I became Adat Shalom's full-time rabbi in 1997, at age 27. Ira was 90. That's how the world’s oldest Reconstructionist rabbi became, technically at least, a congregant of the youngest! Yet I felt he was more "my" rabbi, than I was his. Though it was daunting to lead services with Ira around, I learned greatly from his respectful feedback. Studying sacred texts with him, or hearing tales of the Jewish world generations ago, I was in the presence of a giant.
I am honored beyond words to be among the last generation of rabbis under Ira's tutelage. I treasure each of our many, but still too few, conversations. And as I said at his funeral, I’ll never forget when once, at an Adat Shalom event, tears rolled down Ira’s cheeks as he recalled "what a privilege it was to know and study with Kaplan." Tears will continue rolling down my cheeks, as well, in many moments ahead as I continue recounting the privilege I had of knowing and studying with Rabbi Ira Eisenstein. Zichrono livracha -- his memory is already a blessing.
Rabbi Fred Scherlinder Dobb
I was part of the first generation of students who attended the RRC when it was still on North Broad Street. The school was housed in a converted funeral parlor in one of the worst urban ghettos in the country. To say that the entire enterprise was implausible would be a vast understatement. Ira founded the College, seemingly, by pure force of will.
I had heard of Ira and, of course, was familiar with his writing and his relationship with Mordecai Kaplan. I expected this "movement builder" to be hard as nails, a tough negotiator and aloof. Instead I encountered a man of gentle manners, high culture and one who was eminently approachable. When I began to take classes from Ira, I quickly learned that he was no pushover. He knew what he wanted and he set high standards. When I started to write for the Reconstructionist Magazine, which Ira edited, we even locked horns over article content. But I learned so much from the man.
Ira was a man of passionate fidelity to an idea. He had uncompromising intellectual integrity. And he was, above all, a teacher. I consider myself blessed to have been one of his students.
Rabbi Sid Schwarz
Carol and I were greatly saddened by the news of the passing of rabbi ira. he was a great inspiration. Sunday nights for us was Rabbi Ira night. We would try very hard not to plan or accept any invitations that interfered with his Sunday night class. For us it was more than a class: it was learning with one of the great leaders of our Jewish civilization. We all marveled at Rabbi Ira's incredible mental ability. One of the members of the class said " I only hope that at his age I have his mental capacity." I replied that I wish I had his mental ability right now. But more than incredible intelligence and knowledge Rabbi Ira had intellectual integrity and wisdom. He was also a living link to our past. His recollections of his father-law Rabbi Kaplan and his stories about the founding of the reconstructionist movement were priceless. As president Gelman said "Its amazing how sad his passing is given his age." One of the greats is gone. The Adat Shalom community has been incredibly blessed to have him with us for the last four years of his life. If immortality is the lasting effect your life has had on others, Rabbi Ira is immortal.
Stanley Newman
Our first class Sunday evening class with Rabbi Ira Eisentein was on January 14, 1996. Our last class was on Sunday, May 20, 2001. We began that first year with Rashi and Genesis, together with a monthly series on Reconstructionism.. Over the more than 5-year period, we studied Marcus's THE JEW IN THE MEDIEVAL WORLD, the writings of Mordecai Kaplan in DYNAMIC JUDAISM, Heschel's THE SABBATH, selected essays of Achad Ha-Am, Pirke Avot, the year's cycle of Haftarot, and finally, our own prayerbook, Kol HaNeshamah. Studying with Rabbi Ira was much, much more than learning about a particular period, set of writings or thinkers in Jewish History and Jewish Life. Rabbi Ira had a way of getting to the essence; of bringing forth ideas with crystal clarity. He gave us the sense of a period of time, of a writer, of events. He showed us how to approach Judaism in a deeply honest way and to think critically about each period and each thinker we studied.
doris cohen
But there was even more. We learned about the history of Reconstructionism from one who made this history. He told us stories with color and detail so that persons and events emerged lifelike. And we learned about Rabbi Ira's life. We listened raptly to stories of his Yiddish-speaking grandmother, to stories of his first encounters and ongoing experiences with Mordecai Kaplan, about his decision to become a Rabbi, and about his being a Reconstructionist Rabbi in the days before there was a Reconstructionist movement. We learned through our studies and through Rabbi Ira's insights, what it really means to be a Reconstructionist and to approach our history and our lives as Jews within this framework. And we knew we were in the presence of a person who lived what he believed.
