The number 25 does not have particular significance in Jewish tradition. But it does have meaning in our secular culture. As we count years from a particular event, the 25th stands out as a milestone.
It is so, so hard for me to believe that tonight and tomorrow we will observe the 25th yahrzeit (anniversary of a death on the Jewish calendar) for my father, Manny Dobrusin, may his memory be for a blessing.
How can it be twenty-five years? It doesn’t seem that long ago that my mother, z”l, my brother, and I sat in Dad’s hospital room as his life came to an end. I remember it like it was yesterday, recognizing then, as I do now, the privilege to be present on such a heartbreaking, sacred moment.
Many of my friends who are reading this knew my dad and I hope remember him fondly. He was an unforgettable character in the lives of so many. His acts of kindness, his passionate dedication to the Jewish community, his sense of humor and his support and sage advice will never be forgotten by those who knew him.
My Dad was a complicated man in some ways, but it was so very clear what he stood for. He stood for the love of family. He stood for the importance of responsibility. He stood for honesty. And he stood for being a mensch everywhere and every time.
It has been twenty-five years, but his memory has never faded. He visits me regularly in my dreams, and I often find myself looking at his picture and looking for his encouragement and advice. His love for me and for all his family will always be an inspiration.
Dad worked in public relations for much of his life. So he wrote for a living. During the eulogy that I wrote for him, I said this to our kids and to brother’s children:
“Papa was a writer. He was a good writer. He wrote clearly and passionately. He could write almost anything from birthday poems to book reviews to advertising copy. He wrote about Judaism for the Federation of Jewish Men’s Clubs and, for his own public relations company, he wrote about tires and auto glass and refurbishing hotel rooms. He wrote about things he knew a lot about, and he wrote about things he really didn’t know that much about. But you’d never know which was which. That’s how well he wrote.
Give Papa Dobrusin a pen and a paper or a typewriter and he would sit down and write anything.
But he wrote something bigger, something you can’t write with pen and paper. He wrote a life. His whole life was like a book. Papa was a teacher and he believed that what you did with your life mattered because others learned from it and followed your example. So, the book of your life had to be as good as you can write it.
In that way, Papa was following the 613th commandment of the Torah. That commandment is that each person should write a Sefer Torah, a Torah scroll, for himself or herself. To him, this commandment wasn’t just about copying the Torah, but it meant that we should write a life worthy of reading and reviewing by others, a life which inspires others to aim for holiness with acts and deeds that live on after us..
He wrote such a Torah. He wrote an eloquent, uplifting and challenging Torah, one which will always echo in the minds of those who knew him.
It didn’t have to be that way. Dad could have written a Torah of disappointment and sadness.. He had plenty of potential excuses. He was ill for a large part of his life. His parents died when he was young. His planned career didn’t work out as he had hoped. But, instead of making those excuses the story of his life, he kept writing and writing,improvising along the way but always with a goal of filling each and every day with meaning and with purpose.”
And that is the legacy he left us with.
So, it has been 25 years, but the lessons are still so clear in my mind and guide me to this day.
May the memory of Manny Dobrusin always be for a blessing for all who knew him as it most certainly is for me.