PART 1 (of 3 parts) of article by Rabbi Lisa S. Malik in Shofar (monthly newsletter of Temple Beth Ahm of Aberdeen, NJ)

L’chol ish yesh shem---
Every person has a name---
The name that God gave him,
And that his father and mother gave him.

Every person has a name---
The name that the sea gave him,
And that his death gave him.

These lines are from a longer poem entitled, “L’Chol Ish Yesh Shem” (“Every Person Has a Name”) by the 20th century Israeli poet, Zelda. In her poem, Zelda reflects upon the different names that a human being acquires throughout one’s lifetime, commenting also upon the multiple facets of an individual’s identity from the time of his birth to the time of his death.  Last month, Mason Alexander quoted this poem in his Bar Mitzvah speech; Mason connected Zelda’s poem to the significance of names in Parashat VaYetze, as well as to the meaning of his own name. 

Mason was called up to the Torah for the first time as a Bar Mitzvah at Temple Beth Ahm on a Shabbat morning just about a week and half after I got up from sitting shiva for my dear father, David Malik z”l. While Mason was delivering his D’var Torah, I couldn’t help but reflect upon the various names by which my dad was known. His parents, my Zeidi Harry and Babi Jane, named him “David” on his birth certificate, but he soon acquired the nickname “Bussy”.  

Apparently, when my dad was a baby, his mother used to refer to his “long legs” in a mix of Yiddish and Hungarian (I think it was “langa lábszár”), something that sounded to my father’s older brother like “Bussy.” Growing up in the Williamsburgh section of Brooklyn on the same block as three of his cousins who also had the name “David” (either as a first or middle name), my father and the other three “David”s were all given nicknames; Alvin David Finchler became known as “Duddy”, David Cooper was called “Lutty”, Norman David Winkler was known as “Nachi”, and David Malik was called “Bussy”.

(continued in PARTS 2 & 3)

PART 3 of Rabbi Malik's article in the Shofar (monthly newsletter of Temple Beth Ahm of Aberdeen, NJ)

Thank you to all of the members of this community for your outpouring of support and love during shiva and beyond, as well as your patience and understanding during the months when I was driving back and forth to various hospitals and rehab and nursing home facilities to be with my dad, while still doing my best to be there for you during Rosh HaShanah, Yom Kippur, Sukkot, Shemini Atzeret, & Simchat Torah. 

Thanks also to all of you who provided meals for our family, as well as those who gave tzedakah to TBA and other charitable organizations in my father’s memory.  Todah Rabbah for the JNF trees planted in Israel, as well as the cards from children and adults that expressed your heartfelt words of comfort.

Most of all, I want to thank those of you who came to the funeral and helped to bury my dear father early on a cold winter morning at the Malik family burial plot in Clifton, as well as those who visited during shiva. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for standing by my side as I recited Kaddish as a mourner (rather than as a rabbi) and for lovingly asking me about the man who raised me and who shepped naches from his children and grandchildren throughout his 77 years, the man known as “David”, “Bussy”, “Dave”, “Dovid”, “Grandpa”, and “Daddy.”  

May the memory of David ben Tzvi Hersh v’Shayndl be for a blessing. Zichrono livracha.



PART 2 of Rabbi Malik's article in the Shofar (monthly newsletter of Temple Beth Ahm of Aberdeen, NJ)

As an adult, people who knew my dad from childhood continued to call him “Bussy”, but he introduced himself to new people as “Dave.” As a head hunter who specialized in placing computer programmers, my father changed the name of his employment agency from “Tudor Associates” to “Dave Mann & Associates” when he moved the business from NY to NJ in the 1980’s. Over the past decade or so, my dad acquired yet another name. Working as a driver in Lakewood, he introduced himself to his Hasidic customers and referred to himself on his answering machine as Dovid Melech (as in “Dovid Melech Yisrael chai chai v’kayam”, a.k.a. “King David”).

To others, David Malik was the handsome, smart, charismatic, entertaining, funny, sociable, irreverent dreamer known as “Bussy”, “Dave”, or “Dovid”.  But regardless of all of these names that he acquired during his lifetime, the name that I knew him by my entire life was “Dad” or “Daddy”. And his most cherished name, the one used by my children and nephew, was “Grandpa”. Whether he was regaling us with colorful tales at the Shabbos dinner table (of his Lakewood clientele, summers in the Catskills’ bungalow colonies, or exaggerated accounts about me as a child), doing the NY Times Crossword puzzle on our couch, cheering on Rivkah at one of her shows, meeting me and the kids at Hershey Park and other amusement parks, expressing delight at the very sound of Ariel’s and Eva’s voices, or bragging about his grandchildren to friends and strangers alike, my dad reveled in the name and role of “Grandpa.”

(continued in PART 3, in separate file)

PART 2 of eulogy:

Grandpa also made sure to make an appearance at our Shabbat dinner tables ever so often, also joining us on Rosh Hashanah and Pesach.  He loved my kugel and my mom’s silan chicken. No matter who was at the table, he would instantly befriend them and tell many stories about his childhood and his quirky customers from Lakewood. One story he told time and time again was when he [was a teenager and living at home in the Williamsburgh section of Brooklyn with his parents]  & went to Peter Luger’s Steakhouse on Shabbat. He would tell us about how he snuck out and had a huge steak, only to return home expected to eat a full Shabbat lunch. He managed to shovel down the cholent, but was sick for the rest of the day.