And more again. Evenings were often filled with insights that we knew we had to commit to memory, insights about ethical behavior, about prayer (and davening), about the problems of supernatural thinking, about Revelation as Discovery, and about what it means to be part of the Jewish people-- insights that changed our perceptions and enlarged our understanding. All of our studies immeasurably deepened our appreciation for being Jewish. Rabbi Ira loved Judaism and helped us to love it. He loved Jewish learning and we learned to love it. We would walk out of the apartment, looking at each other, knowing how unbelievably fortunate we were to be his students.
And still more. Rabbi Ira listened patiently to our questions and answered them. It was amazing how he would take a muddled question and help us clarify it, then give a wonderfully brilliant answer that led us to think we had indeed asked an excellent question.
And Rabbi Ira made us laugh. He had a great sense of humor that would emerge unexpectedly at any moment during the course of an evening.
And more still. Our class took on a life of its own. People came and went over the years. The regulars had their favorite seats and when we were unable to be in class on a given Sunday, we would let Rabbi Ira know why. This way, he came to know about our families, our work, our travels, and he would inquire about them. His apartment became a place not only of study, but of warmth and community. Over the years, the Charter House became familiar, as we rode up the elevator noting the movie that was playing that night and rode down together talking about our evening with Rabbi Ira. We knew that our evenings with him were precious and that a time would come when he would be with us no longer. That time is here and it is all too soon.
For too few years, before Miriam and Carol moved closer into town, Doris and I were fortunate and honored to have Ira join us fairly regularly at our Erev Shabbat dinner table. We were pleased to have Ira with other Adat Shalomers at our table and enthralled and spellbound by Ira's interesting stories, bits of information, and his consistent point of view. There was never any need for concern about the social mix or about maintaining stimulating conversation around the table when Ira was with us. Shabbat mornings also were always off to a great start when we picked up Ira on the way to services at Adat Shalom. Within the first hour and a half of waking on those Shabbatot, I was already involved in Torah or Siddur discussion, or something of interest concerning a Hebrew word or phrase, the situation in Israel, the plight of the Baltimore Orioles, or the most recent accomplishments of my children. My concerns about whether i would have anything to say to Ira; whether I would be able to hold up my end of the conversation; whether I would say or do something that was incredibly stupid, were, of course, frivolous, as Ira always had much to say that was interesting and instructional; and, when he shot me down (which he did, as needed), he did so gently, respectfully, and, in order to teach me something. He found ways to make me feel comfortable and informed, even on those (not rare) occasions.
Several years ago, after I had gathered all my courage to make a one on one sick call to Ira at his Silver Spring apartment, I had decided ahead of time that I would not focus on his illness, but instead, would try to get his mind off of his sickness (as if, given all in which he maintained interest, he would have time to be preoccupied with his own illness) and share with him some recent, life-transforming experiences which I had just had at the Jewish Choral Festival. I had been in touch with Lillian Kaplan before my visit to Ira and so, was up to date on his condition. I was convinced that I had a good plan, especially if I remained alert to signals (for example, "I'm tired. It's time for you to leave!") that it was time to leave.
Ira, even when seriously ill, showed interest in my recounting, although in his weakened condition, did not respond in the enthusiastic manner to which he had made me accustomed. As I was preparing to leave, he gathered his strength to ask me why I had come to see him, as I had not focused at all on his situation, and instead appeared primarily concerned with my own situation and with telling him of my experiences. Once again, in a respectful way, Ira was treating me to one on one instruction, this time about the mitzvah of bikur cholim. He felt that my plan, to take his mind off of his illness was a good one, but would be greatly improved by my showing more interest in his condition. His words have influenced my conduct during subsequent visits to sick friends and relatives.
His knowledge was deep and his breadth of interest, astounding. Despite illness and advanced age, he continued to be excited by and interested in the world around him as well as that which was happening in my life. His ability to convey his excitement, to make me feel that he was interested in me and my world, and his continuing vital interest in everything are what I value the most
when I remember Ira.
The latter half of Mary Oliver's poem, "When Death Comes" which I include below, describe Ira, I believe, as many of us knew him:
When Death Comes........................
by
Mary Oliver
When it's over, I want to say: all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.
When it's over, I don't want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument.
