Each Moment is a Lifetime

By George Vradenburg

When Michael Lerner's father, Judge Joseph Lerner, passed away, I lost a father as well. Judge Lerner (as I referred to him most of my life) was my father-in-law (my wife is Michael's sister).

My first encounter with Judge Lerner was not auspicious. Indeed, it was a downright disaster. I was dating his daughter, Trish, when she was attending Boston University and I was attending Harvard Law School. Judge Lerner and his wife, Bea, came up to visit this suspicious character who had just begun seeing their daughter.

Judge Lerner had a determined chin and an imposing bearing. He was a former judge in New Jersey and a prominent Zionist who had been active in 1947 as Israel was being created. He had strong opinions and was not shy about expressing them. Bea was a prominent figure in her own right. She was, with her husband, a visible and influential figure in Democratic New Jersey politics; the first woman president of any state chapter of the Zionist Organization of America; and a civic champion of the New Jersey Ballet, the March of Dimes, and numerous other causes. She, too, had strong opinions and was not shy in expressing them.

As they probed during dinner, they discovered some very unsettling facts about the young man who had the hubris to be dating their daughter. First, I was from Colorado, a state they had heard of (somewhere between Pennsylvania and California) but knew little of and cared little about, other than that they had not known anyone from Colorado who had made much of his life. Second, they confirmed that I was not Jewish (their daughter had been a little vague on that point). And, third, they learned I was a Republican, a Goldwater supporter, and a believer that U.S. policy toward Israel and Palestine should be more "evenhanded." The dinner did not go well. The next morning, Judge Lerner called his daughter and said: "Your mother cried all night. You're killing her. Her head is in the oven under ‘keep warm.' I hope you're happy." I was later to learn that Judge and Bea Lerner had three criteria for a son-in-law: that he be from the East, that he be Jewish, and that he be a Democrat.

As it turned out, I moved to the East and converted to Judaism (driving my parents to near-suicidal thoughts, but that's another story), but, for me, becoming a Democrat was not on the table. For their part, Judge and Bea Lerner learned to respect my decision to remain a Republican.

Over the next forty years of Shabbat meals, Temple attendance, weekly political conversations, bringing their grandchildren up Jewish, and loving their daughter, Judge Lerner and I fell in love. I gained a second father, he a second son (in each case, second place was an honored position). We were traditional guys, so the sharing of deep personal feelings was still not in our daily vocabulary. I still called him Judge; he still called me George.

Over the last five years of his life, his body slowly deteriorated. His legs became fragile and he was confined to a wheelchair; his eyes, never strong, became weaker and weaker, and he became blind; his hearing in one ear was lost, and his hearing in the other ear was failing. Yet his mind remained strong; his awareness of current events was immediate; his interest in politics never diminished. He was always present; his will to live never waned. On several occasions, when he was in his nineties, Judge was taken to the Intensive Care Unit of his local hospital with pneumonia ("the old man's friend"), only to stun his doctors by recovering, returning home, and announcing that he had "decided" to live because, as he said, his daughter and son-in-law would call the next day to express their love for him. In those calls, it was no longer "Judge" and "George," it was "Judgie" and "Georgie." We were still two guys, but somehow we had learned to express our deepest feelings for each other.

Joe Lerner ("Judgie") taught me something so very important: every moment of consciousness is precious. Live in the moment; live for those moments when someone you love loves you deeply in return and you can express it. Each of those moments is as valuable as a lifetime-those moments are what life is all about.

As Trish puts it, "Today, my father of 94 died prematurely."

George and Trish Vradenburg are the publishers of Tikkun.