Stricken and Challenged Walked so Tall Miracle Man Would not Fall Larger than Life Loved by All Saw the Zelem Elokim In Great and Small Up to Shamayim Our Creator did Call Go to Him now With your Dance and your Song Storm the Heavens Help Right the Wrong Watch Us, Protect Us Keep Our Family Strong From the Place in Gan Eden Where You Now Belong Anonymous
There are so many memories and stories, it's difficult to pick any particular ones and to distill them into words in this forum. Also, there are many others that are more qualified than I. However, it behooves us to publicize the kind of incredible person we knew so that the rest of us can learn from him. One memory that Tammy and I share: It was about 16 years ago, Mitch was telling us about having twin girls. As a young married couple, having two babies at one time seemed mind-numbingly difficult. Double the diapers, feedings etc. etc. But he was so proud and it was so obvious how crazy he was of them; it didn't sound so hard after all.
Always take the high road. Its how Mitch led his life and as Elly Buddy said, Mitch led by example. He was and will always be an "a man of truth", "Eesh emes". May he be a melitz yosher for his eishas chayil and his entire mishpacha! Man, I miss him and his stories...
That was my dear friend Mitch and so much more. My family and I are lucky that we had the Zichus of knowing such a pure Neshama. May he be a Meilitz Yoasher for us all. He will be missed greatly but remembered forever. My words can not express how much Mithc has down, shown us, changed and touched us all. Tatty he lived and believed in your motto , to live everyday like it's your last. "Baby, when I kick the bucket I know I enjoyed and lived life to the fullest. Just enjoy life." Although Mitch was in soooo much pain, he always had a smile on his face when I or my family would come to visit.
I had the good fortune to be a classmate of Mitch in both college and law school. He joined the Y.U. wrestling team with little if any experience as a wrestler. Nevetheless, by application of prodigious strength and fierce determination, he totally overwhelmed far more skilled wrestlers. If I'm not mistaken he only lost one match in his career at Y.U. Once when we were eating in the cafeteria he turned to me and said "Schwartzie, want some of this apple?" I assumed that he would cut it in half with a knife. Instead, he applied his thumbs to the top of the fruit and tore it in half. Try it some time. It ain't easy. For him it was like pickin' peas. He and I were Moot Court partners at Cardozo. We were assigned to prosecute a rapist. When asked by the judge why he was sure that the defendant was guilty, Mitch replied totally deadpan, "Whaddya mean? the guy's a truckdriver of course he's guilty" We won nevertheless. To my regret, we only saw each other occasionally in the intervening years. He would always flash that million dollar smile "Schwartzie, how ya doin?'
To those who mourn, I wish you peace and a lifetime of memories of a man who was larger than life.
By: Paul Freedman Published: Thursday, October 25, 2007 Go Back To News Stories Printer-Friendly Version
Mitch Merlis, a’h. In tribute to Mr. and Mrs. Henry Merlis; Paul, Mark, Elaina; and the Merlis children. HaMakom yenachem eschem b’soch sha’ar av’lei Tzion v’Yerushalayim.
October 16—As I write this tribute to a giant in my life, tears well up in my eyes, and I am not alone. Wherever I have gone throughout our town in the past week, I have bumped into a friend who stares at me for a brief moment and I back at him. And we both instantly commiserate on the tragedy that has befallen us. We nod. We sigh. All in absolute love and awe of our hero. Like Whitey, a’h. Neil Goldberg, a’h. Eddie Jacobs, a’h. Benjamin Strauss, a’h. Shelly Rokeach, a’h. Little Duvie Cooper, a’h. Donald Adler, a’h. Phil Braunstein, a’h. Chaim Weinstein, a’h. So many heroes, in my one lifetime, v’chulu, v’chulu…
Now, Mitch joins these tzaddikim, perhaps a long-awaited place of rest. After five years of fighting that dread disease, that Malach HaMaves. A young man, who defined so many aspects of what Modern Orthodoxy personifies. There isn’t a person on this earth who would deny the unquestionable courage, strength, and absolute pure koach u’gevurah.
Gevurah is what we all saw, as we grew up with Mitch. I remember playing ball with him in eleventh grade at the “outdoor athletic field” (a 20' x 30' driveway, complete with al-Qaeda-size bomb craters), outside the hallowed hallways of BTA. He wasn’t exceptionally skilled, nor was he overpowering. Yet, from the fall and into the cold winter months of 1972, Mitch played outside, with his dark sweatshirt and famous wool winter hat. That hat would later evolve into the more famous “NAPA hat” worn in his college years—shooting, dribbling, many times alone outside.
By the spring of 1973, Mitch was out-rebounding everyone on the court. Even me. And, I watched him in awe, as I watch him now.
In the year following the Yom Kippur War, Watergate, and the oil crisis, the year of BTA seniors waiting on gas lines at 4:00 a.m. so our parents could drive to work, the legend of Mitch Merlis began in earnest. And the legend has never ended.