Grandpa also had a habit of embarrassing my Mom by telling stories about her, he didn’t have much of a filter, but it made meals with him so much fun!

Grandpa was the type of father and grandfather who just liked to show up. He wasn’t into making plans, but there was always the possibility that he would pop in. And just how Grandpa deeply cared about us and how we were doing, my Mom was able to take care of him until the very end, holding his hand through his last fighting breath. 

The love and support he gave us throughout his life will continue to be felt even in his death, teaching us the importance of supporting and showing up for those we love. 


PART 1: 
I could always count on Grandpa to come support me in whatever performance I was in at school. He was probably my biggest fan. He was super excited when I was in Odd Couple, always remarking how it was one of his favorite TV shows and how much he loved Oscar Madison. He was even happier about Mamma Mia, because he was able to support his granddaughter and enjoy a few hours of ABBA in one event. When I visited Grandpa in the hospital last week, the night after my final performance of Our Town, he managed to say, of the few words he was able to say, “I wasn’t there… I missed your play.” Even on his deathbed, he was thinking about having missed an opportunity to support me. 

Yesterday, I was listening over the many voice messages he has left me over the years, and I came across one from last Thanksgiving. “I was just watching the happiest Thanksgiving Day parade on television,” he said, “and I saw someone that looked just like you, but I told Pat that one day Rivkah is going to be dancing on [a float in] the Thanksgiving Day parade for Macy’s anyway.” Grandpa never knew how to text, but he made sure to give us frequent calls for a quick chat and life update. He was always calling just to say hi, leaving a voice message if I didn’t pick up and ending with a “call me back when you have a chance,” and then picking up right away as soon as I called him. Whenever we called him, he was so grateful and excited as if we told him he just won the lottery. 

(PART 2 is continued in a separate memory file.)


PART 3:
The same love and support Grandpa had for Mom, Uncle Jerry and Pat, extended to his grandkids as well. For example, he always thought he was a good Scrabble player, until he played his most formidable opponent: Rivkah. And while the defeat of a seasoned Scrabble player to a ten-year old might have gotten someone else down, this just gave Grandpa yet another reason to be proud of his grandkids. He certainly never passed up an opportunity to brag about us, as he always reminded us how special we were to him.


PART 2:
Grandpa supported my mom through her Rocky Horror Picture Show obsession and into her disco craze, taking her anywhere, at any hour, to shows in Brooklyn, the Catskills, and the Village. When my mom was in high school and her parents moved out to New Jersey, my mom was devastated. But there was her father, driving her back and forth from East Brunswick to Brooklyn when she decided to live with her grandparents in Flatbush. And of course this continued when she set out for college, as he always insisted on driving her to and from Penn. But even though he loved giving her rides, when she talked incessantly in the car, her Dad would say: “Can you put a bookmark on your tongue?” 
When my mom went to Yeshivah of Flatbush, they would excuse the ‘academically inclined’ from the athletic requirement. To her surprise, her ability to finesse her way through the yeshivah system would not work in public school. Upon entering East Brunswick High School, my mom was confronted with her biggest fear: gym class. And there was not just gym class, but there was gym class every single day. After a year of trying, and in fact missing every shot she took, she ended up taking paddleball her senior year, the year that defined whether or not she would be Valedictorian. Grandpa eagerly cheered her on as she of course, remembered grandpa’s stories playing paddleball in the Catskills. As the year went on, the gym teacher explained to my mom that he was going to have to give her a B in gym. Knowing how important this was to my mom, grandpa took it upon himself to teach, and by teach I mean try to no avail, my mom how to play paddleball. While my mom did not even have a fighting chance at earning the A, because apparently you need at least some semblance of hand-eye coordination for that, grandpa believed in her so deeply, encouraging my mom every step of the way. 
(Part 3 continued in separate memory file)

PART 1 of eulogy:
When I think of my Grandpa, I think about the smile he had on his face up until his last breath. I think about how excited he was to hear my voice, reminding me each time that it made his day hearing from me. I think about his inviting personality that made even a stranger love him. I think about walking into our house, to see grandpa on the couch deeply engaged in the New York Times crossword puzzle. It’s the little things that stick with us—his infectious laugh, his stories about growing up in Brooklyn, the little gifts he always brought, his unparalleled pride he had for each one of us, and the stories he told to anyone that would listen. 
Some of you may have memories much like mine. They are good memories, something we’ll always have to cherish. It isn’t often in our lives that we come across someone so special, whether you have known him for a lifetime, or have only met him once, that that person stays with you forever. Grandpa was that kind of person. 
Growing up, my mom would always tell us stories about Grandpa. The times he would show up unannounced to her college dorm room, just to say hi. The time he took her on a shopping spree to cheer her up, and, perhaps irresponsibly, bought her 5 inch lavender stilettos, without telling grandma of course--now I guess I know what inspired my secret shopping endeavors with my mom.  
(continued in a separate "memory" file)

OBITUARIO

David Malik

11 mayo, 1942 – 19 noviembre, 2019

Bloomfield-Cooper Jewish Chapels

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