[An address given at a special service to mark the eighty-fifth birthday of the Reverend Leon H. Elmaleh, and the sixtieth anniversary of his election as Hazzan and Lecturer of Congregation Mikveh Israel, Philadelphia.]
Inspiration can be found in the strangest places, even in so prosaic a work as a dictionary. When I was a student in London, I had occasion almost daily to use a dictionary that was compiled here in Philadelphia, not knowing that one day that city would be my home. When I grew tired of looking up words, my attention would move to the preface of the dictionary, which represented the life-work of its author. To my recollection, his concluding paragraph read something like this: "The religious sentiments inspiring the author at the completion of his labors ... are too sacred to be sent abroad beyond the sanctuary of heart and home."
I often used to read those few lines, and wonder what experiences had caused them to be written. In a sense I know now, because in trying to speak at a time like this, I feel that I am almost intruding on a private domain, namely the feelings that must inspire him whom we seek to honor today. Only one thought consoles me - namely, that heart and home, to use Jastrow's expression, are for him as much at least in this holy place as they are in his house across the street; and in this way we are none of us intruders, but rather members of the family, a status conferred upon us by our common act of worship.
What shall we say? For when years are so full, words become very empty. It would be easy to write a catalogue of his endeavors and successes during sixty years, but this would not do him justice, for his activity goes on still, and my list would be incomplete. Rather should we seek the message of his years of service.
We live in an age in which it is not difficult to lose faith in life's meaning and purpose. We see persecution, desolation and oppression. We see strife and quarrels and war in a world that longs for peace. Amidst the weariness that this world sickness causes, our emeritus minister has stood constantly for faith and perseverance. His faith in the ideals of Judaism, as represented by this synagogue, is but the manifestation of his deep and abiding faith in the values that underlie all worthwhile human hope and endeavor. His perseverance in furthering its cause, often in the face of great difficulties, is a model for all the faint-hearted. Whatever obstacles have beset him, he has gone on without losing hope or conviction. He is a living expression of the power of the human will, for his will has conquered both mental and bodily afflictions, and brought him to this reverend age, bright of eye, sharp of mind, pleasant of voice, with still a trace of mediterranean salt to flavor his personality.
What is our wish for him? That he may long be with us to celebrate many more happy anniversaries, and especially wedding anniversaries, for just at this time he celebrates forty-one years with his devoted and beloved helpmeet.
What is our tribute to him? It is our intention to place in his capable hands the offerings of the day, with the intention that he will set up a permanent fund to further objects dear to his heart, and perpetuate the joy of this day.
But there is yet a greater tribute that we can pay to him. He desires nothing more than to see a healthy and thriving Congregation Mikveh Israel. Just now we are attempting to aid the health of the congregation by increasing its membership. Your help in this will be the best tribute you can pay to our emeritus minister, whose greatest joy it is to see the ancient tradition, which he helped and helps, to further find its place in the heart of a new generation who need it so much.
The sediment of enduring fame is remarkably little. Yet the lives of forgotten Top People have their fascination. The drab recital of their achievements and distinctions is, in its way, poetic. One imagines the eagerness with which they clawed their way upwards, the fine turn-out on ceremonial occasions, the respectful attention they received from doormen and waiters, the sense of being important which grew upon them with the years. And then, as the only residue of it all, a slab of unread, and usually unreadable, print, produced by some admiring friend or indifferent hack.
This quotation is from a review by the prominent English journalist Malcolm Muggeridge of the Concise Dictionary of National Biography. It is a beautifully written paragraph which I have re-read many times for the pleasure it gives as a piece of writing. It restates something that has been said countless times before, namely that fame is transient, and man has but one end, and so on. It is a valuable sentiment which all of us can use at times when we fall prey to self-admiration, which is a common and very human vice.
However, I do not think that Malcolm Muggeridge has said the last word on this question, nor is his statement or re-statement entirely true. Like the Hebrew sage Kohelet, he asks the question
What profit does a man have for all his labor, wherein he labors under the sun?
And he answers flatly, at best a little biography, unreadable and unread. He has, however, overlooked the influence a person can have on the life and outlook of his fellow man, giving an impetus that may defy the ages. Let me cite some examples. Dr. Ralph Bunche, the prominent American servant of the United Nations, and winner of the Nobel peace prize, was asked to say who had influenced most the course of his life. After consideration, he selected a lady, now advanced in years, who was his grade school teacher. This woman, who flashed into prominence in newspapers throughout the country for a day, had for years gone quietly about her business of creating good citizens. Surely in her case, the profit is not a few lines of type she achieved in the press a few weeks ago. Is it not rather the enduring effect that she had in the lives of other people, one of them a rather famous man?
Or, since we are speaking of the influence of the ladies, let us think of the biblical personality Ruth. Is the book named for her, this slab of print as Muggeridge would have it, her profit? Or is it rather the influence she has had in the lives of others. Who can read her famous words to Naomi, when she refuses to leave her, without being inspired by her example of love and loyalty.
Entreat me not to leave thee, and to return from following after thee, for whither thou goest, I will go, and where thou lodgest, I will lodge. Thy people shall be my people, and thy God, my God. Where thou diest, will I die, and there will I be buried. The Lord do so to me and more also, if aught but death part thee and me. Ruth 1.16-17
The pleasure and help that these words have given to subsequent generations is immeasurable, and that is profit indeed.
And so it is too with the man whom we honor today, our Emeritus Minister. The profit of his eighty-nine years is not the citation that was presented to him recently by the Board of Rabbis of Philadelphia. It was a fine gesture, which we were delighted to see, and I suppose that citation will decorate the walls of some museum when we are all but a memory. But yet that is not his profit. His profit is in the influence he has had in the lives of the people around him, who are encouraged by his courage, and strengthened by his strength; who see that there is nothing to fear in an old age that can walk a mile, or two, or three, that can get to synagogue in snow or rain, or thread tiny beads on a strand of cotton to amuse a child eighty-six years his junior, as I saw him do last week. His profit is that men can learn through him the value and effectiveness of human determination, and see in him the living proof that the Torah is indeed a tree of life to those who hold fast to it.
For this we thank him, and pray that the Almighty grant life and health to him and to his family.
Farewell, old friend!
We shall remember your exuberant handshake, which seemed to come from the depths of your soul.
We shall remember your twinkle, your refined humanity, which felt for others, and never lost its poise.
We shall remember your total self-control; how you could sit before a table laden with food, and eat like a bird.
We shall remember your absolute integrity, your impatience with posers.
We shall remember your tender relationship with your wife, who was so different from yourself.
We shall remember how, years ago, you blew the Shofar. What a note that was! - like you, clear, pure, a little bit abrasive. Those reechoing sound waves, like yourself, had the blue of the Mediterranean you loved, the crisp clarity of the landscape of Eretz Israel where you were born, the antique deliberateness of your adopted City of Philadelphia.
You were of another epoch, a saner, quieter, less nervous age. We shall miss you, old friend, and when you present your clean soul to your Maker, say a word for us who cannot match your rectitude.