I played with Mitch on that admas kodesh backyard, watching him get stronger, faster, and more agile. Then, there was the sledge-hammer incident. Kids try to take dangerous risks. Walking onto the public-school playground on Avenue K and East l8th Street was exactly the kind of risk that BTA bachurim took. Mitch didn’t start fights in that park. But, I did see him end them. I saw Paul too, in my memories, grabbing a bike thief on Avenue L. Another famous story, yet to be told. Indeed, Mitch learned from his brother Paul how to be a giant, but how to act as a frum giant should.
At YU, Mitch and his abilities soared. This is only one of ten thousand stories about Mitch and his four wonderful years at Yeshiva University that need to be told:
To have been on Mitch’s team, the YU wrestling team, was to see the ultimate concept of kiddush Hashem played out before everyone’s eyes. Indeed, the Eighth Wonder of the World was to watch a YU wrestling match and see Mitch at work. Imagine…Mitch’s opponent actually crawled to a neutral corner and Mitch pulled him back in! The gadlus! The kiddush Hashem—especially the really tough guys, or the robot-like wrestlers—they all ran or crawled from Mitch.
Then, the Maccabiah games came in Israel, and Mitch won more medals than any other yeshiva athlete—ever. We were all so proud of our “Menachem Mendel,” just as we were all so proud of other stars in high school. Moshe (Witzy) Hoenig (still very much alive) and Mike Halpern a’h (wasted talent, personified), who broke Jerry Jozsef’s nose whenever he got a little upset during practice. These were all our heroes—and now some of them are just gone. When Mitch returned from Israel, our coach, the revered Neil Elman, pranced around the YU campus with Mitch as if he were carrying around his own human trophy.
If Mitch was indeed a hero, then his wife Elaina was a heroine. I shall never forget seeing her as she waited for Mitch in the lobby of the Morg dorms. She carried a little sefer Tehillim with her. I envisioned her reciting Tehillim on the No. 1 train filled with all kinds of riffraff. In those days, you took your life in your hands just getting on the No. 1 train, but Elaina was an eishes chayil before she was even engaged.
What was my special kesher to Mitch? I turned Mitch into a Freedmaniac—that strain of young men who braved the wilderness at night. Turkey Lake. Lake Superior. Lake George. Camp Ramah. Did Mitch actually confront members of the Klu Klux Klan in Wingdale, New York? Yes. Did Mitch actually frighten off a black bear at Lake Superior, with two soup cans? Yes. I was a witness to these events, too. They were as real as the fleeing thugs on Avenue K.
Alas, Mitch was greater than life. It’s hard to explain to today’s youth what priceless kedushah there is when you go amongst goyim with your kippah on your head. Mitch taught me that in athletic competition, that yarmulke means something to us, but it means something to them, as well. They watch the Jew in competition—and in real life, how we act and how we treat our opponents; how we take losing and how we deal with being the hero.
Then, Mitch got sick. The rumors flew. Perhaps Hashem, in some sort of inexplicable way, actually did want tzaddikim to be close to him, and that is why he takes them when they are young. When the news came out that Mitch Merlis had cancer, I think all of his friends felt a little bit of that cancer, too.
And then, the shocking story became a horror story. Mitch was just going into remission from his cancer when, while playing softball at his bungalow colony, he had a freak injury and was paralyzed. He was rushed by helicopter to Westchester Medical Center. They told his father, Henry Merlis (another hero of mine from high school), “Your son will never walk again,” and the story became surreal. I visited Mitch several months after his accident. Sitting in this couch-like chair, with a piece of his jaw removed, he was so majestic to me that I did not see one bit of his illness. It was like an elderly man, seeing his wife of 50 years deteriorate with Parkinson’s Disease, tell her visitors “how absolutely beautiful my wife is”! That is the love and admiration that I had for this man.
Time, and false hopes, and pure bitachon, tricked us into believing that Mitch would be redeemed, that he would beat off the hammer-wielding Malach HaMaves. The bear with a death-watch. A Klansman with an evil look at his face. Who knows the true face of death?
Then, silence.
Then, I saw my dearest friend Zevvie, who wrestled with Mitch and me all those years, who voted for me (so he claims) at BTA when I ran for school president. On Rosh Chodesh Mar-Cheshvan, everyone was happy at the 8:30 Beth Sholom minyan in Lawrence. I tried to give Big Zev a friendly bear hug as I normally do.
But, Zev stepped back, holding me off, for the first time since the Cutlass Salons rolled down Church Avenue in Flatbush. I beheld his pallor and my heart sank. I knew what he knew. And he told me, in the most solemn of voices, “We lost a good man yesterday.” And, that was it. The culmination of 30 years of respect, honor, love, admiration, and fun was over. The legacy, vanquished. The bear, victorious.
What does HaKadosh Baruch Hu need with Mitch Merlis up there, when we all need him so badly down here? I walked onto Washington Avenue in front of my shul. And I respectfully lifted both my hands to the sky and shouted out, “Why Mitch Merlis? Why take my hero? Why now?” And the tears welled in my eyes, because I knew the answer.
