Jonah

Last night, my wife and children joined me once again with our friends and community in celebrating Jonah’s life and the things he loved (music, being Jewish, and helping others) by welcoming two great performance entities – Billy Jonas and The Levins – for the 6th Annual Jonah Maccabee Concert. What a beautiful evening, with music even more wonderful than I had imagined!

Ellen and I greeted our guests with the celebration of Havdalah (the Jewish ceremony that marks the end of Shabbat) and shared the following words and stories to get things going. As always, Jonah’s at the center, bringing a smile and leading us to lovely, sweet places of the heart.

Billy

Shortly after Jonah died, and after one particularly good cry, I sighed, “Oh, Jonah. You are gonna wear me out.” Katie (quoting from one of her favorite childhood books, Clotilda) commented, “He would have done that anyway.”

Clotilda is this wonderful little story about a boy named Tommy, who, along with his sister Betty, meets a fairy godmother named Clotilda. Betty is delighted and quite taken with Clotilda, but Tommy, a cynic at age six, responds to Clotilda’s magic – she transforms a caterpillar into a butterfly, and an acorn into an oak tree – with an unimpressed dismissal, “It would have done that anyway!”

Later in the book, Clotilda turns Tommy into a donkey, saying, “He would have done that anyway!” She then explains, “The world is full of magic and anyone who can’t appreciate it is a donkey!”

Jonah was magical. His humor, his tigger-like bounce, and the love that he brought into our world was pure wizardry. None of it required a wand or an incantation, but it was so very special, and we never, ever grew tired of it.

Here’s a quick example. I always told my kids, “For my birthday or Hanukkah, you don’t have to ever spend a penny on me. Just make me something.” Jonah went to town with that idea, perhaps because he loved saving money, but also because he loved the offbeat nature of a homemade gift. I can’t really tell you what he made because I’m not really sure what they were. Each one involved boxes, duct tape, aluminum foil, string, and even pieces of plastic melted together.

Some involved candles. I remember one where we lit the candle inside which, before the cardboard box that housed it caught on fire, radiated points of light that shone through the tiny holes he’d punched into the top. I loved these gifts and still treasure them today because of their creativity, their zaniness, and the feeling of love that was transmitted from my son to his dad.

Jonah was magic. And you can bet we appreciated it, and him.

Havdalah invokes blessings that express appreciation for this magic, for the gifts we receive throughout our lives – gifts like food, shelter and clothing, and the less tangible ones like laughter, understanding and love. Through wine, spices and fire (Jonah would add, “Definitely fire!”), we give thanks for the nourishing ingredients of our lives. Havdalah affirms that we’re no Tommy, responding with a blase “So what?” to these great, everyday events.

To the contrary, we give our thanks for the magic. It might have happened anyway, but we feel so lucky to be part of life’s extraordinary experiences, to appreciate them for their sheer magnificence, and to do what we can to give a little back. For tonight’s music, our shared friendship, the ability to help kids go to camp, and a beautiful, little synagogue community in which all of this can happen – we thank you … for being with us, and for joining us on the journey.

Billy

Afterword:

In life, we love and we laugh, but we also lose and we cry. In short, we live. We can’t have only the good, and that’s hard. But we get the good, and that’s fantastic! We don’t have to be happy about what hurts us, but we do (I think) need to find joy in all the good that still remains. It’s been a difficult lesson for me to learn these past six years, but Jonah really has led the way. He filled his life with wonder; I endeavor each day to do the same.

Billy

After-afterword:

If you’re interested, here’s the program from the concert.

What a great evening! See you next year!

Billy

Jonah’s sixth yahrzeit is here. How is it possible? I was watching an episode of “Sherlock,” the one where he appears to have died. Watson is visiting Holmes’ grave and asks if he’d perform one more miracle, “Please … don’t be dead.” As the tears ran down my cheeks, I nodded in recognition. How many times have I made that same request of Jonah? Well, he won’t make me that miracle, but he still gives me good stories. And while that’s not my preference, it’ll just have to do, won’t it? So in honor of my sweet, good boy, here’s another story. A perfect Jonah-story.  

Here’s the first one Jonah made … with lots of help

A few weeks back, I brought into our religious school some of Jonah’s childhood memories – two Pinewood Derby cars. The Pinewood Derby is an annual competition where Cub Scouts make model cars from balsa wood and race them. I showed the kids the first of five cars Jonah had made, a sleek, fancy number which he’d worked on with a friend’s dad, someone who, unlike Jonah’s dad, actually knew something about woodwork. Three more of these really cool designs would follow in succeeding years.

I was a Cub Scout. And I too participated in the Pinewood Derby. And I too had a dad who couldn’t tell a nut from a bolt, so my entries were utterly horrifying when stacked against my competition. Not only were my cars incredibly ugly, they barely made it down the track let alone across the finish line.

Jonah’s final Pinewood entry … view #1

As the years of Jonah’s involvement in Cub Scouts progressed, you could see a transformation taking place. Even though he was still working with his friend’s dad, Jonah was incorporating more and more of his own personality on each car. The fancy paint jobs were replaced by magic marker drawings and, by year five, he made his car completely on his own, a rectangular block of wood that pretty much stayed rectangular, sanded and smoothed at the corners, but with an addition that was unmistakably Jonah. He drew a single line across the width of the car about a third of the way down its body and created two “handles,” one for the upper section and one for the lower. Limited in technique but overflowing in creativity and humor, Jonah had fashioned himself a freezer refrigerator on wheels! He named it: Demented Refrigerator. That it won 1st prize for creativity surprised no one. That it won 2nd place in the racing competition astonished us all.

