Solomon Stein
By Andrew, David and Steven Groothuis, Grandsons
December 26, 2006
Read by Andrew Groothuis
We thought he was immortal. That's what everyone would say as the years went by. Look at him, he's 85 and still rides his bike to the store. Look, he's 90 and he still teaches dancing. Look, he's 95 and still drives. But to us, his Grandchildren, none of this ever really took us by surprise. This was our Grandfather, and it was inconceivable to us that he would ever compromise the way he lived his life for anything, especially something like age. Although we never really knew what he thought about it, to us, it looked like his attitude was, "so, what's five or ten extra birthdays? Just more time to do more things." More dance steps to learn, more songs to sing, more parties, more seders, I mean, there was simply too much to do to ever even think about slowing down, while most of us usually spend our time thinking of ways to slow down and relax. And God forbid we should ever be caught "relaxing" with him in the room. Always on the run, never slowing down.
Like a superhero, immortal.
But two days ago we were reminded that our Grandfather was, in the end, human. Too human to be immortal. Because a thousand years from now, if someone were to need a prime example of all that's good about human beings, all that's right about them, all they'd need to do is hear about Sol Stein. About how honest he was, how decent and moral he was, how loving a husband, father and grandfather he was, how good a friend he was. And what's more remarkable about it is that it was all second nature to him. He didn't want to be immortal. He didn't want to be anybody's hero. He just wanted to be exactly what he was: honest, moral, a loving husband, father and grandfather. And the power he had over us, his Grandchildren, can be summed up like this: He never really tried to impose his will on us. He didn't try to make us adopt his beliefs. What he did was lead by example. He showed us, without telling us, what being human and being alive was all about. He made us want to squeeze every ounce of fulfillment and satisfaction out of every moment we have on this earth the way he was able to. We never had to ask why he smiled all the time, or why he took pictures of everything, or why he always seemed to be laughing at something. And he would entertain us, too. With jokes, songs, dances, and because we were family, he didn't charge usÉmuch. But we never had to ask why he did these things. We knew why, because we grew up with him, because he loved being our Grandfather, and with every camera flash, every smile, and every song, he made sure we knew just how much he loved being our Grandfather. He made sure everyone knew! At Bar Mitvahs at our temple, its customary for the kids parents and grandparents to come up and bless the kid in their own words. Most grandparents would lean in and whisper something into the kids ear. But not ours. Ours would stand up straight and proclaim it to the world. He would make jokes, both verbal and visual, and, in Steven's case, he even quoted Dickens. It was his chance to tell us how much we meant to him, and he had witnesses, some from four towns over, so there would never be any question about it.
So we want to say thank you to our Grandfather, for showing us the way.
Now that I think about it, maybe he was immortal. He was certainly a hero to us. But I'm sure that if something like immortality were offered to him, he would say, "Nah. I'd rather just be Grandpa. You get more out of it."
So on behalf of your Grandchildren, Audrey, David, Steven and myself, we want to say that we love you, and that we miss you already.