I'm not much of a gardener, and I don't love the beach life (fair skinned, don't love sand) but I have had the experience, a few times in my life, of finding a hole that needed filling in; from rain, erosion, burrowing animals. You go to the hardware store and buy a bag of sand or soil or gravel, 20-30 pounds, and you pour or shovel it into the hole. But the hole doesn't fill, even after you empty the bag. You get back in the car, go back to the store and you buy a bigger bag, the one that makes your back hurt when you have to load it in and out of your car, the 50 pound bag, and even that won't fill the hole.
Avi West died today, and today the hole is in my heart. I can't fill it in. My daughters tried, my grandson learned to term "pie hole" today to make me smile, but the hole is still there. My teacher and friend for 43 years, my coach, my counselor, my confidante, my sounding board, my employment guide, my concordance of Jewish text, my singer of songs, my reciter of verse, my partner in prayer is gone. My teaching partner, my preaching partner; the Mel Brooks to my Carl Reiner, my singer of Craig Taubman and Allan Sherman is silenced.
I met Avi a few weeks before my 17th birthday. In February 1978 I had just moved to Maryland from Colorado, a recent high school grad, already jumping into youth work here, and a wise shaliach drove me to the old Montgomery Hills Middle School in Silver Spring (at the time serving as the Berman Hebrew Academy), around the back, to the offices of the Board of Jewish Education. We clicked that day. Avi was also a recent arrival the fall before, and since then he has been my teacher, my resource and my friend. We have taught and shared classes, comforted each other during losses, celebrated smachot, written songs, and on a cold winter's night in southern Pennsylvania, after climbing a steep hill and around a campfire, we debated the future of the Judaean community after the destruction of Jerusalem in 70CE, should we revolt or try to get along with the Romans with a community of early childhood educators.
Avi West lived by a mantra I've adopted - Ivdu et Adonai B'Simcha - Serve God with Joy. I would smile while checking my calendar in the morning, seeing that on that day, I would see Avi - how many of us are blessed with friends or colleagues where just the mere chance to see them during the day lets us be happy all day? Avi has always been that friend. The depth, the breadth, the creativity, the thought, the empathy - Avi had it all, and he shared it all. I was a recipient, but I'm one of thousands: adults, children, teens, Americans, Israelis - thousands learned from Avis warmth, humor, deep Jewish knowledge and love. Love of God's creations, love of God's world, love of God's Torah and love of enlightenment.
What plans need to change? Avi and I planned ahead for our zikna, our old age. We were often prohibited from sitting together at meetings, we didn't live in the same neighborhood or attend the same synagogue. So we had a plan. We would sitting in adjoining rocking chairs in the Hebrew Home Lobby, and recite Mel Brooks and Carl Reiner routines, sing Allan Sherman songs and analyze Yehuda Amichai poetry. All day, every day. We would take over the minyan and turn it into a prayer laboratory. We would join the committee to set the programming agenda. My kids would supply us for happy hour. So I need a new plan. My Butch Cassidy, my Bat Man, my teacher left too soon. I don't know how to fill the hole.
Yehi Zichro shel Avi Shmuel ben Rachmiel v'Tziporra baruch - Avi's West, who lived up to God's charge to Avraham to be a blessing, his memory will always be a blessing.
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