formerly Gesher

Delivered at Berkowitz-Kumin-Bookatz Cleveland Temple Memorial on June 2, 2000

This is a time to remember David Winer. This morning I want to share some insights from a son about his father. Most are not very profound but they reveal my father as very much a real person -- a very human person. I've found that you can learn much about someone by looking at what they love and what they do. Perhaps today, you could join together with me to search beyond the surface facts about David Winer, to ponder for a few moments what they say about his deeper parts.

First, Dave was a man who loved to eat. But that's the surface. To him, eating was very much more than food. What he really loved about eating, was to eat together with his family. I remember the nightlly, or almost nightly ritual of the "midnight snack." Never mind the contradiction of his statement, coming in the form of a question, "are you ready for the midnight snack," came at around 9:30 p.m. He'd want all the family assembled for some sort of food that he'd make -- maybe popcorn or a sandwich.

Then there was Dave, the mobile chef. He'd love to cook on the road, at the side of the road, or even while the car was moving. He'd read somewhere that if you wrapped chicken in aluminum foil, placed it on the car manifold , that you'd have cooked chicken a few hours later when you arrived at your destination. Unfortunately, or fortunately for us, his inaugural experiment was a dismal failure and we ate out at a nearby restaurant.

Another image is Dave with his torch. You see my dad was an attorney, who became a builder of homes. And we all know about guys and their love of building tools. One of the tools I think he was quite proud of showing off his consummate construction skills on was the propane torch. So when we'd go for a drive, which was often a Sunday ritual, he'd bring his torch and a pot. Noontime brought a stop to eat lunch. First him and my mom would give us plates with sandwiches and chips. Yet Dave believed deeply (probably some sort of unconscious conviction) that no lunch was complete without something hot to stave off the cold, never mind if it was mid-summer and 90 degrees. I can still see him clearly: he'd be standing at the side of the road, leaning against the car with his torch propped up by a brick he'd brought along for this very purpose, holding a pot filled with baked beans under the torch, stirring it.

At some point dad discovered technological progress and the propane torch was jettisoned for a Coleman stove. Now he reasoned that complete meals could be prepared even in remote locations that defied even what the most imaginative mind could envision. To Dave, preparing food for his family was an act of love. It was how he showed his love. When he learned I was engaged to Tara, he planned a food tribute. So he brought his beloved Coleman stove to Philadelphia. He couldn't wait to take us to a small park to show his love. He kept bbringing it up until we complied with his wish. So in the center of downtown Philadelphia, he cooked a fish dinner (always fresh fish and bought moments before at the Reading Terminal Market from some Koreans who Dave commented on, saying, "these guys really know how to pick and cut fish.") amidst the background of skyscrapers.

You see, food and eating together were intricately linked in Dave's soul as a symbol of family and love. To him, this was what families should do together and for each other.

(Note: I'll complete this webpage at a later time, RIW)