Jonah’s final Pinewood entry … view #2

Purim has once again arrived, a time of masks, hidden intentions and, as things go, Jonah’s yahrzeit. Six years ago, he was buried only hours before Purim began. I imagine he would have enjoyed knowing our remembrance of him is always commingled with Judaism’s comic holiday. Probably his favorite temple moment growing up was performing in our “Improv Purim.” His team was really good and really funny.

Although Jonah’s been gone a while now, I continue to learn from him. I still hear from his friends about Jonah’s incessant kindness and the special bond he easily fashioned with others. Part of it, I think, was that Jonah wore no masks. He held no hidden intentions. Once he’d discovered, during his teens, the greatness inside himself — a big, strong heart, selflessly offered to others, wrapped in a wild and wooly sense of humor — these together served him beautifully in negating the necessity to ever hide his true nature from others.

Jonah in Cub Scouts (May 2000) … he’s the smiley kid to the right of the flags

I’m constantly amazed by what this sweet, kooky kid was able to achieve in his brief nineteen years. And as Purim once again reminds me that he’s gone, I also remember Purim’s, and Jonah’s, greatest lesson to us all: not to rely on masks but to trust in our essential goodness. This never failed Jonah, and I think it’s a pretty good Purim lesson for us all.

Improv Purim returned to my temple this year. Now, back home, I reluctantly inaugurate the 6th anniversary of the midnight phone call telling us that Jonah was hurt and an ambulance was on its way. Of all the memories Jonah has left to us, you can bet it’s the ones that include lots of laughter that I’ll be holding onto … tonight and every night thereafter.

Billy

This piece first appeared in the March 2015 issue of Woodlands Community Temple’s Makom, but was expanded for this collection.

I’ve got some more documentation for you about those rare Jonah-playing-in-public sightings.

One that I’ve mentioned before but haven’t fully described is when Jonah joined Dan Nichols on stage at Kutz Camp in July 2005. Jonah was 15 years old at the time and had been playing the ukulele for only three months. He’d purchased it with his own money during a family trip to Hawaii. He’d known from the beginning of that very special, probably once in a lifetime for us all, family vacation that he’d be bringing an ukulele home with him. He was very clear upon our arrival that he’d be needing to make an excursion to an authentic Hawaiian music store.

Dan and Jonah, “Turn the World Around” (Jul 2005)

I distinctly recall our driving over to the Lahaina Music shop. Jonah made a bee-line to the uke display and it wasn’t long at all before he’d found the one for him. From then on, Jonah was hooked. When he went off to camp that summer, the ukulele went with him, setting up the backdrop for Dan Nichols’ visit to Kutz. Dan always invites a few kids to work with him the afternoon before a concert. Ellen and I were serving on faculty at Kutz and were unaware of what we were going to see that evening. During the concert, the band began a vamp to introduce one of Dan’s biggest hits, “Turn the World Around.” As the vamp continued, Ellen and I heard Dan say, “Won’t you welcome to the silver sparkled microphone … please welcome Jonah Dreskin.”

Now since Jonah only rarely performed in public, you can imagine our surprise, and our good fortune, at being present for this one. Jonah hadn’t yet fully emerged as the wild, overcharged, inclusive and embracing guy that he was destined to be. His time at Kutz was, thus far, only okay as a social experience for him. He didn’t own Kutz yet, but that was all soon to change.

Jonah’s mom and dad kvelling
Kutz Camp, July 2005

What’s amazing about this moment is that while no one would be surprised to find me taking snapshots of Jonah onstage (and I did!), we were stunned to later find out that a friend of ours (Hope Chernak) had pointed her camera toward us, capturing our reaction to seeing our shy (but not for long) little boy up there with Jewish superstar Dan Nichols. To top off the wonder of this incredibly exciting and gratifying musical moment, another friend (Cantor Leon Sher) had been visiting camp that evening and turned on his digital recorder just in case Dan sang something new that Leon might be able to use in his work. As a result, Ellen and I are able to relive that evening again and again, viewing the pictures of Jonah and of ourselves, and listening to this rare and precious recording of that unforgettable night.

By the way, “Turn the World Around” is performed in 5/8 time. That ain’t so easy to play, folks, and Jonah nailed it! That was how it was possible for me and Ellen to feel even prouder of (and giddier about!) our little boy. You can listen to this great, rare performance right here:

A brief note about ukuleles. Jonah felt very strongly and was very specific about the proper “handling” of his instrument. Chana Rothman, one of his 2005 songleading instructors during that summer at Kutz, wrote us shortly after Jonah had died:

I remember when you guys came back from Hawaii and he had a ukulele in his hand. This memory is imprinted indelibly on my mind; I can tell you the exact spot in Kutz where he stood (between the Faculty Dining Room and the Lobby, with friends and chaos all around) and told me the story of how he got his ukulele. And then he taught me how to pronounce it, since most people don’t do so correctly. He taught me with respect and enthusiasm, eager to share not only the instrument but the story and the culture behind it. Ever since then, I call Jonah into my mind when I pronounce oo-koo-lay-lay (not yoo-kuh-layl-ee) and I remember how powerful it can be to respect another culture not your own.