Mitch loved to drive up to the mountains from Washington Heights late at night. Jerry Jozsef had this cool, l974 Brown Camaro, with a high-tech 8-track tape machine. Mitch loved Dust in the Wind by Kansas. He couldn’t turn that song on until we were far along the Palisades Parkway, past Exit 9 and in Harriman State Park. And, he would insist on silence when those wonderful words would come on.
“…Don’t hang on, nothing lasts forever but the earth and sky…” If only I could have been with you, Mitch, to play that ancient 8-track to you, so at least you would have gone on this great journey, down the long, long trail, with a smile on your face.
So ends the legend and legacy of Mitch Merlis. Tzaddik hayah b’dorosav.”
How can we, the survivors, teach the next generation of ballplayers what unbelievable purity Mitch brought to athletics? How can we explain to our youngsters that the coolest guy in any yeshiva summer camp wore a yarmulke and tzitzis and had zero tolerance for nivul peh? The toughest, strongest guy in the yeshiva leagues always put his arm around the simplest, weakest guy? How can our boys make any sense of that?
Those of us, the survivors of this tragedy, who loved that giant of a hero, can only say exactly what Mitch would want us to say: “Don’t ever give up your fight. Remember me for what I represented both on the mat and off the mat. And please, never give up your bitachon.”
By: Paul Freedman Published: Thursday, October 25, 2007 Go Back To News Stories Printer-Friendly Version
Mitch Merlis, a’h. In tribute to Mr. and Mrs. Henry Merlis; Paul, Mark, Elaina; and the Merlis children. HaMakom yenachem eschem b’soch sha’ar av’lei Tzion v’Yerushalayim.
October 16—As I write this tribute to a giant in my life, tears well up in my eyes, and I am not alone. Wherever I have gone throughout our town in the past week, I have bumped into a friend who stares at me for a brief moment and I back at him. And we both instantly commiserate on the tragedy that has befallen us. We nod. We sigh. All in absolute love and awe of our hero. Like Whitey, a’h. Neil Goldberg, a’h. Eddie Jacobs, a’h. Benjamin Strauss, a’h. Shelly Rokeach, a’h. Little Duvie Cooper, a’h. Donald Adler, a’h. Phil Braunstein, a’h. Chaim Weinstein, a’h. So many heroes, in my one lifetime, v’chulu, v’chulu…
Now, Mitch joins these tzaddikim, perhaps a long-awaited place of rest. After five years of fighting that dread disease, that Malach HaMaves. A young man, who defined so many aspects of what Modern Orthodoxy personifies. There isn’t a person on this earth who would deny the unquestionable courage, strength, and absolute pure koach u’gevurah.
Gevurah is what we all saw, as we grew up with Mitch. I remember playing ball with him in eleventh grade at the “outdoor athletic field” (a 20' x 30' driveway, complete with al-Qaeda-size bomb craters), outside the hallowed hallways of BTA. He wasn’t exceptionally skilled, nor was he overpowering. Yet, from the fall and into the cold winter months of 1972, Mitch played outside, with his dark sweatshirt and famous wool winter hat. That hat would later evolve into the more famous “NAPA hat” worn in his college years—shooting, dribbling, many times alone outside.
By the spring of 1973, Mitch was out-rebounding everyone on the court. Even me. And, I watched him in awe, as I watch him now.
In the year following the Yom Kippur War, Watergate, and the oil crisis, the year of BTA seniors waiting on gas lines at 4:00 a.m. so our parents could drive to work, the legend of Mitch Merlis began in earnest. And the legend has never ended.
I played with Mitch on that admas kodesh backyard, watching him get stronger, faster, and more agile. Then, there was the sledge-hammer incident. Kids try to take dangerous risks. Walking onto the public-school playground on Avenue K and East l8th Street was exactly the kind of risk that BTA bachurim took. Mitch didn’t start fights in that park. But, I did see him end them. I saw Paul too, in my memories, grabbing a bike thief on Avenue L. Another famous story, yet to be told. Indeed, Mitch learned from his brother Paul how to be a giant, but how to act as a frum giant should.
At YU, Mitch and his abilities soared. This is only one of ten thousand stories about Mitch and his four wonderful years at Yeshiva University that need to be told:
To have been on Mitch’s team, the YU wrestling team, was to see the ultimate concept of kiddush Hashem played out before everyone’s eyes. Indeed, the Eighth Wonder of the World was to watch a YU wrestling match and see Mitch at work. Imagine…Mitch’s opponent actually crawled to a neutral corner and Mitch pulled him back in! The gadlus! The kiddush Hashem—especially the really tough guys, or the robot-like wrestlers—they all ran or crawled from Mitch.
Then, the Maccabiah games came in Israel, and Mitch won more medals than any other yeshiva athlete—ever. We were all so proud of our “Menachem Mendel,” just as we were all so proud of other stars in high school. Moshe (Witzy) Hoenig (still very much alive) and Mike Halpern a’h (wasted talent, personified), who broke Jerry Jozsef’s nose whenever he got a little upset during practice. These were all our heroes—and now some of them are just gone. When Mitch returned from Israel, our coach, the revered Neil Elman, pranced around the YU campus with Mitch as if he were carrying around his own human trophy.
