  |
 |
ORATOR IRVING'S EULOGY © 2004 Jordan Margolis My father was a Blackfoot Indian Prince. Don't worry, I haven't lost my mind with grief Let me tell you a story... Come back with me to Billings Montana, just after the New Year began in 1923. My father's mother, Vera Margolis, better known to us as Bubbe, owned a general store, which she ran while my grandfather Joseph Margolis studied Talmud and acted as the town's Shochet, a Kosher chicken slaughterer. One day, after a group of Blackfoot Indians left her store, Bubbe noticed that the Chief had left some change on her counter. Though she was 8 months pregnant with my dad, Bubbe ran out of her store yelling in her broken English, "Meester, Meester, stop." The Indians were not welcome in any other store, and now they thought they'd be accused of theft, so they started rushing away, but Bubbe kept running after them shouting "Meester, stop, you forgot your change." The Chief was so impressed with Bubbe's honesty and bravery, that he pointed to her ballooning stomach and said something in Indian, took his money and left town. Bubbe was nervous that he had put some Indian curse on her. Shortly after my father was born on February Is', the town of Billings was shaken with the rumbling of Indian drums. Store-owners shuddered their windows, grabbed their rifles and stayed inside as a long line of Blackfoot Indians marched ceremoniously down the main street and right up to Bubbe's store. The Chief, through an interpreter, yelled for Bubbe to come out, which she did. But then the Chief demanded to see the baby. Bubbe was terrified, but the interpreter said not to worry (a famous Indian expression) so she brought out my dad. Then the Chief ordered his wife to step forward with her new baby, and he put his hands on both their heads and started chanting. They would become blood brothers and my father was anointed as a Blackfoot Indian Prince. And so began my father's wondrous and eclectic life. During the next 79 years, Irving Margolis would become a Yeshiva Bocher, a U of C squared graduate, (both college and law school), a General Practitioner, an Associated Talmud Torah Board Member, a Labor Zionist, guest speaker extraordinaire, Japanese Martial Arts Master (Jujitsu, Judo, Aikido, Karate and Kendo), Asian gourmet chef, ethnic neighborhood adventurer, ham radio operator (sorry Rabbi), wine connoisseur, carp fisherman, brother to Aunt Bette, husband, brother-in-law to Uncle Leo and later to Morrie, father, grandfather, Uncle to Janet, Sharla and Sam, student of the world (truly learned on every subject), and engaging teacher. He accomplished all this with grace, humility, respect of others, love of family and the wackiest sense of humor on earth. At home, he'd be surrounded by books on anatomy, archeology, astronomy, atomic energy, ancient Egypt, biology, botany ... get the picture? I'm just getting started. When we were playing in our one bedroom apartment on Central Avenue in Austin, mom used to say, "Shhh children, be quiet, daddy's studying." Who does that? He was a grown-up. Well, you can take the bocher out of the Yeshiva, but ... My father was our Jewish mother. You heard me right. Since mom has the emotional strength of Golda Meir, that left dad to do all the worrying. Who could blame him with Jeremy as the first born? So he'd calm any fears about our daily exploits by engaging us in the "Irving Debriefing". At our weekly Shabbos family dinners on Friday nights, dad would grill us on school, work, the office - all of us would give report; Jeremy (better known as Jeremoo or Mao Mao), my sister Toby (better known as TweeterBird, Tweets or GoogyBrownEyes) and me (Honey Bunny). Dad had made it a point to do something individually with each of us. For Jeremy it was Judo, with me Karate, and tropical fish with Tweets. We were each special in different ways. He used to say, "Jeremy is the fastest swimmer, Jordy can swim the farthest, and Tweeter has the most beautiful stroke." When he was admitted to the hospital this year, he calmly remarked, "There's nothing I can tell you kids that I haven't already told you." It was true. He never put us to bed or let us leave a room without first telling us, "I love you and I'm proud of you." When we got married, Wendy, Raj and Holly learned to give report, as dad gently guided them into providing the details of their professional lives and eventually, all about the grandkids. "Tell me about the girls"(Laura and Shana, Lindsay and Jori). "Tell me about the boys" (Adam and Eric). He had to know everything, because he was their Sabadabadoo. Saba means grandfather in Hebrew. He would take them out on bizarre excursions near the Lake House on Petite Lake, wearing their "Saba's Great Adventure Club" Tee Shirts; but only if they first pledged loyalty to their fearless leader by chanting, "Saba is King, hail Saba." My father was a hopeless romantic. He loved mother madly and eternally. Romeo and Juliet didn't compare to the depth of affection Irving had for "his Princess", as he called her, IN PUBLIC. Often, and I really mean often, dad would ask rhetorically, "Isn't your mother beautiful?" Or he'd say, "Whenever I'm with your mother, I'm home." But that didn't stop him from being an interminable flirt! Dad flirted with client's wives, secretaries, waitresses, any woman he met... even in front of "Princess", especially in front of "Princess". That way, he couldn't get in trouble, because he was absolutely harmless. He was just amusing himself while making someone else feel good about herself For example, a restaurant hostess would ask, "Can I help you?" and dad would respond, "Sure, put me at a table with a younger woman, and you'll do fine." Even at Northwestern Hospital, where he was everyone's favorite patient, dad's baby blue eyes would light up when the nursing shift changed and his new "girlfriend" would come in, he'd say; "You know Stacy, I'm really sentimental about you; whenever I cheat on you with Jean, I really feel terrible about it." Where did he come from? I think I know. Last Saturday, I was telling dad about the beautiful flowering trees I had seen and smelled while walking Madison the wonderdog in Centennial Park. When I asked him how the first tree knew to flower for reproductive purposes each spring, he answered, "that's why people believe in God, because no one knows." Then he added, "When I'm alone at night and I think about my coming death, I know that my death is not inimical, it's not antagonistic. That's of little comfort to me but I know that I'm part of a bigger process. And I'm just coming home. Where did he come from, this gentle and giving genius? He was a gift from the universe. And the Margolis family was blessed by his presence and his memory. But we have to give him back and share him for eternity with the universe. Father, Saba - you done good. We love you, you'll always be with us and we'll always be with you, you're home. PRINTER FRIENDLY VERSION |
|