One summer later, Jonah would attend the Conference on Alternatives in Jewish Education (CAJE), held during five days in August 2006 at Duke University in Durham, North Carolina. One night – late – there was an open mic. Ellen was sitting with a few friends (Jan Katz, Doug Cotler and Rabbi Tamar Crystal) in the food court when who should appear on a makeshift stage in the middle of the room but Jonah Maccabee Dreskin! With ukulele in hand and sunglasses for coolness, Jonah played and sang (very likely, “Over the Rainbow”) as a very supportive audience cheered him on, his mama beaming with tremendous pride and (as always) infinite love.

Jonah @ CAJE (Aug 2006) … see his mama against the windows to the left?

In our family, Jonah was a huge presence, as if every moment existed solely for him to leave his mark, to make an impression, to make sure he wasn’t forgotten. Not his goals at all, but the kind of impact he made on us. We loved it. He was so incredibly entertaining, and we never tired either of being his audience or jumping in and making noise right along with him. That was one of Jonah’s great gifts. He was never as interested in stepping into the spotlight as he was in dragging you in with him. Nothing was ever as much fun as sharing center stage with a friend.

For nineteen years, Jonah shared his spotlight with us, and we were ecstatic. Then one day, his place on the stage was empty, and we were bereft. But life is an uncanny sort of journey. The stage is patient. The empty place beneath the spotlight will quietly wait for the show to resume. And so it has, quite surprisingly considering how lost we’ve been without him. There are so many moments now when I am surrounded by good people – family and friends – who have taught me to smile again, to sing again, to make noise again, to take the stage again, and to live again. And always, I think of Jonah. How he would love to be part of this. And how he would be happy that his place on the stage is neither empty nor is it ever limited to any single performer for very long.

This, I think, was one of his great lessons to us all.

Billy

So when were those rare moments that Jonah would sing in public?

Well, they weren’t quite as rare as the moments he would do homework, but they weren’t so easy to find either. Lucky you, you’re reading this blog entry and are now among the fortunate few to access Jonah Maccabee Dreskin’s performanceography (or parts therof).

All-County Choir (March 2002)
Jonah’s right smack in the center!

Jonah appeared in a reasonable number of group performances throughout his childhood. These included the Ardsley Middle School Chorus and the more select Madrigal Choir. I can’t remember him ever having a solo, but he also never missed a performance. And if you ever get a chance to watch the videos (I have plenty!), he’s pretty definitely the cutest kid there – never stops smiling, even if he never stops chatting up the kids around him either. In March 2002 (seventh grade at Ardsley Middle School), Jonah got to sing with the Westchester All-County Chorus, maybe a thousand kids gathered to perform at SUNY-Purchase. Again, no solo, just a member of a very sizeable “pack.” He loved being part of it.

A shout-out to Jonah’s AMS music teacher Mr. Frank Squillante, who was always an encouraging presence in both Jonah’s and Aiden’s lives. There are teachers who squash kids’ natural interests and teachers who coax those interests to blossom. Frank is definitely one of the good guys. Ellen and I include him among that select group of adults who looked after Jonah and helped transform his brief life into a pretty wonderful one. Thanks, Frank.

Jonah (far right) sings with Pete Seeger at the Clearwater Festival (Jun 15, 2002)

Somewhere in time, Frank connected with Pete Seeger and, in June 2002 (age 12), the Ardsley Middle School Madrigal Choir trekked up to Croton and sang backup for Pete at the Clearwater Festival. Jonah and his friends “got” that this was something very special (their parents swooning on the grass in front of them was probably something of a giveaway). We got a great photograph of the group singing with Pete Seeger that day, as well as Pete’s autograph. These were carefully tucked away so that Jonah would have them as prized mementoes from his childhood. Every now and then, when I come across them, I sigh as I note that the autograph survived while Jonah didn’t.

Jonah’s Play Group Theatre years (2004-2008, age 14-18) certainly placed him onstage (and often in the spotlight), not just acting but singing and dancing in shows like “Grand Hotel,” “The Secret Garden” and “Hair.” I’ve written extensively about these experiences elsewhere. If you’re interested, read “The Clown Mensch of White Plains,” parts one and two.

As noted in the previous entry (“Reflections on Jonah as Musician – Part Two”), Jonah learned how to songlead by apprenticing with Kenny Green in the years 2006-2008 (age 16-18). But he first studied songleading with Chana Rothman, Rabbi Jen Gubitz and Cantor Zoe Jacobs at URJ Kutz Camp during the summer of 2005 where, reportedly, the first piece he led in front of the camp was “Makom Shelibi Oheyv” by Cantor Leon Sher. Leon’s a good friend of ours from the Neolithic Period and our performance group, Beged Kefet, sang “Makom Shelibi Oheyv” about a million times. Can you imagine Jonah’s parents’ excitement and pride in learning this was his first foray into the world of songleading?

Makin’ a Motzi (Nov 2006)

But as we were to see many, many times throughout Jonah’s life, even though he clearly possessed the skills and the character to perform in front of people, again and again he chose not to. Chana Rothman, remembering her student, had this to say about him:

One thing which struck me about Jonah was his relationship to the spotlight. As a songleading “coach,” it was my job to convey to his group the importance of the community and not to be a rock star while leading music, but to be a vessel bringing the group together. Jonah understood this concept, perhaps better than I did! It was crystal clear to me that he was in it for the love of music and nothing else. Case in point: After Kutz, Jonah could easily have gone on to be a successful songleader with NFTY-NAR but he didn’t pursue it. I asked him why, and he shrugged. At some point, I remembered the first time I saw him do “Makin’ a Motzi.” It was at that moment that I realized Jonah wasn’t doing anything to fit any mold; Jonah went in front of the group when his soul called him to, and he did it in his own way. As much as he loved and respected the rules and world of songleading, he had a different calling. He knew it, recognized it, and honored it. He didn’t do it for the spotlight which fit into a mold; he did it because it called to him and he responded. And oh, did it bring joy to people! I loved watching people’s faces when he picked up the mic. We all became, as I later heard at the funeral, “Maccabee’s children.” And we loved him – grown-ups too!