I don't want to end up simply having visited this world.Shlomo Cohen
Ira Eisenstein
on his 90th birthday
by
Shlomo Cohen and Sue Driesen
Sung by Ira's Adat Shalom students at a small birthday celebration
(To the tune of "When Irish Eyes Are Smiling"_
When Ira's eyes are smiling,
He might be immersed in pray'r,
Or explaining Rashi's comments,
With his wise and witty flair.
"Ki va-a-nu vacharta"
Won't be heard in his discourse,
Christian, Moslem, Jew or Hindu,
Equal are before The Source.
When Ira's eyes are smiling
It's not just about the Spring,
He's a man for all the seasons,
Showing interest in all things.
Of music, God, and baseball,
He's informed, he can't be beat,
Also politics and picnics,
He will ne'er be obsolete.
He shuns the supernat'ral,
Resurrection's out the door,
If you're waiting for Mashiach
You are stuck forevermore.
The Godly Revelation,
Never happened, Ira fears,
Values of our civ'lization
Have evolved throughout the years.
When Ira's eyes are smiling,
And you don't know what it's for,
It's because he loves to greet you,
As you walk in through his door.
Despite advancing years,
Ira learned to go on-line,
Sending e-mail by the dozens
You should read them, they're sublime.
He's worked with many people,
He's gone far to spread the word,
From the SAJ to Woodstock
Ira's teachings have been heard.
"Belong, behave, belie-ie-ve"
When we do, we'll feel alive,
People, culture, and religion,
Reconstructed, will survive.
When Ira went to Philly,
Just a couple weeks ago,
At the Reconstruct'nist Conf'rence
He was honored, we all know.
His lifelong contributions,
Offered free for all to choose,
Will inspire all generations,
Of students, scholars, Jews.
He's been to many places,
He's been made to feel at home,
And today we are the bless'd ones,
Since he found Adat Shalom.
Oh he's a joy to be with,
So we shout without delay
Of our love, respect, for Ira,
Ira dear, "Happy Birthday!"
The lives of Rabbi Ira and Dr. Judith Eisenstein were the personifications of the kinds of individuals we all strive to be. First and foremost they were a team that exuded warmth and friendship generously to all. Despite their extraordinarily broad scholarship they made all who met with them feel at ease and worthy of engaging their serious attention. Rabbi Ira Eisenstein’s incredible vision and unflagging strength in working to establish the Reconstructionist Movement and in his lifelong commitment to its promotion is especially memorable in view of his long arduous struggle to overcome the opposition of Rabbi Mordecai M. Kaplan to creating a 4th Jewish Movement.
Personally we experienced the pleasure of the myriad talents he used in organizing and nurturing each of the first Reconstructionist Conventions, in attending to all of the small and big details of the growing movement (from appeals for support and thank-you notes to developing the outstanding Rabbinical College and its curriculum, editing The Reconstructionist and being the consummate teacher). As a teacher he shared his exquisite erudition in ways that exemplified the apex of good teaching methodology.
Most of all he instilled in us a deep appreciation of the supreme value of teaching. Clara had the privilege of studying with the Rabbi in 1964 and those studies forever influenced her everyday life. Henry’s music study with Judy when they were each in their teens remains fresh in his memory as a lifelong joy. Their memories live on in what we have taught our children and others.
Clara and Henry Jellinek
A couple of years ago, I had the good fortune of attending the celebration for George Driesen upon his becoming a rabbi. There were a number of other rabbis present, and of course, Rabbi Ira was one of them. I decided to take advantage of the presence of so much wisdom, gathered in one place, by asking a question which had been on my mind lately. My significant other's father had recently passed away, and Steve had asked me what Jews believed about the after life that could give them comfort. "If you don't believe in heaven, then what purpose is there in your religion? How can it possibly soothe you at a time like this?" This was the question that I posed to the several rabbis gathered there. As you might imagine, each rabbi gave a different answer, and quoted different sources about the Jewish take on the after life. But the response I remember most came from Rabbi Ira. I can't quote him directly, but the gist of it was that, "We don't focus so much in Judaism on the after life because we believe it is more important to focus on living a meaningful life, a contributing life while we are here. It is through our actions in this world that we live on, in the results of our deeds and in the memories of our loved ones. Anyway, how can we possibly know what goes on after we pass away. Since we can't know, don't worry about it. Lead a good life now."