If Mitch was indeed a hero, then his wife Elaina was a heroine. I shall never forget seeing her as she waited for Mitch in the lobby of the Morg dorms. She carried a little sefer Tehillim with her. I envisioned her reciting Tehillim on the No. 1 train filled with all kinds of riffraff. In those days, you took your life in your hands just getting on the No. 1 train, but Elaina was an eishes chayil before she was even engaged.
What was my special kesher to Mitch? I turned Mitch into a Freedmaniac—that strain of young men who braved the wilderness at night. Turkey Lake. Lake Superior. Lake George. Camp Ramah. Did Mitch actually confront members of the Klu Klux Klan in Wingdale, New York? Yes. Did Mitch actually frighten off a black bear at Lake Superior, with two soup cans? Yes. I was a witness to these events, too. They were as real as the fleeing thugs on Avenue K.
Alas, Mitch was greater than life. It’s hard to explain to today’s youth what priceless kedushah there is when you go amongst goyim with your kippah on your head. Mitch taught me that in athletic competition, that yarmulke means something to us, but it means something to them, as well. They watch the Jew in competition—and in real life, how we act and how we treat our opponents; how we take losing and how we deal with being the hero.
Then, Mitch got sick. The rumors flew. Perhaps Hashem, in some sort of inexplicable way, actually did want tzaddikim to be close to him, and that is why he takes them when they are young. When the news came out that Mitch Merlis had cancer, I think all of his friends felt a little bit of that cancer, too.
And then, the shocking story became a horror story. Mitch was just going into remission from his cancer when, while playing softball at his bungalow colony, he had a freak injury and was paralyzed. He was rushed by helicopter to Westchester Medical Center. They told his father, Henry Merlis (another hero of mine from high school), “Your son will never walk again,” and the story became surreal. I visited Mitch several months after his accident. Sitting in this couch-like chair, with a piece of his jaw removed, he was so majestic to me that I did not see one bit of his illness. It was like an elderly man, seeing his wife of 50 years deteriorate with Parkinson’s Disease, tell her visitors “how absolutely beautiful my wife is”! That is the love and admiration that I had for this man.
Time, and false hopes, and pure bitachon, tricked us into believing that Mitch would be redeemed, that he would beat off the hammer-wielding Malach HaMaves. The bear with a death-watch. A Klansman with an evil look at his face. Who knows the true face of death?
Then, silence.
Then, I saw my dearest friend Zevvie, who wrestled with Mitch and me all those years, who voted for me (so he claims) at BTA when I ran for school president. On Rosh Chodesh Mar-Cheshvan, everyone was happy at the 8:30 Beth Sholom minyan in Lawrence. I tried to give Big Zev a friendly bear hug as I normally do.
But, Zev stepped back, holding me off, for the first time since the Cutlass Salons rolled down Church Avenue in Flatbush. I beheld his pallor and my heart sank. I knew what he knew. And he told me, in the most solemn of voices, “We lost a good man yesterday.” And, that was it. The culmination of 30 years of respect, honor, love, admiration, and fun was over. The legacy, vanquished. The bear, victorious.
What does HaKadosh Baruch Hu need with Mitch Merlis up there, when we all need him so badly down here? I walked onto Washington Avenue in front of my shul. And I respectfully lifted both my hands to the sky and shouted out, “Why Mitch Merlis? Why take my hero? Why now?” And the tears welled in my eyes, because I knew the answer.
Mitch loved to drive up to the mountains from Washington Heights late at night. Jerry Jozsef had this cool, l974 Brown Camaro, with a high-tech 8-track tape machine. Mitch loved Dust in the Wind by Kansas. He couldn’t turn that song on until we were far along the Palisades Parkway, past Exit 9 and in Harriman State Park. And, he would insist on silence when those wonderful words would come on.
“…Don’t hang on, nothing lasts forever but the earth and sky…” If only I could have been with you, Mitch, to play that ancient 8-track to you, so at least you would have gone on this great journey, down the long, long trail, with a smile on your face.
So ends the legend and legacy of Mitch Merlis. Tzaddik hayah b’dorosav.”
How can we, the survivors, teach the next generation of ballplayers what unbelievable purity Mitch brought to athletics? How can we explain to our youngsters that the coolest guy in any yeshiva summer camp wore a yarmulke and tzitzis and had zero tolerance for nivul peh? The toughest, strongest guy in the yeshiva leagues always put his arm around the simplest, weakest guy? How can our boys make any sense of that?
Those of us, the survivors of this tragedy, who loved that giant of a hero, can only say exactly what Mitch would want us to say: “Don’t ever give up your fight. Remember me for what I represented both on the mat and off the mat. And please, never give up your bitachon.”
