I believe my earliest memory was being pushed
in a pram with my twinnie, London circa 1953
Eric told us that he was proud when people asked him
whether we were his children
He also told me he put earplugs in his ears when babysitting
due to my incessant crying.
Growing up Eric was this exotic being, always dressed handsomely
with his full Windsor knotted tie, white crisp shirt and handsome demeanor.
His laugh was infectious seeing the positive in everything.
Circa 1958 the BBC toured China and we all huddled around
a small black and white TV waiting for the camera to pan across
the string section and on seeing him fro a fraction of a second
we yelled “there is Eric!!”
As I grew he became this anchor in my emotional life,
a person whose presence provided comfort and unconditional love.
Slowly but surely his moral stature ethics and compassion
became the role model for me, challenging my upbringing
that you needed to halachic to be ethical. In many ways
in his very life and conduct he became more and more
the paradigm of a tzaddik….in two ways:
The first was his utter lack of guile, retaining his innocence
until his dying breath, loving all creatures
no matter what their station in life,
without any sense of ego or self-bloating in the process.
Secondly the dictum We know "sheva yipol tzaddik v'kum".
The saintly Yesod Hoavoda once told his disciples
that he asked a professional horse jockey
if his horse ever threw him to the ground.
“Of course,” said the jockey.
“Everyone, even the most professional rider, gets thrown from time to time.”
“What do you do when you get thrown?”
asked the Yesod Hoavodah.
“I hold on to the reins and jump back on to the saddle
as fast as I can. If not, the horse will run away
and I will be left with nothing,”
the horse jockey replied.
Rather than succumb to all his trials and tribulations from childhood,
(in today’s world we might call it trauma)
Uncle made use of the pain and suffering
and transformed it into compassion for all human beings.
Instead of internalizing the pain into depression anxiety
and repeating the violence he went to the opposite
pole of identification with the pain of others.
I think he lent a new meaning to the posuk כִּ֤י שֶׁ֨בַע ׀ יִפֹּ֣ול
It maybe that Eric showed us that you only become a tzaddik
by falling seven times, you are not born one.
All who worked with him loved him, he was the go-to guy
for other members of the orchestra who suffered.
A few months ago I played a duet with him,
a piece I had composed, and he had picked up by ear
and knew how I loved the melody, he played the viola
like he had decades ago with sensitivity and mastery
- a life of mastery of his instrument.
His life was like that piece, a classical structure
with an exposition followed by the development
and the final recapitulation of the theme. It all expressed itself
in the music that day it had a coherence.
Just like a sonata, his life has its moments of harmony and dissonance,
but each phase contributed to the overall beauty and richness of his journey.
🎶
My heart was broken watching him mourn for Aunty Florence,
it was Purim and everyone left to hear the megillah.
I decided it was more important to sit with him, be with him,
as he poured out his heart and cried for the first time,
since I was present in some way to give back
to the man who had given me so much.
His life was represented by his instrument.
The delicate balance between technical mastery of the music at hand,
the constant need to rehearse and practice
(drummed into him as a child)
and the sensitivity and musicality of the piece
the original intent of its composer, or the understanding
of what the conductor wanted to bring out.
His self-discipline was only matched by his sensitivity,
to the instrument to the music and to others playing with him,
he negated himself to make harmony with the other orchestra players,
never wishing to promote self.
His resilience was manifest when soling in Harold in Italy
his A string snapped but he just kept on playing
not wishing to let down the orchestra, not at all caring about himself.
Often I would go to him for encouragement,
after all I told my kids repeatedly
“when I grow up I want to be like uncle eric”
and I would leave him without fail, encouraged
and strengthened by his kind words.
His last words or message to us were captured as follows:
“whatever life throws your way…just get on with it, don’t be defeated by it”
We honor his memory by following his advice.
Just get on with it
You are sorely missed by beloved Eric
I still want to be like you when I grow up.