Chana was correct. Jonah was in it for the love of music. It motivated every note he ever played or sang. Ellen was perhaps his most frequent audience as she was lucky enough to receive personal performances of the songs he loved playing the most, like Extreme’s “More Than Words,” Tommy Emmanuel’s version of “Day Tripper,” and of course, “Over the Rainbow.” Whether he played for her because he preferred really small audiences or because he adored his mom (which he did), I don’t know for sure. But she loved that boy, and anything he sang for her might as well have been Nat King Cole or Frank Sinatra (okay, or Usher).

In J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, book one of a series that teenaged Jonah devoured, Prof. Dumbledore, headmaster at Hogwart’s says (“wiping his eyes”) to his young charges at their sorting banquet, “Ah, music. A magic beyond all we do here!” Whether by voice, by guitar, ukulele or mandolin, Jonah Maccabee understood the magic of music. And who knows if somewhere inside him there was an understanding that his years were to number fewer than twenty and that perhaps the places to which music transported him would be among his most important (and certainly, his favorite) journeys. All I can say for sure is that when Jonah made music, we were carried on the wings of his melody and of his love.

Billy

“Nothing on earth is so well-suited to make the sad merry, the merry sad, to give courage to the despairing, to make the proud humble, to lessen envy and hate, as music.”

Contained in these words by Martin Luther (1483-1546) is a pretty fair recipe for anyone who’d like to make their own Jonah Maccabee Dreskin. This was a kid who loved to laugh and loved making others laugh. But he also cared deeply about people. He cared about those whose rights had been trampled, he cared about those who had little food or clothing, and he cared about the lonely and the scared. And, of course, he adored music – making it, listening to it, and sharing it with others.

He probably also loved that these words had been penned by Martin Luther. Jonah had picked them out for a Shabbat service that he’d put together for a NFTY-NAR Winter Kallah in January 2007. That he’d chosen to use the words of a German, Catholic priest and founder of the Protestant Reformation would have brought a sly smile to his face, knowing that some rabbi sitting in that NFTY congregation would be cringing at the presence of Christian references during that moment of Jewish worship. But that was my Jonah. Not a bone in his body would tolerate intolerance, and it would simply never occur to him to close a window and shut out another voice.

Which isn’t to say that he objected to the offensive. After all, his comedic hero was Dane Cook. Need I say more? Thus, the kid who would volunteer his time to help special needs students was also the same brat who loved strumming the song, “Special Fred” by Stephen Lynch.

When I was a boy of ten, I had a very best friend. Fred was kind with good intent, but just a little different. Oh, Special Fred, his momma dropped him on his head. Now he’s not so bright. Instead he’s just a little bit special. We’d play tag and he’d get hurt. I’d play soldier, he’d eat dirt. I liked math and spelling bees. Fred liked talking to a tree! Oh, Special Fred … I ran track, hung out in malls. Fred ran head first into walls. I had girls and lots of clothes. Fred had names for all his toes. Oh, Special Fred … One day talkin’ to Special Fred, he grabbed a brick and he swung at my head. And as he laughed at me, that’s when I knew that Special Fred just made me special too. Now I laugh as I count bugs. I give strangers great big hugs. Next to me, Fred is fine. Yeah, he’s a fucking Einstein! Oh, Special Fred and me got knocked right in the head, you see. Now, we’re not so bright. Instead we’re a little bit special. Just a little bit special. That bastard friend made me special. Just a little bit special.

Jonah meant nothing by it. He just loved to laugh at the world. For him, the song’s joke was no better or worse than the talking muffins gag, possibly his favorite joke of all-time (Two muffins are baking in an oven. One of them yells, “Wow, it’s hot in here!” The other shouts, “Ahh! A talking muffin!”). Given enough time, someone would one day have probably schooled Jonah in the inappropriateness of “Special Fred.” And while this overgrown toddler would never have purposely sought to cause another human being pain, I can’t say with any confidence that the objector would have succeeded in stopping Jonah from singing the song. Did I mention his comedic hero was Dane Cook?

Jonah emcee’ing Academy Coffeehouse
December 2006

With all of Jonah’s stage experience at Play Group Theatre, his love for hamming things up, and the joy he got from playing guitar, you’d be excused for mistakenly thinking that Jonah would have become a musical performer, taking to the stage of (at least) college coffee houses and talent nights. But that wasn’t Jonah. With all of his energy, humor and musical abilities, he only rarely permitted himself to be in the musical spotlight. I remember him once emcee’ing a talent night at our temple high school. He loved introducing the acts, even telling a few jokes along the way. And he may even have accompanied one or two singers. But taking the musical spotlight for himself? Not a chance. Far more likely, and frequently reported, Jonah would produce his guitar when hanging out with a few good friends, singing offensive songs and offering to teach them whatever he knew.

