Shuli's Funeral Remarks

[Remarks Avi’s daughter, Shuli, said at the memorial services in both Maryland and Israel]

I want to start with a story that does not sound like it is about my father at all.  It is from my first year as a law student in Cambridge, MA, when both of my sisters lived there as well.  Early in the year, we all decided to fly home for Sukkot, causing Malki and I to stay in Cambridge for Rosh Hashana, as it did not make sense to fly home twice.  Though we ate all our meals together, we were both surprised at how deeply we missed being with our larger family.  So when a young man invited us to come to his home for lunch after davening with him and his parents, we were happy to accept.

The man was extraordinary in his hospitality.  He fed us wonderful food, and was adamant that we come back again, as soon as possible, any time, without notice.  I mentioned that this level of hospitality was strange for someone so young.  He explained that a few years before, he had been through a devastating break-up, and was unable to function and had no place to live.  A friend of his invited him into his home, and let him live there rent-free, feeding him and getting him back on his feet.  When he asked that friend why he was being so kind, that friend explained that he spent three years in law school in the DC-area, and that almost every Shabbat, a wonderful family had taken him in without asking for anything in return, to make sure he was never alone.  He promised to pay that kindness forward as soon as he had the resources and opportunity, and that he asked all the recipients of his hospitality to do the same.  That man’s name was Stuart Weichsel, and he was a constant presence in my home for the three years he was in law school.  My parents opened their house to him and asked him to come for Shabbat more times than I can count, because they could not bear the thought of someone spending Shabbat alone.  

Many in this community knew firsthand my father’s kindness – and I think my father may have realized many were touched personally by it.  But I don’t know if he recognized how far his kindness in the community reverberated across people, time and place.  

A similar story involves my sister’s roommate from college, Rachel Kane.  As many of you now know, my mother stayed with my father in Rochester for nearly three months, alone in a hotel room without access to a community or much kosher food.  All of the kids took turns visiting on the weekends, but there was one weeknight where my father took a turn for the worse, and my sister Chavi booked a last minute mid-week flight.  Only after booking the flight did she realize that she was arriving in Minneapolis – which is an hour and a half drive from Rochester – after the rental car companies closed and the shuttles and buses stopped running.  Desperate, she posted a message on facebook seeing if anyone had any advice.  Her old roommate responded that she was on vacation a mere 3.5 hours away, and she would be happy to drive that 3.5 hours  at midnight for the privilege of driving my sister another 1.5 hours, only to sleep for a few hours and turn around to do the drive in reverse.  My sister asked her friend, distraught, what she could ever do to repay the kindness.  Her friend responded that she didn’t do this for Chavi, she did it for my parents, who had hosted her for so many chagim throughout their college years together, and welcomed her into their home so many times.  She said, “I think this pays your parents back for one Sukkot and one Passover.  I’ll still have to figure out how to pay them back for the rest.”

My father grew up as a very nerdy child in Brooklyn, where his nickname was Mighty – not only because he was small and timid as a mouse, but because he was known to save the day regardless.  I think he would have been shocked by how popular he has become – with standing room only at services in both Maryland and Israel, and a reputation as the friendliest, most outgoing person at shul.  During his remarks, Rabbi Rosenbaum mentioned that he was tempted to ask the community to raise their hands if Avi Karkowsky was the first person to welcome them to the community, invite them for a meal, or get them a job.  He said he would not be surprised if almost every hand was raised.  

My father was also brilliant by every measure.  His test scores were through the roof and with a BS, a Masters in Chemistry, a PhD in Pharmacology, and an MD, we joked that he held more degrees than some third world countries.   He loved his job as a clinical evaluator at the Food and Drug Administration, where he reviewed drug studies and made sure that only the most effective and safest drugs made it to the market.  He truly believed that through this work, he saved thousands of lives by ensuring that people were treated with the right drugs in the right way.  He was regularly offered jobs from pharmaceutical companies that would have paid far more –I have distinct memories of being very nervous, as a child, that my father was getting calls from something ominous called a “headhunter.”  But when I asked why he didn’t leave for one of those jobs, he explained that he loved what he did and he was saving many lives, and for that reason, he would never consider switching.  He was also an incredibly -- almost stubbornly -- principled person.  In the words of my brother Menachem, “his life was a model of commitment to the things he cared about: family, community, the jewish people, medicine, Israel, and America. “

My dad also loved helping people. His best day at the hospital was the day  he taught a young foreign medical student how to do a “scratch test” – a very old method for finding organs in a very swollen belly, and he cried when that student came by to thank him profusely and say goodbye before he went back to his country.  He has also helped countless people in the community edit their resumes, and gave wonderful professional advice to dozens of people, many of whom have thanked me for his help in getting a job.  My father was also the shabbos doctor for every child in the community, checking throats and lymph nodes and removing foreign objects from noses.  As soon as he passed away, I received an email from someone who grew up in the community, explaining how he was always excited to get sick on Shabbat , since it meant coming over to play with Dr. Avi.  

More than anything, though, my father lived for his family, and especially for his children and grandchildren.  Even as he was starting to get sicker, he wouldn’t let a child land in the DC area without picking them up from the airport.  He made delicious food as a way of showing love, and was famous for his lasagna, lamb stew, and fricassee.  Perhaps the way my father’s children remember him best, however, was getting pulled into a huge bear hug, getting a kiss on the keppi while being called pupik or puppy or cookie with so much love in his voice.  Perhaps the most heartwrenching part of his time in the hospital was his inability to meet his fifth grandchild, Vered, who was born just a month before my father passed away.  He was desperate to get out of the hospital just to fly to Memphis to meet that beautiful girl.  And when his children weren’t around, he was happy to adopt any child that was near, holding them, making funny faces, using funny voices, and making every child laugh with a handshake that shook their whole body.

But perhaps the best and most important family decision my father ever made was to marry my mother.  My parents have the most apt love story I’ve ever heard.  My father picked my mother up at a Yavneh Shabbaton with a math joke.  They were at a meal with a somewhat inane woman who talked incessantly about her job at the “Y.”  After a few minutes of her talking, my dad cut in and said “That’s all very interesting, but the important question is…What is the function of Y?”  My mom – and only my mom – laughed, and it began a lifetime of terrible jokes at which only my mother laughed.

As I mentioned before, my dad was being treated at the Mayo Clinic for almost three months, after going in for a mere three-day check-in.  My mother stayed near him that entire time, living a very difficult life out of a hotel without access to kosher food or the community she needed. Throughout that time, she was an fierce and unwavering advocate for his wishes, and a fantastic wife.

My father had the z’chut to pass away on Shabbat, and like Moshe Rabbeinu, on his own Hebrew birthday, ending his life after a complete but too-short 65 years.  I was the child visiting my mother that Shabbat in Minnesota.  Though he probably could not hear us, the last thing we did with him was sing Shabbat davening, and kiss him on the keppi while saying we loved him.  It is only appropriate that Eishet Chayil is one of the last things he heard, because he truly had the z’chut of being married, not only to a woman of valor, but more literally, to a warrior wife, who was the fiercest, most tireless fighter and advocate for his life and wishes.

In the end, though my father’s life may have been too short, there is no question that he lived up to his reputation of being truly Mighty.  

[After these remarks, Chavi invited the congregation to join her to remember my father the way he would want to be remembered – with laughter and humor – and asked the congregation to practice the  patented “Avi shake" - a silly handshake my father used to make children laugh.  She explained that they should use it all the time, and they don’t have to mention my father’s name, but they should take every opportunity to make a child smile in my father’s honor.]