With the Utmost Admiration

The Illusions of Memory

When my parents were children on their way to school, local (Christian) children would lie in wait for them, to chase and beat them. The boys, for the most part, would organize themselves to beat the Christians back. This was the case in Warsaw in Poland, and so it was also in Siberia (to where the Zionists and the leaders of the Jewish communities from Lithuania were exiled).

I have long known the “childhood stories” of stealing cigarette butts and selling them, as well as other thefts in order to have a morsel of bread. Today my uncle does not remember a thing from one sentence to the next and therefore repeats the question as if it had not been asked and just answered.

With my father, on the other hand, the stories appear in a book that is held at Yad VaShem. My uncle took care of that decades ago when he wrote the book about the family during the Holocaust in Poland. But now, in very advanced stages of dementia, there are moments when my father behaves like a professional boxer.  Since all his life he was far from that, it seems that he is returning to his childhood, and thus he fights with figures that we do not see or hear, but for him they are very real and terrible. He fights and does not stop, he stands bravely against them, come what may, until his last drop of strength.

The Mayor of Beverly Hills

If you happen to enter a bookstore or the local library, you will surely come across many books by Robert Tanenbaum.

Tanenbaum was a trial lawyer whose court appearances can be described as efficient, destructive, uncompromising, successful. In addition, he was a bestselling author in the United States. He also served on the city council in his hometown of Beverly Hills and was the mayor. I knew him as “Mayor Bob.”

Mayor Bob was a head taller than me, that is, a very tall man, and therefore every “appearance of his” demanded the attention of the audience around him. Veteran readers will remember him standing before a hall filled with many hundreds of people and telling the story of a real hero of Israel in the Six-Day War of 1967.  I sat tense on the edge of my seat awaiting to hear more – the dedication, the sacrifices, the spirit of valor. The hero of that story was none other than Beny Alagem, the owner of the Beverly Hilton, the Waldorf Astoria of Beverly Hills and soon One Beverly Hills, the new complex adjacent to both.

To a mortal, certainly to us Israelis, Alagem is not a hero, or he is a hero no different from all of Israel, and therefore we are all heroes:  few against the many; using intellect, resourcefulness and daring; worthy of God’s love and protection. But for the mesmerized audience (and I among them, I even forgot for a moment to think, to analyze, or even to be sarcastic and critical)—he truly was a hero like no other. To this day, years after the story was told, I still remember the taste of the story as it was told by Mayor Bob.

In January of this year, Mayor Bob passed away at the age of 83.

In March, at a meeting of the Beverly Hills City Council, the hall was packed to capacity—hundreds of people—and an additional overflow room was opened to accommodate the audience.

Three out of the five council members are finishing their term, and two of them are running for another term. The third is prevented from doing so, as he has already served two terms, which is the maximum allowed by law.

The issue discussed was the use of the city council chambers by various organizations that host the different candidates.

Former mayor Les(ter) Friedman began attacking one of the organizations, and we quickly understood why:  In the last elections, he was one of the candidates, and Mayor Bob devoted a full 25 minutes to questioning him in public. Did I already say that there are few lawyers capable of appearing in court like Tanenbaum? It turns out that Les(ter) Friedman—also a lawyer by profession, but in a field that does not require public interaction—felt first hand the taste of direct questioning that did not please him. Almost four years later, his flesh prickled, his heart pounded strongly, and as the saying goes—the blood rose to his head. One could see the unhealthy dosage of excitement that engulfed him, bordering on burning hatred toward Tanenbaum.

Is this how one lawyer treats another? One mayor his colleague before him? A person his neighbor? A living person someone who passed away not long ago? A person sitting on dais, elevated above the people, toward someone who cannot respond or answer him?

Les(ter) Friedman, an experienced local politician and a lawyer by profession, knew he was not allowed to vote due to a conflict of interest. But that did not stop him from pouncing, like a starving, rabid dog, and all he wanted was blood—more and more and more blood—nothing satisfied him.

Did I say that all the council members are Jewish? It was good that at least one of them referred to Mayor Bob and added “of blessed memory.” All the rest were silent; they did not say a word.

I sat in the audience, at the table reserved for the press, in utter disbelief.  An entire hall full of people, and no one says a word.  Not a single pips of protest.  Silence.  And so it went on and on as if forever.

In Germany 90 years ago, wealthy Jews were accosted in the streets.  The men’s side-locks would be cut, some were – deservedly (because they were Jews) – beaten, and all were humiliated.  They were forced to perform degrading work (for example, scrubbing street tiles with a toothbrush). The crowd stood mesmerized and inflamed and applauded, cursed, spat, and humiliated the Jews.  There was nothing more satisfying, entertaining and fulfilling than hitting or degrading the most despised of all creatures, worse even than cockroaches – the Jew.

But here, in enlightened Beverly Hills of 2026, a former mayor sits before an audience of hundreds, and no one says a word—especially not his distinguished colleagues on the city council. The most exalted of people.

Suddenly a young man stepped forward and asked for the right to speak. “Bob Tanenbaum was my father,” he said, and continued to defend his father.

If until that point we were mesmerized by the spirit of evilness, here the tables turned.  Young Tanenbaum surely trembled inside, but he stood and spoke with respect, quietly yet most powerfully, and defended his father’s honor. Not that Mayor Bob needs someone to defend him, but I am convinced he stood there, in the heavenly assembly, in all his height and splendor, rubbing his hands with pleasure: “Look, this is my son. This is what honoring of father and mother is all about. What a magnificent performance by my son!”

To defend your father’s honor (or your friend’s or anyone else’s) when that person cannot do so is a special virtue. In Judaism (ours, not that of the American progressives who abandoned it in favor of “repairing the world” and a strange liberalism that includes self-flagellation to appease our haters), one of the greatest commandments is to accompany a person on one’s final journey. Why? Because that person cannot repay measure for measure, or a good deed—at least not in this world.

In the same way, nine decades ago, to defend a Jew whom the crowd humiliated and degraded and tried to harm, at risk to oneself, was something only very few dared to do. Or to hide a Jew, something that endangered the person, his family, and everything dear to him. In Europe there were nevertheless those who did so out of faith or values, and for us they are the “Righteous Among the Nations.”

Thus it happened that I sat mesmerized by the son’s firm stance.  Young Tanenbaum of course is not as experienced as his late father, but already now he has stature that distinguishes him from others and characterizes a man head and shoulders above the rest—a true leader. (A leader cares for his people, cares for the weakest links, and acts when others turn their heads or try to disappear altogether or diminish, reduce, or erase their presence.)

Young Tanenbaum decided to run for the city council.  I hope that others will see in him what I saw that evening, despite his lack of experience. He comes from a home where from childhood he absorbed “leadership,” “values,” “daring and audacity,” “standing your ground for the sake of others,” and “care for others.” He does not need any receipt that other politicians so easily hand out without any coverage. With him it is real. With him it is in the blood, from childhood.

As an officer in the Israel Defense Forces, if I learned anything it is the ability to recognize someone I can trust to fight alongside me in the trenches at war.  I would be proud to serve alongside Roger Tanenbaum in the military when lives are at stake, let alone in politics.