A light is fast approaching, with a clarity I don’t usually see, Somehow I feel so certain, that this light is coming for me. It is traveling with such speed, and such force, I have no idea where it’s from, where is its source?
I am not familiar with my surroundings, as I turn around, I am looking for a familiar face, but there are none to be found. Something is very strange; where I am I have no clue, Everything is so clear everything is so blue.
Suddenly, the light engulfs my face, like a slow gentle rain, The next thing I realize, I am completely free of all pain. Have they found the cure at last, after all this time? I’m so full of excitement, I can’t believe it, and I’m going to be fine.
All of a sudden, the answer is as clear as day, In the middle of the night I must have passed away. To confirm my doubts, I look down, and slowly turn my head, Yes, there I am, peacefully lying in my hospital bed.
I am not afraid; I am ready to go, I have been preparing for this moment, for about four months or so. Then I hear a voice behind me saying, hold on Mr. Attorney, You’re not ready yet, for your final journey.
For seven days we will put your journey on the shelf, Your first stop is at the funeral parlor that you picked out yourself. It will be your privilege to observe a scene that will make you proud, This large hall will be filled with a standing room only crowd.
You will listen to the beautiful hespadim your family and friends will deliver, It will bring tears to your eyes, and make your whole body shiver. You can bask in the knowledge, that all these people are here for you, To pay you the respect you earned, your whole life through.
The next six days you’ll spend with your parents, brothers, children, and your wife. You will hear your friends, not mourn your passing, but celebrate your life. They will relate stories and experiences they had with you over the years, it will make them laugh as well as bring them to tears.
You will hear them reminisce about the times you spent together, You will hear them say how they will cherish those moments forever and ever. As they discuss the past, there will be so much joy and love in their eyes, And all the stories will be true, there is no need to fabricate, no need for lies.
The reason you are zoche to see all this, without a doubt Is because this is what your life was all about. You had an effect on everyone’s life that you knew, from young to old, Maybe it was on account of all those stories you told.
You touched so many lives in so many different ways, For so many people, you brightened up their days. The ability to make people smile, was a gift given to you by G-d above, Humor and laughter fit your personality like an expensive glove.
This dynamic personality was like a magnet in a way, It made people congregate around you and there they wanted to stay There was some kind of aura around you that put people at ease. Your humor and gentle demeanor, felt like a comforting breeze.
This was a great midah but it wasn’t your best by far, This is not what made you the star that you are. After your illness was diagnosed, you didn’t crawl into a shell, complain or mope, Instead you went out to visit sick people, giving them encouragement, giving them hope.
To help the sick even more, an entertainer you became, There isn’t a sick child in the tri-state area that doesn’t know your name. You magically transported these kids to an island where only happiness and health prevail, Even if for only a short time, you freed them from their mental jail.
I don’t have to tell you, I am certain that you know, This is a mitzvah that brings a person straight to olam habah. You gave chizuk and hope to those who decided, that for them it was already too late, This makes you a number one Gan Eden candidate.
Take a good look at your family and see what you have done, You have a tzadekes for a wife, two incredible daughters, and a wonderful son. They are all following on the path that you tirelessly paved for them, They are a pleasure to look at, each in their own right, a beautiful gem.
Your midos were exemplary; you never spoke an angry word, No loshon harah or richilus from your mouth was ever heard. You didn’t have a problem, not speaking ill of others, How could you, they were all your friends, they were all your brothers.
During your entire ordeal, your emunah never did waver, You were like a walking and talking musar sefer. Because in your heart you always understood, That G-d is all-merciful, He is all-good.
Now the moratorium is over, because your family got up from sitting, But this is not the end, au’contraire, for you it is a brand new beginning. Now you must get ready for your journey, to a place that is kuloh chaim, To start your new job, making people smile and laugh in Shamayim.
Mitchell was so proud of being a Merlis. Whenever we had family get-togethers, it was always a party when Mitch was there. There was something so dynamic about his presence. His smile and personality could light up a room.
My sister Vanessa and I went to see Mitch in the hospital after his accident. When he saw us, he said, "My cousins are here! My cousins are here!" His hair was long and he looked handsome and fit as ever. He was sitting in a wheelchair asking us if we wanted any chulent, as his chopped liver was all gone. He stretched his legs and was moving his feet and we were in awe. We were simply amazed at his mind over matter. He said he was getting out of there soon and we believed him. There was not an empty space on the walls of that room, they were filled with pictures of the family, of Mitch when he was younger with his brothers, Mitch with his parents, Mitch and Elaina, and their beautiful children. So much love and hope for the future. Mitchell was in such great spirits, making jokes, telling us about the nurse whom he referred to as "Christian Shiksa". We laughed and wished we had gone to see him more often.
When my sisters Vanessa, Robin and I were kids, we used to refer to our cousins Paul, Mark and Mitchell, as "the giants". They were older than us, and much taller, so to our perspective, they were. Today I can only say that our perception was accurate. Mitchell was a giant.
We miss you Mitchell, it's never going to be the same without you.