Jonah songleading @ WCT (2006)

Which made it interesting how much he enjoyed songleading with little kids. Master songleader and all-around-good-guy Kenny Green has been teaching music in our temple for decades. For a couple of years (2006-2008), we apprenticed Jonah to him. Except for the fact that Jonah would only rarely prepare (see the rest of his life for more on that), Jonah was really comfortable getting up in front of the K-2 crowd and teaching Jeff Klepper’s “Jonah and the Whale,” the Israeli folktune “Achshav,” “Father Abraham Had Seven Sons,” and Sim Glaser’s “Larry Levy” We did somehow manage to impress upon Jonah that there’d be no “Special Fred” in religious school. Kenny told me that “Larry Levy” was one of Jonah’s favorites and that he knew all the words by heart. See above-referenced “Jonah would only rarely prepare” and share jaw-drop that he took the time to memorize it. I’ve been singing this song for 35 years and can’t remember more than a few words at a time (which may tell you something about where Jonah got his work ethic). Ellen once comforted an exasperated Kenny, assuring him he could read Jonah the riot act, even if Jonah was the rabbi’s kid.

Ellen told me that one morning when she was at temple, she spied Jonah in the courtyard with a group of students who were waiting for their teachers to take them to their next activity. Killing time, Jonah led the group in a rousing rendition of “Father Abraham.” Ellen was unable to hear anything through the windows, but she could see how crazy Jonah behaved when he was songleading, and how enthusiastically the kids were responding. Since Ellen couldn’t hear the music, they all looked insane … but she understood every word: Jonah had just made something wonderful happen. [Billy’s note: And it’s quite possible the above photograph was taken at that very same moment.]

Jonah, Consecration @ WCT
October 2007

One year, for the first grade Consecration service on Simkhat Torah Morning, Kenny was unable to attend. Jonah came instead, and he led “the song,” which is a poem (from my days at Fairmount Temple in Cleveland) that was originally recited by the Consecrants but which Kenny set to music and the kids now sing each year. Jonah didn’t have to memorize any words, which let him focus on what he always did best … having fun with the little kids. He also got to be in that year’s Consecration class photo, which occupies an honored place in the temple’s photo gallery and in the rabbi’s heart.

One last note about Jonah’s distaste for performing. Each week, Kenny and I lead a brief service for the little kids and their parents. Jonah always resisted joining us, something that I’d have paid him big bucks for … to get him to work alongside me. Kenny was always trying to get Jonah to learn a Mee Khamokha melody for the service, but Jonah always had a new reason for not learning it. Jump ahead to Jonah’s 12th grade temple graduation service. Guess what prayer he got up and led? Yep, Mee Khamokha. Except that he used my guitar which was amplified by a wireless hook-up so that, true to form, we could only hear Jonah’s guitar playing but not his singing. I have a video recording of that moment and want to slap him each time I watch it and see him not standing in front of a microphone. But once again, that’s Jonah. He’d likely get a good laugh knowing that he’d left me a videotape of him performing and all you can hear is the guitar.

The more I ponder this, the more I’m struck by how much the Martin Luther quotation speaks to Jonah’s character: “Nothing on earth is so well-suited to make the sad merry, the merry sad, to give courage to the despairing, to make the proud humble, to lessen envy and hate, as music.”

This kid did more than make music. He made music with every breath, with every heartbeat, and with every smile. While he was at UB, he jotted down the following thought, “Life is a stringed instrument. When our wavelengths meet, we are a chord.”

That’s the kind of music he made.

Billy

As our “Summer Music” campaign heads toward its conclusion, I’d like to share a collection of snapshots of Jonah’s musical life. I hope you enjoy them and maybe become inspired to add a little music to your own life.

Billy

Music has always been important in our family. I grew up playing piano and guitar, and doing a little singing as well. Ellen learned guitar in high school at the feet of her friend and mentor, Brad Gaber (z”l). She knew pretty much every folk-rock song worth listening to, and I was lucky to strum along from time to time. Becoming a cantor was an obvious career choice (even if its obviousness eluded her for a while).

Rare view of Katie as musician (circa 1998)

So having kids who enjoyed making music was kind of inevitable. We never pushed it on them, but we were always thrilled when their choices were musical ones. Katie played cello, piano and drums in her youth. And while none of them stuck, we loved getting what we could from her. She never fancied herself a singer, but one of my favorite moments with her has always been accompanying her on the piano as we sang “A Whole New World.” You can just imagine the buoyant smile on my face when, at her wedding reception, she invited me up for our father-daughter dance and it was “A Whole New World.” Katie was the first of my musical children, and I love her for it and will always be grateful for that gift she gave to me.

Jonah with Josh Davidson (1995)

Jonah’s musical journey was a thrilling and varied one. Frankly, we hadn’t seen it coming. At age six, he learned how to play the shofar when our long-time family friend, Rabbi Josh Davidson, a world-class ba’al tekiya himself, taught three shofar sessions at Woodlands. Who knew that this was the very first indicator that Jonah, who became quite an accomplished ba’al tekiya himself, was going to weave such a profound musical tale of his own?

At age 8, Jonah took a year of trumpet lessons through his school. Later, he would receive a trumpet as a gift from Josh Davidson, I think because they shared the same initials, JMD, which were embossed on the trumpet case. Jonah thought that was just about the coolest thing in the world, even if he was disgusted at the thought that Josh’s lips had touched the same mouthpiece. Josh, well on his way to a brilliant pastoral career, responded that Jonah need not be concerned because “any cooties have long since died.”