Thank you for those words, Rabbi Ira. And still, I can't help but wonder where you are now.
Margery Silverton
Not long after he came to Washington, Rabbi Ira was kind enough to occasionally mentor my wife, Rachel, in her role as a cantor. While Rachel was pretty wet behind the ears at the beginning, and Ira was triple her age, he was always very kind to her and positive, while also providing constructive criticism.
Of course, like everyone else, I was always amazed by Rabbi Ira’s clarity of thought, and his ability to expound on scholarly topics in an organized manner, without any notes. What an incredibly organized mind he had!
Before his health began to deteriorate, Ira and Miriam and Carol once navigated our stairs and joined us at our home for Shabbat dinner. I believe that we have a photo of our infant son Gideon on his knee on that occasion. I feel very proud that he graced our home, and our children.
Jonathan Epstein
I feel so blessed to have spent time in Rabbi Ira’s presence. The classes I attended in his apartment have been highlights in my personal evolution as a human being and as a Jew. The meaning of humanity and the significance of the Jewish people—these were his themes, regardless of the particular topic of the evening.
One of the Rabbi Ira vignettes most prominent in my mind was his approach to a discussion of the book For the Relief of Unbearable Urges by Nathan Englander. As Ira spoke of this book, written by a man who was all of 29 or 30 years of age, he marveled at the knowledge and insight of the young author— and he was truly moved and in awe of the dark beauty of the work. He analyzed each of the books’ stories, illuminating their historical roots, in such an openhearted and loving way.
After one of the last Shabbat services at the JCC, I approached Ira and asked whether he knew why we always announced the Hebrew name of the person who receives an aliyah to the Torah, but never the name of the Torah reader. He answered that, although there may have been historical reasons, they were probably no longer valid, and that this practice should probably be re-examined. I walked away knowing that I had just experienced a most striking example of intellectual honesty—here was the most prominent reconstructionist rabbi of our time, willing to continue to re-analyze a traditional practice and "reconstruct" well into his 93rd year of life.
During an evening class on the subject of prayer, Rabbi Ira pressed the class members to explain what they meant, urging them to be precise in their use of language, even about such an esoteric topic. I screwed up my courage (even a veteran of the Socratic method could be humbled by Ira) and tried to explain my efforts at praying as a kind of longing for wisdom and courage. Yes, yes, he exclaimed, that is the appeal to one’s higher self! I will forever cherish Ira’s validation as I put down my prayer book on Shabbat and try to pray to my higher self.
Soon after I joined Adat Shalom, I visited my mother in Chicago and announced that I had joined a Reconstructionist synagogue. She responded by walking over to her bookshelf, and presenting me with a book written by Rabbi Ira that ira had signed and dedicated to my grandfather in 1956. I clutched that book throughout the rabbi's funeral.
" but I always think that the best way to know God is to love many things." Vincent VanGogh
jerilyn rogin
I suspect that Rabbi Ira was rarely, if ever, at a loss for words. He had so much to say, after all! Yet what I will remember is that he always listened to what others had to say; he never brushed anyone off, or made them to feel that their words were of no consequence, but listened with his full attention and presence. Moreover, he made it a point to draw people out — a man whose opinions and thoughts so many of us sought to hear, he sought out our thoughts as well.
This is the mark of a truly great teacher — for I believe that he truly felt that he could learn as much from those around him as we have learned from him.
One of the last times I saw Rabbi Ira, at his apartment during the winter, he asked me to send him a copy of a D’var Chinuch I had recently delivered at our new synagogue. He’d come in during the middle of it, he said, and found it interesting, but he wanted to read the entire talk. So, I dutifully mailed him a copy, and a few days later, I got home to find a message from him on my answering machine, thanking me, and complimenting me. I wish there were a way to save that message, for it meant a great deal to me, coming from this man.
I was in awe of him. Such a brilliant man. I often felt quite tongue-tied in his presence. Yet, he would always welcome me with warmth and grace, and make me feel quite at ease. That is more than simply the mark of a great teacher — It is the mark of a great man. I want to say it is the mark of a Tzaddik, even though I am not sure he would have accepted that honorarium.
Well, he was a Tzaddik, whether he agrees with me or not.