Love, Jessica (Merlis) Tarazi and the entire family
How lucky was I to have had the opportunity to work with Mitch - and get a chance to spend almost every day of seven years with such a great man? Yes, he often made me crazy ... but more often he made me laugh, and made me roll my eyes when he told corny jokes, and taught me yiddish phrases, and how to correctly pronounce "shwarma" and where to go for the best falafel.
He was a teacher and a friend. He was patient and fun-loving, generous and warm hearted.
My mind is filled with countless memories of his seemingly endless supply of wit and fun -- his boundless optimism and energy.
I cry each time I think of this world without Mitch in it - but I smile through the tears when I think of the good fortune I've had to have known him.
If he were reading this right now, he'd loudly proclaim: "naaaaw, c'mon...stop" but he'd be waving you on for more, with those 'keep-it-coming' hand gestures and impish grin.
On the first Holiday since we lost Mitch, I got to thinking about how thankful I am for how all who visit this website have been blessed. I'm so thankful to Hashem for bringing Mitch and all of the Merlii into my life. Thankful for all that I have learned from them and continue to learn as time passes. I'm thankful for Mitch's spirit, for the life, love and laughter that he brought to all around him. For the years of happy memories - the one of a kind Delaware trips with our fearless lifeguard/nature guide; the Yankee games that became events; the days spent making – and then eating – homemade pickles; the shabbos meals (often my second of the night or day); days on the ballfield or in front of the bungalow; the specially picked watermelons being delivered each week – and watching how the kids would run to greet and then help their dad. Thankful for all of the times I was able to tag along and was treated like part of the family. And though it may be selfish, I’m so thankful for the extra five years – for Mitch’s strength, determination and emunah and the nissim to which we bore witness. For the times we got to share and for the example that he set, a true hero. For the growth and strengthening of a community on one person’s behalf that was remarkable to behold. And I’m thankful for all that I know Mitch will continue to do for us in Olam Habah, and, finally, for the menuchat nefesh that he now has.
i went to camp morasha. we were all in awe of mitch (and paul, too)- they were larger than life. mitch was so strong, handsome. he wore his yarmulka and tzizis with pride. we swallowed hard in pride whenever he led our teams in victory over the other camps. when i heard he succumbed to cancer, i was devastated. to see such a strapping man waste away to cancer must have been very difficult for everyone. if it's any consolation- mitch had the kind of personality which made an impression on so many people with whom he probably never even shared a word. his presence alone was enough. i remember one small incident in camp- i was playing baseball and mitch was the coach, and we were playing against a non-jewish or barely jewish camp. i purposely swung like an awkward geek on the first two pitches to lure the outfield in. on the third pitch, i knocked the ball over their heads for a home run. mitch gave me a high five and promised me a case of soda! he never got around to giving me the soda, but for some reason, i always remembered how good it felt to make mitch proud. may hashem give comfort to the family and friends. i suppose we were lucky enough to have him even for too short a time. sigh.
Mitch Merlis was a high school classmate of mine, BTA class of 1974. I learned about his death just this past week, when I received a surprise phone call from another BTA classmate who looked me up on the Internet.
The last time I spoke with Mitch was at a wedding during the summer of 1978. Over thirty years ago. Afterwards, I lost contact with Mitch (along with almost all my other classmates). And still, his death affects me.
I remember Mitch for his quick wit. Some of the clever things he said had me laughing back in high school. And they were so memorable that they still have me laughing today. Yes, three decades later, I still remember his exact words, and the context in which he said them. He was one funny guy.
I remember Mitch for his compassion. I recall a time, as a high school senior, when I did poorly at a task at which I had expected to do well. Mitch was right there, assuring me that it was okay.
And I remember Mitch for his joyful spirit. I still recall his joyful dancing and performing at the wedding at which we last spoke, thirty years ago. I was also one of the performers during that wedding, and I recall the effort I had to make to keep up with him.
Mitch had a positive impact on my life. That was a long time ago, and yet that positive impact remains with me. His memory remains a blessing.
I knew Mitch as one of the most amazing human beings I ever met. I really only knew him as a fellow attorney from Civil Court, L&T in New York and that was my loss. In my law firm we all loved Mitch so much we made him an honorary part of our firm so that he could be on our Lawyer's league basketball team. Mitch was such an amazing player that it was as if he was playing division 1 basketball and we were Lawyer's League.
I loved being on the team with him but I have to say that our casual discussions in court was where I got to know him and he touched my life in the way he did with so many people. I read recently about his "how ya doin" greeting. It is so true, he really wanted to explore and reach out and into your soul. Despite the casualness of his greeting it wasn't meant to be casual. It was a serious effort to allow you to unload to him what you were feeling on that day. His smile was so genuine and his probing eyes really expressed his true intent to convey that he wanted to help you with your day in that jovial way he had. As I said, I wish that I knew him in the way that his real friends did. But despite the fact that I never had that relationship, I have often related to people I am friendly with, that Mitch was probably the most amazing and special person I ever met. It is a feeling that I can't really fully explain, but to be in his presence was to before a true tzadik in every sense of the word.
