Alex Friedman

It seems impossible to me that it is over a week since my father, Dr. Alex Friedman, passed away on May 17, 2021. I slowly became his sole caregiver, particularly over the last three and one half years. This is my favorite photograph of him. My father was born on April 10, 1928, the son of an immigrant father from Rashkov, Ukraine and a mother who was a refugee who came here illegally, originally from Belarus.

My dad's first language was the Ashkenazi Jewish language of Yiddish; he entered kindergarten at the age of five years not understanding a single word anyone said to him. He had achieved some fluency by Thanksgiving. His sister was three years younger than him and from the time he understood English, he would only speak English to his little sister, Lila, so she would never have to go through what he did.

My father's playground was his sidewalk and street in Brooklyn, New York. He and his friends played stick ball, marbles (nuts during the Jewish holidays) and other games of their time. I even have one photo of him holding a broomstick, ready to swing at a ball.

He was very bright and talented, completing high school in an accelerated program and going to New York University. He attended Chicago Medical School, did his internship at Queens General Hospital, and his residency in obstetrics and gynecology at Maimonides Hospital in Brooklyn. He met my mother, Arlene, on a blind date arranged by his father and they married in 1952. His residency was put on hold for a year when he was sent by the army to Korea. He spent the following year at Fort Meade with my mother and myself, Nancy. We returned to Brooklyn and my brother Jimmy was born. After joining a large practice in Brooklyn and publishing two articles, he decided to move the family to Massachusetts. He worked at the Truesdale Hospital which became Charlton Memorial Hospital. One of his sub-specialties was infertility. He thought the world of the nurses and doctors who were his colleagues. He treasured his staff and his patients.

With my mother, he joined the "Gourmet Club", through which he became a part of a group of wonderful friends, all accomplished chefs. He enjoyed running and ran his first marathon at the age of sixty six. He ran two more marathons in his late sixties. He enjoyed traveling, the theater, the ballet and museums, with a passion for collecting art. He loved the New England Patriots.

Once retired in 2007 at the age of 79, my father joined various memoir writing groups in both Yiddish and English and was finally able to indulge himself with reading, sometimes up to six hours a day. Just in the last six months of his life, he read most of Ernest Hemingway's work, usually with his dog on his lap.

Although he was completely secular and never attended religious services, for two years he and I attended the "Meah" program together; one hundred hours of learning about Jewish history and other related topics. This book-ended with his attending the socialist Yiddish oriented Workmen's Circle "cheder" after school program through his elementary school years.

One of my father's greatest joys in life was his grandson, Jair Martin. They spent a lot of time together and some of my father's happiest memories were from the annual summer trips he started taking with his grandson, starting when his grandson was six.

As the son of an undocumented immigrant, my father supported HIAS. As an obsterician/ gynecologist, he contributed regularly to Planned Parenthood. As a patient of Care Dimensions "Hospice at Home" for over two years, he gave them regular donations.

May his Memory be for a Blessing and may his Soul be bound up in the Bonds of Eternal Life.