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I heard and read beautiful, moving, even inspiring, eulogies for my brother, but I don't get the feeling that anyone really knew who he was. And frankly, that includes me.
Pioneer of the teshuvah (return to authentic Judaism) movement; talmid chacham (Torah scholar); masterful writer and poet; dazzling orator; famed fund- and friend-raiser; sage of Torah and baseball; devoted father and friend; all this and more.
While Rabbi Nota was deeply spiritual, he had a down-to-earth zest for life. He was a connoisseur of literature, of comedy and of humor (they're not the same; comedy is entertainment, humor is a worldview). He was a connoisseur of scotch and of coffee, and of coffee ice cream. But mostly, he was a connoisseur of people.
He saw people's strengths even if they only felt their weaknesses. And he taught them how to build their spiritual muscles.
And he could do it all with just a smile.
A student who came to study in Ohr Somayach, the Jerusalem academy he founded and led, in 1974 visited the hospital during the too-brief respite when Rabbi Nota had regained consciousness and was able to communicate, albeit with agonizing difficulty. When the student walked into the room, my brother flashed him a huge smile. Later, he texted me:
"That was a very magical moment. Your brother's smile was like getting a haskamah [approval] on my entire life."
I could go on, but each facet viewed individually tends to get in the way of seeing everything else. It's like missing the forest for the initials carved in a tree.
Or, to trot out another cliché, there's the ancient Eastern fable about the blind men and the elephant. One feels the elephant's leg and says that an elephant is a tree. Another feels the trunk and says an elephant is a snake. Yet another one feels the tail and says an elephant is a rope. None of them gets what an elephant is.
There's a problem, though, with that fable. It's a handy tool, but besides being shopworn, it's frankly offensive. It's demeaning to blind people — they can't see, but they're not stupid. And it belittles those who spoke or wrote about Rabbi Nota.
Maybe a better example is a quote from a poem my brother wrote. The poem, "The Wall of the World," is built on the Kabbalistic concept of sheviras hakeilim (Shattering of the Vessels of Creation).
I took the lines out of context, but they fit well here:
"One man, he found one piece and said, this then is the nature of the wall of the world. But he only found the music and did not know the light. While another man, he found the light, but did not know the music. And each but had a piece of a piece. And even the music was muffled and even the light was dim."
To be fair, did I really know my brother? My perception of him is filtered through my own experience. But my memories stretch back the longest.
Two of my earliest memories were, perhaps, his first rescue efforts. I remember him standing over his fish tank with a net, scooping up new- born black mollies. It's a gruesome fact, but after giving birth, black mollies eat their young.
The other was the first time I went off the deep end. I must have been around 7 or 8 and I stepped into a swimming pool right into the deep water. I went straight down, and my brother jumped in and pulled me out.
Since then, he was always been my lifeguard. Or maybe more of a life coach — for me and my whole family.
When I was around 9, he walked into the living room one day, shut off the TV set, shoved a book into my hand and ordered me, "Read!" That was a turning point in my life.
Years later, he got me writing. Eventually, he hired me to write for Ohr Somayach. That was the beginning of a career in journalism, public relations, advertising and editing. And at every step along the way, he was there — guiding, encouraging and kvelling.
Some years ago, I met a Rabbi at a bar mitzvah and told him my name. He raised a questioning eyebrow, and I responded, "I'm Rabbi Nota's kid brother."
He said, "That's not the way to introduce yourself."
I didn't say anything, but my reaction was, that's his problem. To me it was a matter of pride. I realize now it wasn't just an introduction.
It was a definition. When I look back, anything I've accomplished in life was somehow directed, influenced, inspired or supported by my brother. I was, I am and I always will be Nota Schiller's kid brother.
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Previously:
• How Do I Hate Thee? Let Me Count the Waze
• Truthgate
• In the Scheme of Things
• Funny, It's Not
• Ready, Aim, Pray!
• Time Whorf
• Fathers Days
• The Elephant in The Kids' Room
• Beware the Ice of March
• The Theory of Negativity
• Truth Ache
• Holy Humor
• CAUTION: Joking Hazard
• Kludge Fixtures
• Canditedium: Just don't call me disinterested
• In Sanity: How Members of the Tribe do craziness
• You gotta like a guy who can 'feel or act' another's feelings in the mind's muscles --- still …
• The World of Words is Changing --- OY! What's a Jew to do?
• Unruly: Dos, Jews, and don'ts
• 'Noodging' Is Sacred
• Manipulated or Convinced?
• Lost in Translation
• Holy Tongue
Mordechai Schiller is a copyeditor and columnist at Hamodia, the Daily Newspaper of Torah Jewry, where this first appeared.