On of the most amazing things about him that I could never get over was the fact that despite being in court and dealing with so many "adversaries" and difficult personages, Mitch never, NEVER, had a mean word, nor a negative desription of anyone he dealt with or knew. You could never pull it out of him, even if he was being unfairly treated by someone, the most that Mitch could bring himself to say was that that person was marginal. MARGINAL, is not a mean word and could never be described as LASHON HARA ( speaking ill of someone). That was perhaps the most amazing thing. We all had so many stories, daily difficult interactions, yet to Mitch nothing could be described as anything worse than 'marginal'. That floored me, yet I realized that over the years it was the way a true tzadik conducted his life. From someone that is jealous of the amount of time I never spent with Mitch I can only say that in that small amount of time we shared I realized I was in the presence of an Tzadik. And now the angels are laughing and enjoying with Mitch. May G-d bless his soul as I am sure G-d continues to do.
18 comments:
Stricken and Challenged
Walked so Tall
Miracle Man
Would not Fall
Larger than Life
Loved by All
Saw the Zelem Elokim
In Great and Small
Up to Shamayim
Our Creator did Call
Go to Him now
With your Dance and your Song
Storm the Heavens
Help Right the Wrong
Watch Us, Protect Us
Keep Our Family Strong
From the Place in Gan Eden
Where You Now Belong
Anonymous
It's like I can't take a deep breath!
I knew Mitch in Yeshiva high school. Even back then, Mitch was a wonderful person to talk to and be with ! His Neshama ahould have an aliya !
Yecheskel Medetsky
There are so many memories and stories, it's difficult to pick any particular ones and to distill them into words in this forum. Also, there are many others that are more qualified than I. However, it behooves us to publicize the kind of incredible person we knew so that the rest of us can learn from him. One memory that Tammy and I share: It was about 16 years ago, Mitch was telling us about having twin girls. As a young married couple, having two babies at one time seemed mind-numbingly difficult. Double the diapers, feedings etc. etc. But he was so proud and it was so obvious how crazy he was of them; it didn't sound so hard after all.
Always take the high road. Its how Mitch led his life and as Elly Buddy said, Mitch led by example. He was and will always be an "a man of truth", "Eesh emes". May he be a melitz yosher for his eishas chayil and his entire mishpacha! Man, I miss him and his stories...
That was my dear friend Mitch and so much more. My family and I are lucky that we had the Zichus of knowing such a pure Neshama. May he be a Meilitz Yoasher for us all. He will be missed greatly but remembered forever. My words can not express how much Mithc has down, shown us, changed and touched us all. Tatty he lived and believed in your motto , to live everyday like it's your last. "Baby, when I kick the bucket I know I enjoyed and lived life to the fullest. Just enjoy life." Although Mitch was in soooo much pain, he always had a smile on his face when I or my family would come to visit.
Mitch I love you and will never forget you.
I had the good fortune to be a classmate of Mitch in both college and law school. He joined the Y.U. wrestling team with little if any experience as a wrestler. Nevetheless, by application of prodigious strength and fierce determination, he totally overwhelmed far more skilled wrestlers. If I'm not mistaken he only lost one match in his career at Y.U.
Once when we were eating in the cafeteria he turned to me and said "Schwartzie, want some of this apple?" I assumed that he would cut it in half with a knife. Instead, he applied his thumbs to the top of the fruit and tore it in half. Try it some time. It ain't easy. For him it was like pickin' peas.
He and I were Moot Court partners at Cardozo. We were assigned to prosecute a rapist. When asked by the judge why he was sure that the defendant was guilty, Mitch replied totally deadpan, "Whaddya mean? the guy's a truckdriver of course he's guilty" We won nevertheless.
To my regret, we only saw each other occasionally in the intervening years. He would always flash that million dollar smile "Schwartzie, how ya doin?'
To those who mourn, I wish you peace and a lifetime of memories of a man who was larger than life.
Mark S. Schwartz Y.C. 78, CSL 81
My Hero Died Last Week:
By: Paul Freedman
Published: Thursday, October 25, 2007
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Mitch Merlis, a’h. In tribute to Mr. and Mrs. Henry Merlis; Paul, Mark, Elaina; and the Merlis children. HaMakom yenachem eschem b’soch sha’ar av’lei Tzion v’Yerushalayim.
October 16—As I write this tribute to a giant in my life, tears well up in my eyes, and I am not alone. Wherever I have gone throughout our town in the past week, I have bumped into a friend who stares at me for a brief moment and I back at him. And we both instantly commiserate on the tragedy that has befallen us. We nod. We sigh. All in absolute love and awe of our hero. Like Whitey, a’h. Neil Goldberg, a’h. Eddie Jacobs, a’h. Benjamin Strauss, a’h. Shelly Rokeach, a’h. Little Duvie Cooper, a’h. Donald Adler, a’h. Phil Braunstein, a’h. Chaim Weinstein, a’h. So many heroes, in my one lifetime, v’chulu, v’chulu…
Now, Mitch joins these tzaddikim, perhaps a long-awaited place of rest. After five years of fighting that dread disease, that Malach HaMaves. A young man, who defined so many aspects of what Modern Orthodoxy personifies. There isn’t a person on this earth who would deny the unquestionable courage, strength, and absolute pure koach u’gevurah.