Luther Jett
The only time I had a substantial conversation with Rabbi Ira was on the front porch of the dining hall at an Adat Shalom retreat a few years ago. I’m not sure of the year, but I think he had recently turned 90. Looking for a suitable topic to discuss with a senior rabbi, I mentioned that I had recently been to Jerusalem, figuring that would lead to a discussion of Israel. Rabbi Ira asked what had taken me there, and I told him that it had been a business trip in connection with a company working on electric vehicles. Then, when I started to turn the conversation to the Western Wall, he told me that he was interested in energy conservation and wanted to discuss instead how the company’s electric vehicle system would work. I came away from the conversation thinking that at least part of the the secret of the Rabbi’s sustained intellectual powers was a genuine interest in a very wide range of topics, and hoping that if I happened to achieve his age I would still be as inquisitive and interested in modern developments as he was.
Lawrence M. Miller
My contact with Rabbi Ira was minimal, yet very meaningful to me. I wanted to share my story with his family because it illustrates how much he touched people even as distant as myself.
I was raised in a Conservative synagogue in Silver Spring. My father, the more observant parent, had been born and raised in an Orthodox home. From what I understand, his interest in Judaism waned when he became a young adult, but he returned to synagogue life after my sister and I were born.
We were not the most observant family in the temple--we did not keep Kosher, for example, and we drove on Shabbat and my father often admitted that he didn't believe in God. But, nonetheless, my sister and I were expected to go to Hebrew School, take off school to celebrate all the holidays, and become a Bat Mitzvah.
Although rooted in tradition, my father always seem to look to the future and embrace progressive thoughts. So it did not seem out of character that, sometime in the early 1960s, he bought 6 volumes of the 1942 edition of The New Haggadah, edited by Mordecai Kaplan, Eugene Kohn and Ira Eisenstein. I knew nothing about Reconstructionism at the time, and I have no idea how much my father knew of the movement. But we loved this Haggadah. I never knew anyone else who used it at their Seder, so I enjoyed having guests over for Passover to introduce them to this thoughtful text.
My father died in 1969, when I was 12 and my sister was 14. He was given a Jewish burial and we sat shiva for 7 days. But as the days and weeks and years passed, my family moved farther away from Judaism. The only consistent event that bound us together as a Jewish family was Passover. We religiously used The New Haggadah, following my father's notations as to what to read and what to skip in his marked up "leader's" volume. We did it, of course, in deference to and in memory of our father. But we were able to do so because that Haggadah was so intelligent, caring, and open-minded. It was the only Jewish text that we were aware of at the time (granted, we weren't trying to track down other similar texts) that we could read without feeling uncomfortable or inauthentic. Looking back, it seemed like a very thin but strong lifeline to both my father's values and my heritage.
It wasn¹t long after I attended my first service at Adat Shalom, in 2000, that I realized this community was a living, vibrant, three-dimensional version of what the two-dimensional New Haggadah represented to me. I felt that, through some strange, circuitous path, I had finally made my way home. I was even more thrilled, if that could be possible, to learn that one of the editors of the New Haggadah was a member of Adat Shalom. And I hoped that I would one day get a chance to meet him.
I believe I first saw Rabbi Ira from afar during the High Holidays in the fall of 2000, but was too shy to go over to introduce myself. On Sunday, February 18, 2001--the first Sunday night that my two young boys were to spend with their father as part of Presidents' Day Weekend, I took the rare opportunity to attend Rabbi Ira's class at his apartment. I could have filled that evening with any number of events or chores, but I realized that given Rabbi Ira's age I may not have many more opportunities to attend his class. The class was delightful.
He certainly was clearheaded and insightful, as everyone had attested to. And he was very welcoming.
I introduced myself as a new member of Adat Shalom, explained that I had wanted to come sooner, but that my responsibilities as a mother prevented me from doing so on a regular basis. He indicated that he understood the trials and tribulations of parenthood and he encouraged me to come to class whenever time permitted. When I left that evening, I realized that I had forgotten to tell him how much The New Haggadah meant to me.
After the new building opened, I would see Rabbi Ira more frequently at the Oneg, but still felt hesitant to go up to him and talk. But one Shabbat I reminded myself that I may not have many more chances, so I went up to the table where he was eating and reintroduced myself, reminding him that I had attended one of his classes.
I told him the story about my childhood. How much I appreciated the New Haggadah, both as a kid and even more so now. I told him how, for me, it represented a link to my father and to all that I valued in Judaism. And I thanked him, for both my father and myself, for editing it. I also told him that my father would have loved to meet him and to be an active member of Adat Shalom. He was very gracious, saying that he was sorry he never had a chance to meet my father. He also thanked me for sharing this story with him.
