My dad, the permanent Zionist

July 22, 2009 - 2:37 PM by Jessica · 4 Comments
Filed under: A New Reality, General, Israeliness, Life

A favorite photo of my father and my husband at our wedding a few years ago

I’ve been off Israelity for more than a week now because my father died nine days ago, at the age of 81, after several years of sickness. As is often the case in these kinds of drawn-out illnesses, his death was not unexpected, but came upon us suddenly, so it felt surprising despite knowing that this day would come. So the funeral and shiva were really a celebration of his life, as many friends and family sat and talked with us, my mother and three siblings, telling us stories about him and letting us describe who he was and how he lived his life.

He was a Conservative congregational rabbi for 40 years, and then moved to Israel to retire, a decision that had been many years in the making, and one which didn’t surprise anyone who knew him. For my father, Israel was the be-all and end-all, the Zionist homeland, the meeting place for all Jews, and in particular for him, the Brooklyn-born and New Britain, Connecticut-bred Ted Steinberg who was turned on to Beitar in his youth and tried to fight in the 1948 War of Independence. (While en route to then-Palestine with his college buddies at the tender age of 20, their shop was waylaid in Beirut because of their illegal visas and they spent two months in a Lebanese prison camp before the U.S. State Department got wind of the situation and had them freed.) He then spent the next 44 years teaching, learning, sermonizing and thinking about Israel, before making aliyah with my mother 17 years ago. In between, he brainwashed the four of us, creating, as I like to call it, the influences of Zionism through osmosis.

As my mother says, he always wore rose-colored glasses when it came to Israel, and had a hard time seeing anything negative about this confounding country. But what made me happy during shiva were all the anecdotes, stories and visitors who exemplified my father’s soul and spirit.

There was the Iranian woman rabbi whose name I recognized, who told me that my father persevered in including her in his weekly study group of fellow rabbis who weren’t so sure they wanted a woman in their very male crew. There was the friend who told me that my father’s weekly stint in the Jerusalem Botanical Gardens convinced him to join the same group of volunteers. A younger rabbinical colleague emailed us that my father shared with him one great piece of advice, which was, “On every page of a sermon there should be a window and a smile.” Which was very much my father’s m.o.

And one of my favorite moments was when my gardener, Yossi, came to pay his respects. For my father, the fact that I have a Jewish gardener for my small plot of Israeli land with whom I can discuss the issues of Jewish law and its effects on my fruit trees, well, hey. That’s why he moved to Israel. For me? It’s Zionism through osmosis, and I appreciate it more than ever.

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