In memory of my father and teacher, Richard Sherwin z"l, 21/8/1933-17/12/2025

(Words said at the funeral of my father and teacher, Richard Sherwin z"l, 21/8/1933-17/12/2025)

(Note: "z"l" is an abbreviation for "zichrono livracha" - זיכרונו לברכה - meaning "may his memory be a blessing")

We do not supposed to eulogize during Chanukah, a holiday of praise and thanksgiving, but I would like to note 3 points of light that were an essential and inseparable part of the life of my father and teacher, and the legacy and education of the home that our mother and father built.

• For context, it's important to know that our father was a man of academia. He began studying at university at age 16, and continued with academic studies through to his doctorate - with a brief break in the United States Air Force. When he immigrated to Israel, he directed the English Department at Bar-Ilan University, and was a lecturer there until after his retirement. He was a man of learning and study and love of knowledge all his life - but that's not the point. That's just the context. The point is, that whenever I would ask his opinion on a particular subject, he would always answer me - and every person who spoke with him - from a place of humility and modesty, convinced without a doubt that no matter how much he studied and knew - there was even more that he didn't know, and that he urgently needed to learn in order to understand more. This led to the sentence I remember most, and most certainly everyone who spoke with our father for more than 3 minutes, which he would end every explanation, argument, opinion or reasoning with the phrase "but what do I know...???"
  

• He was open to every person as they were. Because who are we to judge other people? So everyone was beloved and accepted by him. I would walk with him in the street, and along the way he would say hello to everyone who passed us. When I asked him who they were - he told me he didn't know them, but it's nice and proper to be polite to everyone. Without exception. He was simply kind. When I once asked him about this, he told me that not everyone can be smart, or rich or beautiful or successful, and that's not always up to us. But to be kind - that's our decision and choice. And it's easy. And simple. So why not?
  

• And above all of these, hovered and hovers his gratitude and thankfulness. For everything. To everyone. From childhood, I remember him saying that he so loved and appreciated our mother, that he fell in love with her at a young age, and from then she accompanied him through all of life's challenges and encouraged and supported him in his studies and work, that he thanks God for the life He gave him, and for the family he merited to build. I once wished him he should have a long life - and he fixed me with a surprised look and said to me - "Wish for me to live with clarity, in joy and independence. When any one of these goes, that's the age that's enough for me." So that's what we learned to wish for him. And except for a few difficult weeks at the end, that's also what he received.

My tears will be tears of gratitude and joy for all that you gave us, and for the continuous giving that you leave with us. And of loss. Because there is always loss from the good.