Rabbi Ira died a few months after I had that conversation. Although I hardly knew him, I was very sad to learn of his passing. I had hoped I would have been able to glean a few more words of wisdom from his classes or casual conversations at the Onegs. But I was so glad that our lives had crossed, even for such a short period of time. And I was glad that I had the courage to speak with him when I did. There have been many times in my life when I have let such potentially magic moments slip away.
Of course, I came to Shabbat services after learning about Rabbi Ira¹s death. I assumed that there would be some discussion about him and all his contributions, and I wanted to hear it. In my wildest dreams, however, I could have never imagined what also transpired that day: I ran into Jane Handler and Debbie Ehrenstein in, of all places, the ladies room of Adat Shalom. Jane said she needed to talk to me.
She explained that, in all the rush and details, somehow Rabbi Ira¹s tallit was not sent to the funeral home. As luck would have it, the funeral home was in Beltsville, of all places, about 1/2-mile from my house. I was the logical person to ask to deliver the tallit. Of course, I said I would, that it would be an honor to do so. Jane and Debbie thanked me profusely. They had no idea how meaningful this was to me. I felt like I should be thanking them for letting me have a small part in this process.
After Oneg, I dutifully drove back to Beltsville with my two sons and the tallit. I told my older child, 6-year-old Aaron, what we needed to do before going home. I explained that this was an honor and asked if he would like to be the one to hand the tallit over to the funeral director. He said yes.
We rang the doorbell, explained why we came and entered the lobby. I handed Aaron the tallit bag, and he carefully handed it to the director. And then we said goodbye and drove home.
It was an easy task, but reverberated with great meaning for me. At one and the same time, this simple gesture connected me once more with Rabbi Ira and all that he stood for; allowed me to participate in a Jewish rite that my father would have gladly done for others; allowed me to serve some ritualistic function that, given my young age, I was not allowed to do for my father at his death; and allowed my young son--who is named for my father--to have a ceremonial, yet meaningful, link with Rabbi Ira.
So, even in death, Rabbi Ira helped to heal old wounds from the past and reach out to the future.
Nancy B. Solomon
I was always profoundly impressed by Rabbi Ira’s insight, clarity of thought, and breadth of knowledge, and more than a bit intimidated. We never had a substantial conversation until one Shabbat a few weeks after Pesach this year. I had chanted an excerpt from Shir HaShirim (The Song of Songs) at Adat Shalom’s holiday service, the first time I had ever sung that trope. Rabbi Ira stopped me, expressed his regrets for not having talked to me at the time, and said that he was taking this first opportunity to compliment me on the way I had chanted Shir HaShirim, which he knew well. He said he was glad that he had come to services that Pesach morning because he had never heard the Song of Songs sung so beautifully. He held my hand warmly as he spoke to me and made me promise to chant it again. I was so shocked, surprised, and flattered that I can’t recall his exact words.
The next time I saw him, I told him how much his praise meant to me and how pleased I was that he had stopped to talk to me. I never dreamed that this would be the last conversation I would have with him, but I am grateful to have this precious memory.
Peggy Davidson
Rabbi Ira's wisdom, knowledge, experience and philosophy of life were shared with us so freely and fully -- every Sunday evening, and in our Havurah study sessions on Shabbat. That rarest of persons, that rarest of minds will no longer be open to us. We shall miss him.He knew the text so well -- the Torah, Rabbi Kaplan's ideas, the writings of scholars. Even more marvelous was what we learned when he departed from the text, and expounded on a thought, a principle, a way of thinking that grew out of the text.
Each of us is richer for having experienced his presence and his teaching.
Shirley and Sam Seeman
Esther and I only knew Rabbi Ira through his very occasional contributions from the "floor." But I marveled at the clarity of his thinking—and not merely because of his age. Although Mordecai Kaplan is correctly revered as the founder of Reconstructionism as a theological strain in Judaism, it is very clear that Reconstructionism as a movement would be nowhere without Rabbi Ira Eisenstein. He institutionalized the movement and for that we are all, collectively and individually, in his eternal debt.