3rd Grade (1999)

We got to attend a couple of school concerts in which Jonah was part of the trumpet section. You probably know how most school orchestras sound, so it’s difficult to say just how good Jonah was. He sure looked cute, though!

It wouldn’t take long before Jonah was finished with trumpet. It probably had less to do with the trumpet itself and everything to do with others telling him what to play. That, if you ever knew Jonah, was never going to fly. Which paved the way for him to pick up the guitar (see “Jonah’s Guitar Journey” for that story).

Aiden in “Parade” (2014)

Aiden would eventually become the professional musician among our kids. As I write this, he’s a junior in the Tisch School of the Arts program at NYU. Time will tell what destiny awaits him, but we love listening to him sing and have tremendous confidence in his abilities. If proud parents are any indication, he’s headed for the very top. I imagine that when he was a little boy, he was watching his big brother’s musical involvement and, when the right time came, stepped into it himself. In this way, Jonah’s life and influence will be forever felt, remembered, and thoroughly enjoyed by us all.

Billy

From age 15 (9th grade) until his high school graduation, Jonah had the joy and privilege of studying guitar with Cliff Mays. I don’t remember much since that hour each week was theirs and their alone. But I do remember that Jonah always looked forward to his lessons and only canceled when other plans forced him to do so. Cliff was a knowledgeable, steady and kind mentor for Jonah, another member of this remarkable group of adults who helped make Jonah’s short life an incredibly full and satisfying one.

Billy

As Jonah’s private guitar teacher, I had the privilege of meeting with Jonah once a week over the course of several years. During that time, we talked mostly about music while we explored the history and future of the guitar. We also listened to a lot of music. Lots of different kinds of music. J-mac had a voracious curiosity about different kinds of music.

He was the student teachers like me dream of. I showed up and most days he greeted me at the door knowing what he wanted to work on. Jonah had ideas he was waiting to discuss with me so we could make light of them through the guitar. And I think that phraseology speaks loudly for J-Mac’s spirit. He was light, a light giver.

There was a kindness and an unspoken compassion within his personality that was very bright. A calmness, stillness with the music. Here we met and it was always comfortable, and our studies were fruitful and fun. From AC/DC to the latest singer-songwriter, Jonah matched his curiosity with a great dedication to mastering his instruments.

Of course, we also shared a fondness for Peanut Chews, a treat I will always associate with my friend Jonah. I know he is missed by many, rightfully so.

God bless,
Cliff Mays

Soon after Jonah died, Cliff wrote an extraordinary song in Jonah’s memory. It’s called “Jonah Mac.” Cliff writes, “Jonah Mac was written for a fine young man who left this life too soon. Feeling the anguish of his parents, siblings, friends and the community, this song almost wrote itself. Jonah was my student for 6 years. He was a great kid, and he is missed” (found on audiosparx.com).

You can listen to it here, a beautiful, touching piece of music with exquisite, moving lyrics.

Questions I know, they won’t go away
The answers so deep down inside
When love is that strong, it won’t bend or break
My heart won’t be fooled that way

I hear your voice on the wind
I hear you laughing again
I feel you in the rain
Like it’s never gonna change
I know that time will creep by
Another day another heavy sigh
Now I know that even God must cry
When an angel takes flight

Simple things now, they trigger my thoughts
They’re racing around nowhere to go
And I know that time, it won’t leave us alone
There’s nowhere to hide, not even home

Jonah touched so many lives with his irrepressible energy, humor, curiosity and goodness. Our family lovingly appreciates every word, every note, written in gratitude for having joined with Jonah for a bit of his journey.

Billy

This is a D’var Torah I presented at Woodlands on Friday, March 7, 2014, parashat Vayikra, Jonah’s 5th yahrzeit. Somehow I neglected to post it in any timely manner. But I found the parallel to ancient Israel’s sacrificial cult a compelling one. Sometimes we’re simply helpless as events whirl around us. And yet, amidst fear, grief and despair, greatness is manifest in our uncanny ability to survive and to carry on. In the second half of this essay, I write about Israel. It’s timely that I am sharing this now. If ever we needed more bridges to friendship between Israelis and Palestinians, it’s now. Billy

In ancient Israel, our ancestors used to make offerings to God depending on what was going on in their lives. If they accidentally made a mistake and did something God wouldn’t like, they would offer a khatat, a sin offering. If they did something wrong on purpose, but they were truly sorry for it, they would offer an asham, a guilt offering. And if things were going well in their lives, and they just wanted to acknowledge how fortunate they felt, our ancestors would offer a zevakh sh’lamim, an offering of wholeness.

But what about when things aren’t going well? What if you haven’t done anything wrong, but you’re also not feeling very good about what’s going on in your life? What do you do then? Nothing? Just sit around being miserable?

Our ancestors had one more offering that may fit the bill here. It was called an olah, a burnt offering. They made this offering just to tell God, “We’re human and You’re God.” It was a way, I think, to acknowledge that we’re not always in control of how we’d like our lives to go. Sometimes things happen that we have nothing to do with, except that they affect us deeply. We feel very emotional about them, but may not know how to deal with them.

Five years ago, my 19-year-old son Jonah died. As you can very well imagine, it was the saddest day of my life. Jonah was a bright, happy, funny, and very kind human being. He was well-loved and everybody liked having him around. When he died, I was inconsolable; all I could do was cry.

