Celebrating a Life Well Lived

Eulogy by Andrew Shapiro (click here for video)
 

My father’s death, despite happening over a week ago, is still devastating... 

Dad: You are my ballast, my guide, everything I aspire to be.  I love you and still can’t believe you’re gone.  I actually thought for a moment of emailing you a draft of this eulogy for your feedback since that was what I did with anything important.

It’s been a dark and surreal week, but also a time of reflection and reckoning of all the things we’ve always known about you and so many remarkable things we’ve heard from others: "one of the most genuine people I knew," "one of the kindest, sweetest people," “no one I admired and looked up to more." It’s given me a new sense of gratitude and renewed inspiration to keep trying to be like you, Dad.

In the spirit of Passover, I find myself asking: Why is our father different than so many other fathers?

To understand Dad, you have to understand his legacy.  His role model was his father Ezra – who arrived in the US at age 3, coming from a long line of rabbis in the Eastern European town of Volozhin.  He came to this country with nothing and rolled cigars in a factory in Cleveland as a child; he worked his way through law school and eventually became a renowned lawyer and Zionist.  In the 1940s, he was part of a small group of American leaders enlisted by David Ben Gurion to raise money to fund the forces fighting to create the state of Israel – at one time, he was Law Director of Cleveland and illegally raising money in paper bags to send to the Haganah. He and my grandmother Sylvia ultimately made aliyah, moving to Israel to lead its global fundraising organization.  That example was an indelible part of my father’s DNA.  His mother’s side of the family also gave Dad great naches (or pride): His ancestors the Lamports endowed Yeshiva University and in the 1920s were some of the earliest benefactors of Jewish renewal in what would become Israel.  Dad continued that legacy – and built it further.

My father made people feel special.  He was interested in you in a way that was genuine and warm.  As one of our childhood friends wrote, “Dan was one of those rare adults who actually took an interest not just in his kids’ and their friends’ pursuits, but in their thoughts and dreams as well.”

He had a true moral compass, a robust sense of right and wrong.  He never showed anger, but he could get quietly yet fiercely infuriated when he encountered wrongdoing.  (I can hear him now: What!? How can they do that?)  As one prominent client of his told me, Dad was a lawyer who embodied the qualities of Atticus Finch from To Kill a Mockingbird: integrity, fairness, and passion for justice.

He was an intellectual powerhouse and worked incredibly hard -- becoming, as one publication put it, "a pioneer in the hedge fund industry..."  I remember him working after dinner on his yellow note pads and then later tapping away at all hours on his Blackberry, which he used until the end.  But with all his success, he was never boastful or sought credit.  That quality allowed him to excel at work and in his philanthropic leadership.  He was the one who was able to merge UJA and Federation – the two largest Jewish funding agencies in New York – as President of Federation; they chose him at such a young age to tackle this challenge because of his humility and ability to build bridges.

Dad was universally admired.  As one of his childhood friends wrote to me: "Your father was the very best of us, the most brilliant, charming, elegant of men.” Indeed, he personified the old adage: Think Yiddish, dress British! His suits were even made on Saville Row.  And he looked sharp – just check out the poster outside.

My father was a remarkable speaker and writer, and he also loved music and communicating through his singing (as you’ll hear later).  He sang in the shower every morning – not just humming, but really belting out songs.  And as many of you know from parties, he and Mom frequently sang standards – sometimes with words written specially for the occasion.

That reminds me of one of our favorite family legends.  Back at Columbia College, Dad was in the glee club with Art Garfunkel and they became friends.  One day a young songwriter, Paul Simon, came by looking for a singer to join him in creating a duo.  Simon initially asked Dad – even though he was balding and Garfunkel had that amazing Jewfro – but Dad declined as he was headed to law school and knew his classmate wanted to sing professionally, so Garfunkel got the gig.  Just imagine: the list of recently departed music legends could have included not just David Bowie and Prince… but one half of Simon & Shapiro.  Of course, that story was mostly apocryphal – Art Garfunkel was a friend, but had been playing with Paul Simon since the 6th Grade.  Still, it was a great fantasy for a trio of young boys who saw their father as a Rock Star, no matter what.

The Mourner’s Kaddish that we say for the dead is a prayer praising God, despite loss… And this feels right for Dan Shapiro: I thank God for bringing my father into the world, for giving us the time we had with him, and for all the ways he did tikkun olam – healing the world.

There’s also a Jewish mystical concept, called lamed vavnik, of 36 righteous people in the world whose role in life is to justify humankind in the eyes of God… A lamed vavnik doesn’t perform miracles, but small acts of kindness that may seem insignificant.  But together, these 36 hold up the world.  And a person who is one doesn’t know it. In fact, if a person claims to be one of the 36, then he is not one…The 36 are simply too humble to believe that they are one of the righteous.  Sounds like just our Dad.

And while he is physically gone from us now, he feels more alive and present in me – and for me – than ever before.  And for my brothers and our wives.  To all of the grandkids, we hope and pray you will feel this as well – now and forever.  Love your siblings as Dad loved his sister, your spouse as Poppy loved Nana, your children as he loved us and all of you.

Death will not diminish Dan Shapiro’s impact. It is instead illuminating his qualities – like the brilliant April sun outside – with starker contrast and finer granularity so that we may internalize them, build upon them, and continue the example of lovingkindness he brought to the world.