Everybody knows about the tzaddik’s cars. They were fairly famous. His vehicles impersonated him. They imprinted on him. Everybody remembers particular stories about his cars. Only I don’t know all of the stories. And that really bugs me. I guess what I really want is to know everything. Collect everything. Every shred of memory. I […]
Tag: Magnes Museum
Fred and Harold and my dad were like the Marx Brothers. Or the Coen Brothers. Or the Brady Bunch. Or. Or. Or maybe there was nothing like them at all. A team. A pack. A family. A coven. A comedy show. My father loved ‘those boys’ with all his heart, and all his might and […]
Malkah was at the Madrid airport, as wholesome as she could be. She had a husband with her and two squeaky clean children with her. And all their camping gear. And all her archives notes. And all her permissions to conduct research. And she got detained anyway trying to leave the country. It wasn’t the […]
Quite a number of people have told me how moved they were by the words I spoke at the my father’s funeral. Some asked for copies of what I said. Still others asked to hear those words for the first time when they read reference to it in an obit somewhere. I don’t think I […]