Today is my father’s birthday.  Unfortunately, our relationship was not the ideal; we were not especially close.  However, I will share some attributes of his character with you- and for his grandchildren and great grandchild.  And,  just because someone wasn’t a great parent doesn’t mean he didn’t make a big difference in this world.

My father was a bright guy.  And, to fulfill his family’s wishes, he was ordained (received smicha, entered the rabbinate) at a very early age.  His position in America was to serve as the Rabbi and Chazan (cantor) at the Lindenhurst Hebrew Congregation.  (Back then, this was an orthodox Jewish synagogue.)

My father could tell funny stories.  (All of them true.)  Which is why he was friends with some of the early Borscht Belt comedians.  Who used to come to our house on the Jewish holidays to both participate and share their bonhomie.

One of my father’s funniest stories was his first official function to officiate at a funeral.  His predecessor, the chief rabbi,  had died.   My father drove all the way out to where the cemetery was- but couldn’t find it.  He searched and searched.

What he didn’t quite realize is that the Ashkenazi Jews at the time (especially if they came from Europe) employed a dialect that could be confusing.  My father was told he would be officiating at the ‘Velvet Cemetery’.  And,  there was no such place that he could find.

Finally, with about 10 minutes to spare, a Suffolk County policeman was driving by and my father flagged him down, asking where one could find the Velvet Cemetery.  The policeman immediately responded that the cemetery was right over there- the Wellwood Cemetery. My father made it to the funeral on time.)

 

My father was an outstanding rabbinical leader but it was far from his life long dreams- my father wanted to be a scientist.  In particular, he hoped to study at Wood’s Hole Oceanographic Institute.  There he would learn to be a steward of this earth.   Of course, Wood’s Hole, as was true for many an American Institution back then,  frowned upon Jewish affiliates.  So, my father’s path was clearly blocked.

 

(An aside story- one I didn’t learn until I was in my twenties.  Before my father resigned as a rabbi, he counseled a stockbroker who also wasn’t happy with his life choices.   And, my father helped him study and receive smicha as a rabbi.  That man, Nathan Rosenbaum, actually was my rabbi when I began going to shul by myself.  Our family had switched affiliations from  the Wantagh Jewish Center to Temple Beth El of Bellmore.  [That synagogue was given its building by the state; it had previously been a  German putsch hall.  Giving it to the Jews seemed like poetic justice to the state.   I spent much time with Rabbi Rosenbaum and his two kids Jay and Rachel- as well as with Chazan Heifand, who lived two blocks away from the Rosenbaums on Shabat and holidays.  It was when I was getting married and Rabbi Rosenbaum was to be the officiant  that I found out about my father’s interaction with Rabbi Rosenbaum. He offered to let my father marry us, given that he granted smicha to Nathan and this would be a family affair.)

With time,  my father knew he wouldn’t remain a rabbi- despite how well the Jewish world thought of him.  And, my father fell in love with a woman who was- let’s be perfectly candid- barely Jewish.  (She was born Jewish, but her family neither went to synagogue nor kept kosher.)   And, that would never go over well for a wife of an esteemed Orthodox Rabbi.   So, my father quit the rabbinate and began working with/for his brother.

My father was the “office manager” for his brother’s fur matching enterprise.  At one time, when furs really were in fashion, their business supplied some 1121 (I really am trying to recall that last digit) firms across the US and Canada- which included Neiman Marcus, I. Magnin, Bloomingdale’s (when it was chic), Saks, and a whole bunch of little guys.  (I know this number, because I typed the mailing list- using carbon paper and gummed labels, two to three times a year for many years.)

My father handled all the office duties.  Sales, billing, and collections.  And, until 1962, my father left home every 1 May (making May day an interesting event in our household), only to return home the weekend before Memorial Day.  He drove the family car (my mother didn’t drive at the time) clear across America and back visiting all of his customers.  [I emulated that practice ONCE.  In addition to transporting a car from Charlottesville (VA) to Long Beach (CA), in 1986, I visited dialysis clinics that used our products.  Actually, I cheated; I flew home every Thursday night and flew back out to the airport where we parked the car every Monday morning for 8 weeks. Until that car was at our Long Beach facility.]

Back to my father.   The last two years my father effected this yeoman’s sales trip, he flew to various cities and rented cars to make the trip. (By then, there were those famous numbers- and he couldn’t cover them all- plus, he had an horrendous car wreck that made him less interested in driving.  Moreover, my mother had finally gotten her license and wanted the car for her use.]

In 1959 (right after Yom Kipur- it might even have been during Sukot, actually on the day he died years later), the fur-matching firm got involved with a small company in a new venture.  It was called Haloid, the firm that developed the first plain paper copier.  Xerox (the name change came immediately thereafter) need rabbit fur to keep the static from building up on the imaging drum.  My father and a business broker brought home the blueprints- which they couldn’t decipher.  I knew the ‘lingo’ and got to show him what they needed.  Those became the heydays for the firm- until 1974 (Xerox stopped making that machine in 1976, but sales of that unit had dwindled dramatically.  They no longer needed rabbit fur- they had better design to protect the platen.)

For his personal enjoyment, every spring and summer, my father cleared and prepared his vegetable garden.  (I told you he wanted to be a steward of the earth.)  Tomatoes, peppers, cucumbers, cantaloupes, watermelon, and carrots. There wasn’t a weekend when he didn’t spend hours tending to those plants- and was thrilled as we ate the produce that grew.

My father used to read five newspapers a day.  That was a habit that started when he was much younger.  But as he aged, his reading velocity dropped dramatically.  He still purchased the newspapers and scanned a few of them.  but he also stored those he didn’t finish reading in the basement.  Eventually, those stacks took over 1/2 the basement.

My father served as President for several shuls, with his longest tenure at the Bellmore Jewish Center.  He also gave a most important speech (probably his most important speech) on 6 October 1973 (the day of the Yom Kipur War) to the Jewish community of Long Island (which includes Queens and Brooklyn, you should know).  Those in attendance raised some $ 10 million dollars that night- an unheard of sum back then- and got those funds to Israel to help them win the war.

Jack Ackerman died 37 years ago on Yom Tov Sukot (roughly October).  He had just retired only 7 months earlier.  But, his illnesses were  diagnosed  some 5 months prior, when he reached Florida.  His nephew, a dermatologist, recognized the symptoms!

My father was diagnosed with the triple whammy of leukemia, lymphoma, and Kaposi’s sarcoma.  He never recovered.