Norman I. Gelman
Shortly after Rabbi Ira moved to the Washington area, we were blessed to have him, sans Judith (then hospitalized with a broken hip) as one of our guests at a Saturday night new-member pre-Havdalah dinner. We feel most fortunate to have met him in an intimate setting—not as a public figure—as a new friend. We later attended his first seminars in Silver Spring and continued to be enriched when with him in public, just knowing he was there. His very presence in our lives was transformative, for it concretized our inchoate experience of connection with ancestry; it will remain with us forever.
Bert and Elaine Weiner
My initial thought about Rabbi Ira is deep regret for not having taken the opportunity to study with him on Sunday nights. How did I let those Sunday nights get away from me? When I stop kicking myself long enough to consider the exposure to Rabbi Ira that I did have - - both from his writings and his oral offerings made from time to time during Torah discussions at Shabbat services and at least once during High Holy Day services - - I can only marvel at how lucky we were to have him in our midst for as long as we did. I will miss seeing him roll into services nearly each Shabbat. I will miss having the hope during Torah discussions that he might have the inclination to pipe up and offer his trademark pithy comments about a particularly challenging topic. I will miss his economy of words, his clarity and insight, his wit and his plain-speaking manner. It goes without saying that from now on, whenever I hear the Samuel Barber piece that was played at his funeral, I will think of him fondly and by doing so, will make his words ring true that the "afterlife" is lived in the memories of those left to remember.
My very heartfelt condolences go to Miriam, Carol and the entire Eisenstein family on the loss of this most cherished man.
Shelley Sadowsky
We all feel deeply the passing of Rabbi Ira. I feel especially strongly his counsel and guidance during my tenure, when he was a tremendous source of strength during a very difficult time of conflict. I will miss him and his commentary during our services.
Bob Barkin
I learned by Rabbi Ira’s example that one does not achieve anything merely by proximity to great people or by joining an organization, no matter how dynamic. It is only by "doing" that one can hope to put values into practice - an accomplishment he has demonstrated in his many roles as scholar, teacher, religious leader and builder of institutions. I was humbled and inspired to receive an award in honor of the Eisensteins. I certainly hope that the tremendous satisfaction I feel by seeing the synagogue building become a reality mirrors in some small way the gratification he must feel from a lifetime of service to a movement that promises an enduring and vital future.
occasionally I attended Sunday night classes and book discussion groups at rabbi ira's apartment, where I could experience his talents as a teacher. Rabbi Ira loved to engage with his students. I had the feeling that despite his wide-ranging knowledge, he was not a pedantic lecturer. He wanted to hear what we had to say and to be challenged by our opinions and questions. He loved to tell stories and bring discussions away from the esoteric to reach the human element. His sense of humor, modesty and kindness made learning with him a true pleasure. May his memory be a blessing to us all—
Susan Kimmel
Dear Miriam and Carol,
I am so sorry to hear the news about Ira. He gave so much to our own and the larger community. And his presence among us was living history, a thrilling reminder of how we got started and grew. My thoughts are with you both.
Carren kaston
Ira Eisenstein had become the anchor of my life. His ability to ask the hard questions and to provide candid and wise answers provided me with the means of being both a Jew and a decent human being. His interpretation of Mordechai Kaplan's thoughts and his logical confrontation with the meaning of life and its derivative concept of the divinity allowed me to have something both logical and endearing to believe in. The debt I owe Ira is incalculable and I feel that Ira left something in me that I will cherish to the end of my days on earth.
Jesse Ostroff
rabbi Ira opened my eyes to the richness and contemporary relevance of the ancient Jewish texts. Through his scholarship and skill as a teacher during our Sunday night classes at his apartment, he enabled me to see the humanity of the Jewish sages and their very human plights. And the greatest gift he gave me was to do all this while making me feel such a personal connection to him, making me feel special and my comments worthy as a part of the evolving Jewish civilization.
My daughter, Ilana, age 5 (and ¾!) gave me a hand-written "work of art" to place in Rabbi Ira’s grave—similar to others she had sent him to his great joy during his last two years with us. It showed two smiling figures, the sun, and an apple tree, with a prominent hanging apple. She told me it was Ilana and Rabbi Ira playing together outside, and that the apple was because "we may get hungry". The words she wrote on the card, written in a kindergartner's phonetic spelling, said "I love you. You were very special to my Daddy because you were his teacher." ... A teacher I will never forget and will often deeply miss.
Steven Brody