Dear Readers,It has been an excrutiating week - which is why I haven't posted in a while - as we prepared for the death of our synagogue's cantor, Stephen H. Merkel. He died after a long battle with cancer at 11:40 AM on Sunday, Feburary 18.
Right now all of us at the synagogue are preparing for the funeral. It is different from preparing for a congregant's funeral in that we need to figure out how to address the needs of all of our 1,200 households who will want to express their grief and sympathy. Adding to the pain of this passage is the timing. Cantor Merkel died during a week when many of our families are on vacation - and during a season when many more of our elderly members are wintering in sunnier climes. While many will want to attend Thursday morning's funeral, we anticipate that many will feel a double sense of loss that they cannot return. We are holding consecutive evenings of shiva services at the synagogue, and on Shabbat we will honor Cantor Merkel at our service.
The thumbnail sketch of his life and the details of the week are encapsulated in the obituary that I wrote for tomorrow's New York Times:
STEPHEN H. MERKEL, CANTOR: The Congregation, Clergy, and Staff of Westchester Reform Temple mourn the death of its Cantor of 19 years. A native of Winnipeg, Cantor Merkel was a Juilliard-trained baritone and celebrated performer noted for his passion for Jewish music and Yiddish culture. A graduate of Jewish Theological Seminary, Cantor Merkel also held a Masters in Social Work and was a beloved counselor and teacher. He is survived by one brother, David and sister in law, Joyce; two nephews, Jarrod and Tyler, of Vancouver, BC; faithful assistant Lynn Hellman and devoted caretaker Susan Wiener, of Scarsdale. Funeral services will be held at Westchester Reform Temple, 255 Mamaroneck Rd. in Scarsdale, Thursday at 10:30 AM. Shiva will be observed at the Temple on Thursday, Saturday, and the following Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday, from 7-9 PM with a service at 7:45. Contributions may be made to the Cantor Stephen H. Merkel Fund for Jewish Music and Yiddish Culture of Westchester Reform Temple. It is written: "With my song I shall thank God" (Ps. 28:7). Cantor Stephen Merkel's song will long resound.
Ellen Sunness, President
Richard J. Jacobs, Rabbi
Jonathan E. Blake, Associate Rabbi
Jack Stern, Jr., Rabbi Emeritus
These few words don't really capture the essence of the man. That task we will undertake in the services throughout the week, which will combine some of the music we associate with Stephen and a host of personal remembrances. For those of you who knew Cantor Merkel, it will not surprise you to learn that he planned every minute of his own funeral service with exacting precision and forceful opinion. He even called one of his dearest colleagues, Ida Rae Cahana, before he died to convey his wish that she come in from Portland, Oregon, to sing at his farewell service. He was a man of refined musical tastes and his service will feature, among others, a world-class cellist and clarinetist. That's our Stephen.
Though I am not delivering a eulogy at the service, I would have many remembrances worth sharing. Cantor Stephen Merkel was a colorful, intelligent, passionate man who loved life. He possessed a true operatic baritone that could blast the roof off the sanctuary, one of those voices that evinces profound natural resonance and professional training. True opera singers can sing without microphones. They have trained their naturally astounding voices to project to the back of concert halls. It was sometimes hard to sing next to Cantor Merkel because he was just singing so darn loud without even realizing it. But he was always generous with me on the bimah - he would point to me when he wanted me to sing a verse of a song and would lean on me for rhythm and timing (not his forte). He liked that I know my Schubert from my Schumann (two of his favorites).
When I came to our synagogue, Cantor Merkel was addressed only as "Cantor." Everyone at the Temple called him by his title. "Cantor would like to see you." "Cantor is going to Balducci's for lunch. Would you like a coffee?" And, "Why is Cantor's dog wandering into the sanctuary?" And so forth. After about six months, I asked him why everyone, including his colleagues on our clergy staff, called him "Cantor" instead of "Stephen." He shocked me by saying, "I never asked for that." So to me, Cantor was Stephen. And he called me "Jonny."
No one calls me Jonny - not even my wife. But Jonny it was, as in, "Jonny - remember, no brown shoes on the bimah on Yontif." He said that to me before my first High Holidays. To Stephen this was rabbinical mentoring.
Stephen loved his dog Boujie, that poor, old, scruffy, blind-as-a-bat terrier. I am told that Boujie turned Stephen into a man of open and warm affection, breaking his longtime stentorian demeanor. That dog drove us all nuts, wandering around the office like a homeless Roomba. Poor Boujie. He loved Stephen. I think he's going to live with Lynn, Stephen's assistant from work.
Stephen was fancy. He loved finer things. If he were going to drink wine, why not a $50 Cabenet? He went to all manner of shows - Opera, Broadway, Klezmer. He bought me great CDs - Debussy, Schubert, Schumann, and a terrific disc by Fado singer Misia. He adored the rising baritone star Matthias Goring.
Before Stephen got sick we talked constantly about our favorite restaurant discoveries in New York City. And in the final months of his illness he insisted that he was going to prepare a feast for me at his home - and so nudged me day after day to remember to give him a recent New York Times feature on preparing rabbit in the Tuscan style, Coniglio con something or other.
We didn't get a chance to eat rabbit together.
If he were going to buy a pair of plain black trousers, why not Prada? He gave me those Prada pants. He had bought them two sizes too small. When he offered them to me, I said, "You have ten seconds to rescind this offer." In an eerie coincidence, I was wearing those pants when I received the call informing me of Stephen's death.
Stephen took an interest in my professional development. He wanted me to pursue a Ph.D. but also understood my affection for congregational work. He had no sense of propriety about interrupting me when working - I'd be in the middle of a meeting with a Bar Mitzvah student when he'd barge in my office and say, "I need to see you." Invariably, he wanted to tell me about what he'd had for dinner last night.
There are many more remembrances to share but I think these need to be saved for our memorials later in the week.
Stephen died too young. I think he was 57.
I won't forget him.
