For Harry Warshaw, My Father (1917-2008)
I. The Note to the Mourners
Those attending will have to forgive Jay, his son, for not being here today. His father’s passing has been more than he can bear and he is not in the best of health.
Hopefully, he’ll be able to make a visit at some time in the not too distant future.
He thanks you all for coming.
II. The Commemorative Poem to My Parents
To Be Read At Old Montefiore Cemetery, St. Albans Queens, NY at the funeral of Harry Warshaw (born-Oct. 17, 1917 died-Apr. 29, 2008) to be held on the morning of Sunday May 4th, 2008.
For My Mother and Father
They’re together now. Harry and Evelyn.
I see them young and beautiful and healthy
As they were when in the first full bloom of their true love.
She welcomes him into the Garden
Where they embrace and rest a while and rise again
In the new day under a New Sun
Where Love is stronger than Death.
Love, that reverential bridge connecting
Life to Life.
----
Written by Jay Warshaw
Tues. Apr. 29, 2008
Boca Raton, FL
====
III. The Tribute to My Father
Harry passed away after a long courageous battle against many illnesses. He would have been 91 years old in October.
Born in the Bronx, brought up in “battling” Bensonhurst Brooklyn, he was a fighter to the end.
He had been an athlete--an inveterate handball player in particular, frequenting the legendary rough-and-tumble handball courts of Brighton Beach Brooklyn -- a soldier, an airman, a combat veteran of the Second World War, flying many missions in defense of his country--you could say he was 'The Last of the Flying Warshawskys'.
And he was a “soldier” too of another kind in the sometimes harrowing knock-down drag-out contests of New York’s Garment Industry and making a living in Manhattan in general.
While he worked hard he tried to find time for others. He knew how important it was to spend time with children. He managed and coached Little League Baseball. He often joined in the games of the kids on the street and taught them how to throw and catch a baseball or a football the best way he knew.
He never articulated it in so many words but by virtue of his example he believed your time was the most valuable thing you could give others. Ever the good trooper, in his long prime he rarely missed a family function, not because it was expected he attend, but because he enjoyed the company of his family and friends, no matter the celebration, whether the occasions were births, bar-mitzvahs, bat-mitzvahs or marriages.
And when it was time to bury the dead he was there to pay his respects and comfort the bereaved
He loved and honored his parents. He loved his entire family; his country and the Jewish People.
He loved life.
He loved good jokes, even though sometimes he might've told a bad one.
He did more good than bad.
He was human. He was one of us. He leaves an honorable name.
-- written by Jay Warshaw
Sat. May 3rd, 2008
====
Those attending will have to forgive Jay, his son, for not being here today. His father’s passing has been more than he can bear and he is not in the best of health.
Hopefully, he’ll be able to make a visit at some time in the not too distant future.
He thanks you all for coming.
II. The Commemorative Poem to My Parents
To Be Read At Old Montefiore Cemetery, St. Albans Queens, NY at the funeral of Harry Warshaw (born-Oct. 17, 1917 died-Apr. 29, 2008) to be held on the morning of Sunday May 4th, 2008.
For My Mother and Father
They’re together now. Harry and Evelyn.
I see them young and beautiful and healthy
As they were when in the first full bloom of their true love.
She welcomes him into the Garden
Where they embrace and rest a while and rise again
In the new day under a New Sun
Where Love is stronger than Death.
Love, that reverential bridge connecting
Life to Life.
----
Written by Jay Warshaw
Tues. Apr. 29, 2008
Boca Raton, FL
====
III. The Tribute to My Father
Harry passed away after a long courageous battle against many illnesses. He would have been 91 years old in October.
Born in the Bronx, brought up in “battling” Bensonhurst Brooklyn, he was a fighter to the end.
He had been an athlete--an inveterate handball player in particular, frequenting the legendary rough-and-tumble handball courts of Brighton Beach Brooklyn -- a soldier, an airman, a combat veteran of the Second World War, flying many missions in defense of his country--you could say he was 'The Last of the Flying Warshawskys'.
And he was a “soldier” too of another kind in the sometimes harrowing knock-down drag-out contests of New York’s Garment Industry and making a living in Manhattan in general.
While he worked hard he tried to find time for others. He knew how important it was to spend time with children. He managed and coached Little League Baseball. He often joined in the games of the kids on the street and taught them how to throw and catch a baseball or a football the best way he knew.
He never articulated it in so many words but by virtue of his example he believed your time was the most valuable thing you could give others. Ever the good trooper, in his long prime he rarely missed a family function, not because it was expected he attend, but because he enjoyed the company of his family and friends, no matter the celebration, whether the occasions were births, bar-mitzvahs, bat-mitzvahs or marriages.
And when it was time to bury the dead he was there to pay his respects and comfort the bereaved
He loved and honored his parents. He loved his entire family; his country and the Jewish People.
He loved life.
He loved good jokes, even though sometimes he might've told a bad one.
He did more good than bad.
He was human. He was one of us. He leaves an honorable name.
-- written by Jay Warshaw
Sat. May 3rd, 2008
====
posted by greenpagan at 5:06 AM
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