But after a few weeks had gone by, I began to wear my smile again. I came back to temple, began telling stories, played the guitar, gave blessings to babies, and resumed teaching. My heart was still broken but, somehow, I learned to be happy again.

It was as if I’d offered an olah, a burnt offering which said to God, “I’m human and You’re God, God.” After all, I couldn’t stop Jonah from dying. He was at college up in Buffalo and I was here at home. All I could do was accept that there was nothing I could do.

Oh, and one more thing. I was able to take my sadness and try to do something good with it. To honor Jonah’s memory and to make sure that my spirit didn’t die along with his body. It was as if I had offered a zevakh sh’lamim; even though my heart was broken, and it still is, I made an offering of wholeness. I thanked God for the blessings that I still have, even if I lost one big one.

Life sometimes hurts us badly. But we usually have a choice whether we’ll stay miserable or we’ll come back and enjoy life again. Tomorrow night is the 5th Annual Jonah Maccabee Concert. We’ll hear some great new Jewish music from Julie Silver and Ken Chasen, and we’ll raise a lot of money to help kids get to URJ summer camps whose families couldn’t otherwise afford to send them. We’ll do all of that in celebration of Jonah’s life.

My heart will always be broken because Jonah is gone. But it has little band-aids all over it from the wonderful memories I have of Jonah – my pictures, my videos, the stories about him that I write down – and how kind people have been throughout. These help my broken heart to keep beating, to keep loving, and to keep having fun.

I want to mention another hurt that has gone on for a very long time and how some people are managing to still find wholeness, to offer a zevakh sh’lamim, even while the hurt continues. On the other side of the world, Israelis and Palestinians have been each other’s enemies for more than sixty years. They live right down the street from each other, and have built a giant concrete wall to keep them apart. Many Israelis and Palestinians now hate each other. But there’s a group of people who don’t want to hate. Even though there are still big problems that have to be figured out, these people are tired of hating. They’ve decided to try friendship instead.

Recently, a beautiful man, a Palestinian Muslim named Alaa Ali, celebrated Shabbat with us here at Woodlands. He and his friend, a Jewish musician named Michael Ochs, sang to us about being tired of the hurt making them hate. They started a musical collective they call My Favorite Enemy. Together, they write and perform songs that acknowledge the hurt hasn’t gone away but their desire to hate has. As friends, they sing about the same problems that have existed for such a long time. But now, they look for answers together, with mutual respect and love guiding the way.

My Favorite Enemy has written a song (“Stones”) that expresses how tired they are of hating each other. In their song, they use the image of a stone, which has been the weapon-of-choice for young Palestinians who are angry at Israel and who throw stones at Israeli soldiers. They can’t do a lot of damage with the stones, but they stay angry. The Israelis have guns and other weapons which they use pretty much like stones too. Instead of building something good, the Israelis and the Palestinians just try to knock things down.

Stones
I used to be stardust
Before time began
And I turned to bedrock the mountains the sand
Chiseled and broken
Shaped by a man
Turned into weapons in his hand

Too many stones, too many stones
Too many stones have been thrown

A piece of a bridge
A brick in the wall
I can be anything at all
The tip of an arrow
The very first wheel
I held the commandments and always will

Too many stones, too many stones
Too many stones have been thrown

Lay me down build a path
Walk on me together
Let me be your common ground
Hold on to each other
Lay me down

Too many stones, too many stones
Too many stones have been thrown

The Palestinians and the Israelis have lived with their hurt for a very long time. Some of them are finally offering a zevakh sh’lamim. The members of My Favorite Enemy are using music to make their offering of wholeness.

Sometimes our pain doesn’t go away. But we almost always have a choice: to let the pain overtake us, make us inconsolably sad or uncontrollably angry, or try and bring some beauty back into the world.

The world is filled with stones. We can pick them up and throw them at each other, or we can build something worthwhile. If we choose, we can offer a zevakh sh’lamim, an offering of wholeness even when it’s clear that things aren’t very whole at all.

Billy

Jonah & the $12 Guitar
Dec 2005 (photos by Katie)

Jonah kept that twelve dollar guitar close by for a long, long time (see “Jonah’s Guitar Journey – Part One”). He mastered his first chords on it, and wasted no time before learning Tom Lehrer’s Irish Ballad. He wouldn’t sing often for me, but I got a couple of free performances of that particular tune. I think he was paying homage to his old father who had learned Irish Ballad when he was young (albeit on the piano).

Although our kids had abundant access to the internet, we always kept a watchful eye on them so they were never permitted to keep a computer in their bedroom. When, upon his high school graduation, we finally allowed Jonah to move his computer into the privacy of his own space, that junky guitar was right there with him, residing on a stand adjacent to his desk (even though, as you’ll read below, he’d gotten himself a fancier guitar quite a few years earlier). From time to time, he would pick it up and play quietly while Skyping with friends or waiting for online video games to load.

Time came, however, when neither a junky $12 guitar nor a Martin Backpacker (again, see “Jonah’s Guitar Journey – Part One”) would satisfy Jonah’s expanding musical desires. He wanted a real guitar. And he’d certainly demonstrated that this was no passing fancy. Music, and especially the guitar, had become central to his life. So one day, I took my 15-year old to a cool little guitar shop in White Plains, NY, called Toys from the Attic. I remember him timidly speaking with the salesperson who showed him a wall filled with acoustic guitars and invited him to try each and every one until he found what he wanted. We were there for hours, Jonah sitting on a big couch in the center of the room, wrapping himself around each prospective instrument, playing every song he knew about a hundred times until he’d found the guitar he was looking for.

