rebel.lio

El meu insurrecció

In Memory of David Edelstein

{This is from a note sent to a New England paper in response to the obituary and brief article about an old friend and mentor.  It was dated 11/27/2014}

 

When I was only 11-12 years old, there was a meeting house in town where “peaceniks” would gather to debate with the likes of the John Birch Society. We had speakers from all around the world who talked about war and poverty and hunger and capitalism and socialism and so many other isms. I would go to these meetings and try to get up the courage to debate the Birchers and other right wing characters. There was an older person, about 18, and his sister, who was a bit older if I recall, who noticed me, talked with me, listened to me and encouraged me to find my own voice and use it. The woman was Linda Edelstein and the man was David Edelstein. I looked for them at every meeting as if they were my brother and sister taking me on a great adventure. David had a wicked sense of humour and was never cruel or even critical about the thoughts and words I offered. He just encouraged me to think, think things through, question, ask questions, listen and speak my mind. Linda was little different. Sometimes David played guitar before the meetings or during breaks and he and Linda lead parts of the group in song. I remember how sad everyone was when we lost the space and the meetings came to an end. I knew that David and Linda were moving on with college and careers and I might never see them again or feel their support. Hard for a young kid. Today, so many feelings are flushing through me as I am informed that David passed away 2 weeks ago. Through all of it, I feel my voice and I know that what little time we had in knowing each other, it was he, above all others, who brought me  to realize it was my voice and I had the right to use it. I’ve never stopped using it. I feel his music and his laughter as if it were yesterday and the excitement I felt when he and Linda walked through that meetinghouse door. Everything begins somewhere… and then some part of it ends somewhere….but not all of it. Some gets carried through others and through them to still more. David lives.

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