Sam Aharonoff / Biography

In Memory of Sam Aharonoff z"l

To laugh often and much; to win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children; to earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends; to appreciate beauty; to find the best in others; to leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch or a redeemed social condition; to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. This is to have succeeded.

-Ralph Waldo Emerson

How many people in the final moments of their lives when asked, "How are you doing," can respond, "I'm doing great." But as any of us who called Sam during the final months of his life know, that is exactly how he responded. Some estimate the attendance at his funeral at over 1000 and at least that many attended the memorial service held the Tuesday night that followed. It was an attendance that spoke volumes of the impact he had on Klal Yisroel, and more specifically the Great Neck community.

At the funeral, Rabbi Bitton began with the famous Rashi on the first Pasuk of Parshas Veyeitzei, explaining the seemingly duplicitous mentioning that Yakov had departed from Beer-sheba and went towards Haran. Of course the Torah could have more succinctly said that Yakov left for Haran, but Rashi explains the Torah felt it necessary to add where Yakov left from in order to signify that his departure from Beer-sheba had left the city with a void. How fitting it was that the Parsha Hashvua on the day Sam left us began with this important lesson.

"Who are you Sam Aharonoff, that so many people, some of whom never met you, are now attending Shiurim, baking chalah, and saying Tehillim?" was a question we asked to Sam more than once over the past year. When the shiva concluded last week after we had heard from countless Rabbi's, friends, and family members we got our answer.

Sam stood a mere 5'-6". Perhaps it's what allowed him to see his glass as half full. His passion for life, his smile, his sense of humor, and his determination to succeed are the traits that ingratiated Sam to us. So when he became ill the Great Neck community came together in an unprecedented way in prayer and in deed for his Refua.

Born in Kabul some 53 years ago Sam came to the USA at the age of 10. He had seven siblings, the youngest, Emanuel, stricken with Cancer before his teen years passed away in Israel before the age of 20. He lived in Forest Hills, then New York City where he met his wife Anita. Just this summer they celebrated their 20th wedding anniversary.

Together they built an incredible home for their four children, Arela, Emanuel, Nati, and Rachel. As Eddie Levian so eloquently said, "Through his children Sam's very existence is perpetuated. Instead of one big Sam, now there are 4 little Sams running about the house."

Although his own family was perhaps his greatest achievement, there was another family that Sam was also passionate about. That family is the Great Neck community.

His fingerprints can be found on buildings, in programs, and in the hearts and minds of all those who benefited by or witnessed all the chesed that emanated from his soul.

When it came time to raise the funds necessary to make the dream of a North Shore Hebrew Academy high school a reality the executive board turned to Sam to help create an understanding among the Great Neck Persian community as to the importance of this significant endeavor. He believed so strongly that the spirit of unity that prevailed during the construction of the Mishkan be the example for the NSHA high school. He was so persuasive in his fundraising efforts, there was a time people sought to avoid him.

He knew well that the future of Judaism is rooted in Jewish education and no family should be turned away. Even in the last few months of his life I witnessed him advocate on behalf of a young couple that was having difficulty getting their child into the NSHA. In Queens he also played a critical role in helping to organize funding for several Hebrew day schools that cater to the Bukarian community.
In our community, it was Sam who implemented the successful shadow program that allows parents of children with various disabilities in our community to bring their children to synagogue and feel comfortable in knowing that their child will be both watched and included. It was Sam who held the mission of the Orthodox Caucus so dear to his heart. This is an organization that focuses on the modern day challenges posed to Jewish communities.

But it was the people he touched that truly capture and amplify his essence. How comforting it was at the Shiva when a women, who barely knew Sam, opened up her pocket book to show me a Tehillim, book filled with names of Cholem, that Sam had inspired her to use. And, how can I forget the image of young member of our community attending the funeral in a wheel chair who Sam in a weakened condition walked 4 miles this past summer to visit upon this persons return from an extended stay in the hospital.

Hashem spent only a few Pasukim describing to us the incredible miracle of creation. The balance of the Torah is solely there for the purpose of teaching us how to live. No one exemplified that passion more than Sam. It's why in the final weeks of his life, as he laid feebly in his hospital bed, surrounded by a mosaic of artwork and get well messages, there was laughter, there was music, there was food, there was torah and then, finally a tear as the angels took him from the world he loved so much, to another one we must believe he is loving even more.

A Rare Human Being
By William Helmreich

The Midrash tells us that we celebrate the date on which a saintly person died rather than his birth date. Why? Because a person can be compared to a ship that sets out on a voyage. When it leaves no one can be certain where it will end up. But when it arrives at its final destination everyone knows.

When Sam Aharonoff's yahrzeit is commemorated, this midrash will have special significance because Sam's voyage through this world affected everyone who was privileged to know him. I became his friend through the North Shore Hebrew Academy. His efforts on behalf of that institution were legendary and they touched us all.

Anyone who applied to the school from the Mashadi community and in general knew they would find a sympathetic ear in Sam. He taught us to regard every Jewish neshama as special. If a child was not that good a student Sam would be the first to say: "Let's take a chance. How do we know what they'll be like a few years from now?" He was especially concerned that those who were in financial difficulty not be turned away, particularly if it seemed they would end up in public school. "We cannot have that on our consciences." he would tell us over and over.

Sam never put himself ahead of others. Shortly after he got the terrible news of his illness, he phoned me. "Can you come over please? I need to speak with you." When I arrived, I assumed the conversation would be about some outstanding physicians I had contacted at Columbia Presbyterian Hospital, whom I thought could help him. But that wasn't the topic. "There's a high school girl at the Academy who got into some trouble. I wondered if you could call them and see if they could give her another chance." Even in the midst of his troubles Sam was thinking of others.

He was a deeply religious man, but at the same time he was extremely tolerant of those not as spiritual. He recognized that not everyone could feel the same way, that religion is a personal matter. And he never wanted anything to be done in this area if it might lead to division in the community.

While Sam was a pillar of the community, his family was his life. There was nothing he wouldn't do for them, whether it was trips, sports events, or simply teaching them about life. He adored them and they him.

By today's standards Sam did not live a long life, but when I think of that life, I think of its intensity. It reminds me of a light bulb that burns even more brightly shortly before it goes out. When he danced, it was with abandon, when he laughed it was with pure joy. And when he cared about something it was with his entire soul. What he taught me was, it's not how long you live but how you live that counts.

May his good deeds and memory be an inspiration to us all.