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IN MEMORIAM ALBERT FRIEDLANDER Albert Hoschander Friedlander, rabbi: born Berlin 10 May 1927; ordained rabbi 1952; Rabbi, United Hebrew Congregation, Fort Smith, Arkansas 1952–56; Rabbi, Temple B’nai Brith, Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania 1956–61; Religious Counsellor, Columbia University 1961–66; Founder Rabbi, Jewish Center of the Hamptons, East Hampton, New York 1961–66; Rabbi, Wembley Liberal Synagogue 1966–71; Lecturer, Leo Baeck College 1967–71, Director 1971–82, Dean 1982–2004; Senior Rabbi, Westminster Synagogue 1971–97 (Rabbi Emeritus); Editor, European Judaism 1982–2004; OBE 2001; President, Council of Christians and Jews 2003–04; married 1961 Evelyn Philipp (three daughters); died London 8 July 2004. For Daddy, 11th July 2004 Some years ago, Albert was scheduled to give a paper at a conference. At the last minute, he was unable to be present, and Rabbi Colin Eimer came to the podium to read the paper on his behalf. ‘Think of me as if I were Albert!’ he said. [Colin Eimer holds up the paper close to his eyes.] None of us can be Albert. Who was Albert Hoschander Friedlander? a loving son ... brother ... adoring husband ... father ... colleague, teacher and friend. Traditionally, a eulogiser tries to offer a taste of the nature of these relationships. All weekend I have been trying to create a fitting tribute – wise and witty, erudite and excellent. Last night I realised that this was not for me. It is certainly the rabbinic thing to do, yet you already know those aspects of him. I stand here today, not as Rabbi Friedlander, Jr. – ha-rav ha- k’tanah, as he called me in his e-mails. I speak here today not of ha-rav ha- EUROPEAN JUDAISM VOLUME 37 No. 2 AUTUMN ’04 103 In Memoriam gadol, as I addressed him in mine. Rather it is Ariel here, telling you some things about Daddy. I don’t know if any of you knew him as a man of passion. He spoke so softly. I, too, am often hard to hear. There is, however, something about standing amid several thousand people that enables us to scream and shout. A couple of years ago his beloved Queens Park Rangers played a pre-season game against a team from Stamford Bridge. We beat them! And my favourite memory is after QPR scored the winner. Surrounded by hundreds of sweaty, smelly Superhoops, we jumped in the air and, nose to nose, with utter passion and joy, screamed ‘GOOOOOAL!!!!!’ As for his favourite memory of me, I think it would be a toss-up between our standing nose to nose on the bima at Temple Emanu-El in New York City, while he blessed me at my Ordination; and the day I gave the ball back to the England captain on live national television! We, and later Noam, were and are football mad. I was talking on the phone to Mummy when he picked up the extension and shouted, ‘The Greeks have won!’ Those were the last words I ever heard him say. There are so many things I’d like to tell you about Daddy. His favourite films included Gunga Din, “The Colonel’s got to know!”, Beau Geste, and Oklahoma. His favourite cartoon strip was Peanuts. The Simpsons was one of his favourite television shows. He loved to read spy novels, murder mysteries and Harry Potter. He had a fine collection of Glenn Miller and Nina Simone records. When I was young, I would set my alarm for 1 a.m., when he had finished working at his desk, and we would play chess together. When I went away for my first school journey, he wrote to me that Gollum had been seen near my hotel, and I should report back whether or not I had been able to hold on to the Ring. Daddy was able to relate to so many people in so many ways and on so many levels. I believe that the Torah is here to teach us about relationships: with ourselves, our families; the ones we love, the ones we hate; friends, enemies, strangers, the earth … and the more we develop those relationships, and the more flexible we become, the closer we are to encountering God. A defining moment in our relationship occurred twelve years ago, after I had come out to my parents on the telephone from Israel. Daddy came to see me in Jerusalem. We walked along the railway tracks together and he said, ‘Precious, I always had a picture of how your life was going to be. But it’s not going to be like that. I guess I’ll have to change my picture.’ None of us can be Albert, but we may strive to be like him. I end with lines from Alfred, Lord Tennyson’s poem ‘Ulysses’. Daddy quoted it at many funerals, but really saw it as an expression of his own experience and dreams. I hear him talking to me when Ulysses says: 104 EUROPEAN JUDAISM VOLUME 37 No. 2 AUTUMN ’04 Albert H. Friedlander This is my son, mine own Telemachus, To whom I leave the scepter and the isle Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfil This labour, by slow prudence to make mild A rugged people, and through soft degrees Subdue them to the useful and the good. Most blameless is he, centered in the sphere Of common duties, decent not to fail In offices of tenderness, and pay Meet adoration to my household gods, When I am gone. He works his work, I mine. I cannot be Albert. None of us can. What is possible, however, is for each of us to take the beam of his light in which we stood, and turn to shine it upon each other and the world around us. On Thursday, Elie Wiesel told me that ‘your father’s life was a gift from God to the Jewish people’. If we use that gift well, all of us – Hindu, Moslem, Buddhist, Jew, Xian, Freethinker, Pagan too – then surely his memory will be for a blessing. keyn yehi ratson Ariel J. Friedlander At the moment I have been thinking a lot about my father’s comings and goings. He was always on the go. We think of him with his quiet, modest demeanour and yet one always knew when he had arrived. How he would burst through the front door with a joyful call ‘Shabbat Shalom everybody!’ when he returned home from synagogue. As a child, I would rush to meet him at the door when he had officiated at a wedding. He never forgot and always produced a slightly tired-looking piece of wedding cake from the bottom of his jacket pocket, which I promptly devoured. We had to share him with the community and in those early years I spent many nocturnal hours standing at the foot of my parents’ bed, just watching them sleep, grateful to have them home and to myself for a few hours. One favourite memory: At 6.15 p.m. on a Friday evening, he would sometimes come to me and say ‘Give me three topics’ and I would try to think of the three most disparate and sometimes ridiculous ideas. He would then jump in the shower. By 6.30 p.m. he had started the synagogue service and would give the most brilliant sermon, making sense of my random thoughts. Such an agility of mind, sense of fun, and excitement for every new challenge and encounter. The last time I saw him was when he came to visit in Berlin last week. He stayed the night with us and it was an Albertian EUROPEAN JUDAISM VOLUME 37 No. 2 AUTUMN ’04 105 In Memoriam morning. Although I had cleared every surface in the room where he was sleeping, he woke us up by smashing his water glass on the bedside table. As we left the house, I caught him as he tripped in the street. I said to my husband, ‘I really don’t understand how Daddy makes it through it a day.’ But then I remembered how he danced the hora at my wedding with such lightness and grace, yes, grace, and I was reminded that God and the universe were on his side. We escorted him that morning to a friend’s house. As we said our last goodbyes at the door, I sensed his mood of exhilaration, glowing excitement and even impatience to start the adventure which lay ahead that day. Off he went, with a huge smile. A few weeks ago, he was also in Berlin to conduct the funeral of a dear friend. He told me afterwards that he had felt tired and that by some chance, there was a chair at the graveside. He said: ‘I was so very, very tired and so I sat down. But then there were so many important people there that I had to get up to shake their hand. But then, well, everyone’s important, so I just stayed standing up.’ He gave everyone he met this sense that they were important to him. It often infuriated us that we had to share him with all of you, but somehow he had enough love to go around. In my flat last week, I was already in bed and heard this sweet, gentle voice calling out ‘leyl menucha’ (have a peaceful night). I wish my tired and lovely father ‘menucha’ and that he can now finally rest. Leyl menucha abbale. Michal Friedlander Ben-Hur Our father. Who art in Heaven. Hallowed be his name. There are those who might think that slightly inappropriate, but my father’s speciality was interfaith dialogue and his name should be hallowed.

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