himself. One thing he didn’t like was being bored. He was tolerant of new trends and he was patient. He was “Menchkiet” material. How can you not love a person like that?
And I haven’t even talked about his humor. He both loved a good joke and would generate some of his own. Once we sat in the den while Judy was listening to a singer on TV. For Dad it was a lot of noise. He yelled, “Judy, can you turn it down a little?” and Judy said, “Dad, don’t you know who this is? It’s Stevie Wonder, the blind singer” and he said: “I think he’s not only blind, but deaf too!”
Now that you are gone I am no longer anyone’s kid. I feel older and heavier, because I carry a piece of you in me and feel the responsibility to carry on your values. I feel like one of the sheep without a shepherd. I don’t want to get used to your passing—I can’t. it’s like getting used to cold weather or taxes.
It takes a long time to internalize that someone you admire has passed away. I remember all the times you came to Israel and you asked me if I had a shirt for you because “your shirts fit me very well Patz, thank you”. Well Dad, I’m not worried about the shirts. The question is can I fit in your shoes?
Fortunately, we’ve inherited from you the joy of life. Our next challenge will be to celebrate at Naomi’s wedding and in other family events. We will carry you in our hearts and feel you hovering above us as a smiling umbrella.
I thank you for your love and countless gifts. You’re responsible for so many happy moments in my life. You and my love for you will live forever in my heart. Go in peace and may God protect your soul.
Amen. תהי נשמתו צרורה בצרור החיים.
YITZHAK ("PATZ") PETEL
I’ve never been to a funeral of an angel, a magical being who knew when to show up in your life at the exact time you needed his help or advice
Small words don’t do him justice since he was both godly and angelic. I want to find the words to both describe and thank him, but they refuse to come willingly. As his friend Amos Heilicher z”l used to say, “If I have to sum up his life on a bumper sticker, it would say ‘his standard of living was equal to his standard of giving.’” I felt that whatever he possessed was held “on deposit” until he found a better user than himself. He would share his time, knowledge, intelligence, education, money and possessions with anyone who demonstrated a need.
It’s hard to digest that this big ice-cream cone of life called Elliott is totally “licked out.” What does death have to do with him? It is such a waste of life.
In my book he was a man who wore a column of hats taller than himself. He was a son whose respect and honor for his mother Lily was exemplary. He was a good husband, an excellent father and a creative and loving grandfather. He was a good friend to many and a good uncle. But then he added more hats: pilot, flight instructor, musician, businessman, builder, baker, photographer, player in a marching band, food tasting steward, trampoline jumper, instructor of safe falling for the elderly and a philanthropist. But the hat that topped this towering heap was that he was a Mensch, a good and pleasant human being to anyone he met.
He took an interest in my family; he remembered the names of Yacov, Moshe and Rachel’s kids and remembered their fields of interest. If he came across an article, a book or a movie relevant to their interests, he would find a way to send it to them. For years he gathered and shipped used musical instruments to Israel for a music school in the city of Gyvataim.
He was preoccupied with “gobbling up” life and squeezing it until the last drop. His basic assumption was that with the genes he inherited from his mother, he would live to be 108.
Whatever he did, he excited everyone around him; this was both sweeping and contagious. There is hardly any activity he didn’t touch in our lives—conversations, trips, food, games, music and family debates.
I find myself talking to others and feeling that he is listening in the background. Or maybe I’m doing a good deed, and he is there feeling proud. Or needing someone to help and he is the first one to give a helping hand. Or goofing up or failing and he is the first one to forgive. This is more than a father—it’s a guardian angel.
He elevated generosity to a level of poetry, as most who knew him had their own “Elliott moment of generosity.” I can name many such moments…he welcomed me into his home when I first met Judy. He taught me to drive and explained the American way of doing things. But I think the gift that sticks with me the most is his advice that I can do the unlikely and sometimes the impossible. He used to say, “If you have a problem with the bank, talk to the president” or “If you can’t get a lease signed with Emery Airfreight, fly over and talk to their president”. And if you didn’t like a lawyer, “tell him we’ll use another.”
He used to say that getting older is a lot of work. He worked on his memory, he shaped up his body and changed his diet. But he also had a “clean heart”. He didn’t hold a grudge, didn’t cry over spilt milk, took an interest in people, and liked the unique and the different.
I think that everything he knew he taught himself. One thing he didn’t like was being bored. He was tolerant of new trends and he was patient. He was “Menchkiet” material. How can you not love a person like that?
And I haven’t even talked about his humor. He both loved a good joke and would generate some of his own. Once we sat in the den while Judy was listening to a singer on TV. For Dad it was a lot of noise. He yelled, “Judy, can you turn it down a little?” and Judy said, “Dad, don’t you know who this is? It’s Stevie Wonder, the blind singer” and he said: “I think he’s not only blind, but deaf too!”
Now that you are gone I am no longer anyone’s kid. I feel older and heavier, because I carry a piece of you in me and feel the responsibility to carry on your values. I feel like one of the sheep without a shepherd. I don’t want to get used to your passing—I can’t. it’s like getting used to cold weather or taxes.
It takes a long time to internalize that someone you admire has passed away. I remember all the times you came to Israel and you asked me if I had a shirt for you because “your shirts fit me very well Patz, thank you”. Well Dad, I’m not worried about the shirts. The question is can I fit in your shoes?
Fortunately, we’ve inherited from you the joy of life. Our next challenge will be to celebrate at Naomi’s wedding and in other family events. We will carry you in our hearts and feel you hovering above us as a smiling umbrella.
I thank you for your love and countless gifts. You’re responsible for so many happy moments in my life. You and my love for you will live forever in my heart. Go in peace and may God protect your soul.
Amen. תהי נשמתו צרורה בצרור החיים.