Dean Tradition S TR
More importantly …
BIG RED FACE!

I’d never heard of Dean guitars until that day. They hadn’t existed when I’d last bought myself a guitar. But Jonah fell in love with a Dean guitar that had a big red face on it, and a big sweet sound. So after another hour or so confirming what he’d known from the first strum, we took it home with us (for those who care about such things, it was a Dean Tradition S TR – “TR” being Dean’s code for “trans red,” or, as I like to describe it, “big red face”). The guitar had been built when Jonah was 14, so it only had to wait one year before he found it.

After Jonah died, memories of him and his “bright red guitar” would trickle in. He’d taken it with him to UB, and the friends he made there (who knew him as Mac) would recall the many times they sang together while he played. The night after Jonah’s death, we were fortunate to witness an outside gathering in a spot where he and his friends had made much music together, an iPod mix now offering up the melodies they had previously all sung. While the tracks were playing, his friends sang along and wrote messages in chalk on the surrounding walls. It was a beautiful tribute that our family will never forget.

Since Jonah’s death, that Dean guitar has stayed with us, making brief appearances throughout our continuing journey of remembrance, showing up in expected and unexpected places.

Seven weeks after Jonah’s funeral, I returned to work. Among that weekend’s activities, I spent time with the kids in our religious school. I spoke with them about Jonah, about him dying, about him living, and about what it feels like to grieve for someone you love. I also brought with me Jonah’s bright red guitar. We sang “Redemption Song” together, one of Jonah’s favorite tunes (and which, Ellen tells me, Jonah learned and played on the big red guitar for many a youth group High Holy Days service). It felt so good to be sharing it, and him, with the kids, most of whom had known him from singing with him and being tutored by him. Jonah had been a huge presence among the children at Woodlands Community Temple, and his loss was felt deeply by them.

About a year after Jonah died, we established an annual concert of contemporary Jewish music whose purpose was to raise funds that would help kids in our temple go to camp. At that first concert (with Dan Nichols and Josh Nelson), Jonah’s presence was powerful and unmistakable. He was on all of our minds and in all of our hearts. He’d have loved being there. The second year, however, things were a bit different. The music would be great (Craig Taubman) but with time, Jonah’s presence was not as palpable. So unbeknownst to the audience (and probably to Craig, as well) I placed Jonah’s big red guitar on stage where it could serve as a reminder – to those who knew what it was – that we still missed Jonah.

Poster for March 2012
Dan on the Big Red Guitar

A year later, Ellen and I were sitting in our home with Dan Nichols and Josh Nelson planning the third Jonah Concert. We had, by then, taken most of Jonah’s instruments and created a bit of a tribute wall around our piano, mounting them along with a few others (including Ellen’s engagement banjo … yep, another story indeed … and her father’s army bugle that he obtained and played in World War II Italy) that carry special memories for us. The red guitar, however, had always remained in its stand right next to the piano, ever ready to be picked up and played by whomever. Typically, this would be either Ellen or myself as one of us prepared for a Shabbat service and happily worked out our material on Jonah’s guitar. But the night that Dan and Josh came by in November 2011 to talk about their upcoming concert, the bright red guitar came out along with Jonah’s ukulele (more on that another time) and, next thing we knew, the concert poster that year featured Dan Nichols on Jonah’s guitar and Josh on his ukulele.

Dan sings “Redemption Song” at our family seder March 2013

Then there was a night about a year ago when Dan Nichols, family in tow, showed up on our doorstep for seder (okay, Ellen probably worked that out beforehand with them). And I have lovely memories of Dan playing a few tunes (there are always more than a few guitar tunes at our seder!) on the big red guitar. It needn’t have been Dan, of course; it’s just sweet to see Jonah’s guitar continue to bring music into the world. It’s not quite Jonah, but one takes what one can get.

Interestingly, the Dean guitar is residing in my temple Study right now. My own guitar is spending the summer at a resort in Connecticut (you know, a guitar spa) (okay, a repair shop) having a number of scratches, cracks, and even holes removed so that it can begin the second decade of its life with me in good health. Meanwhile, Jonah’s guitar is keeping me company and I’ve been deeply moved each time I pick it up and play it in front of my congregation.

The day Jonah died, messages began flying across the internet. On Jonah’s Facebook page (and on a tribute page set up for him), unbelievably lovely words were left. One message came from Genevieve Van Dussen, whom Jonah had met during that only year of his at college. Genny writes about more than the guitar but she includes the guitar which, in a way, with its memorable bright red face, touched everyone who spent time around it, just as a very memorable red-bearded kid I used to know.

I’ll close out with Genny’s words:

You were truly one incredible person. You were always able to put a smile on my face and reverse my bad mood into a good one. You are not like anyone I have ever met. I will never forget our ridiculously long walk from South Campus to North Campus. I asked you if you would tell me a story and, boy, did you ever. I never laughed so hard. I will also never forget that “V for Vendetta” mask in your room, watching random movie clips together on your computer, your walk (or, should I say, your swagger), the checkered hat, the red aviators, the many trips you made to my dorm (you were such a gentleman and always walked me to my room), your guitar playing with that bright red guitar of yours. It was only a couple of days ago when you asked me if I wanted to buy it, but that guitar could only fit one person – you, and nobody else. You were such a lovely person inside and out. I will miss you so much, Mac. You will always remain in my thoughts and prayers.

Billy