Gevurah is what we all saw, as we grew up with Mitch. I remember playing ball with him in eleventh grade at the “outdoor athletic field” (a 20' x 30' driveway, complete with al-Qaeda-size bomb craters), outside the hallowed hallways of BTA. He wasn’t exceptionally skilled, nor was he overpowering. Yet, from the fall and into the cold winter months of 1972, Mitch played outside, with his dark sweatshirt and famous wool winter hat. That hat would later evolve into the more famous “NAPA hat” worn in his college years—shooting, dribbling, many times alone outside.
By the spring of 1973, Mitch was out-rebounding everyone on the court. Even me. And, I watched him in awe, as I watch him now.
In the year following the Yom Kippur War, Watergate, and the oil crisis, the year of BTA seniors waiting on gas lines at 4:00 a.m. so our parents could drive to work, the legend of Mitch Merlis began in earnest. And the legend has never ended.
I played with Mitch on that admas kodesh backyard, watching him get stronger, faster, and more agile. Then, there was the sledge-hammer incident. Kids try to take dangerous risks. Walking onto the public-school playground on Avenue K and East l8th Street was exactly the kind of risk that BTA bachurim took. Mitch didn’t start fights in that park. But, I did see him end them. I saw Paul too, in my memories, grabbing a bike thief on Avenue L. Another famous story, yet to be told. Indeed, Mitch learned from his brother Paul how to be a giant, but how to act as a frum giant should.
At YU, Mitch and his abilities soared. This is only one of ten thousand stories about Mitch and his four wonderful years at Yeshiva University that need to be told:
To have been on Mitch’s team, the YU wrestling team, was to see the ultimate concept of kiddush Hashem played out before everyone’s eyes. Indeed, the Eighth Wonder of the World was to watch a YU wrestling match and see Mitch at work. Imagine…Mitch’s opponent actually crawled to a neutral corner and Mitch pulled him back in! The gadlus! The kiddush Hashem—especially the really tough guys, or the robot-like wrestlers—they all ran or crawled from Mitch.
Then, the Maccabiah games came in Israel, and Mitch won more medals than any other yeshiva athlete—ever. We were all so proud of our “Menachem Mendel,” just as we were all so proud of other stars in high school. Moshe (Witzy) Hoenig (still very much alive) and Mike Halpern a’h (wasted talent, personified), who broke Jerry Jozsef’s nose whenever he got a little upset during practice. These were all our heroes—and now some of them are just gone. When Mitch returned from Israel, our coach, the revered Neil Elman, pranced around the YU campus with Mitch as if he were carrying around his own human trophy.
If Mitch was indeed a hero, then his wife Elaina was a heroine. I shall never forget seeing her as she waited for Mitch in the lobby of the Morg dorms. She carried a little sefer Tehillim with her. I envisioned her reciting Tehillim on the No. 1 train filled with all kinds of riffraff. In those days, you took your life in your hands just getting on the No. 1 train, but Elaina was an eishes chayil before she was even engaged.
What was my special kesher to Mitch? I turned Mitch into a Freedmaniac—that strain of young men who braved the wilderness at night. Turkey Lake. Lake Superior. Lake George. Camp Ramah. Did Mitch actually confront members of the Klu Klux Klan in Wingdale, New York? Yes. Did Mitch actually frighten off a black bear at Lake Superior, with two soup cans? Yes. I was a witness to these events, too. They were as real as the fleeing thugs on Avenue K.
Alas, Mitch was greater than life. It’s hard to explain to today’s youth what priceless kedushah there is when you go amongst goyim with your kippah on your head. Mitch taught me that in athletic competition, that yarmulke means something to us, but it means something to them, as well. They watch the Jew in competition—and in real life, how we act and how we treat our opponents; how we take losing and how we deal with being the hero.
Then, Mitch got sick. The rumors flew. Perhaps Hashem, in some sort of inexplicable way, actually did want tzaddikim to be close to him, and that is why he takes them when they are young. When the news came out that Mitch Merlis had cancer, I think all of his friends felt a little bit of that cancer, too.
And then, the shocking story became a horror story. Mitch was just going into remission from his cancer when, while playing softball at his bungalow colony, he had a freak injury and was paralyzed. He was rushed by helicopter to Westchester Medical Center. They told his father, Henry Merlis (another hero of mine from high school), “Your son will never walk again,” and the story became surreal. I visited Mitch several months after his accident. Sitting in this couch-like chair, with a piece of his jaw removed, he was so majestic to me that I did not see one bit of his illness. It was like an elderly man, seeing his wife of 50 years deteriorate with Parkinson’s Disease, tell her visitors “how absolutely beautiful my wife is”! That is the love and admiration that I had for this man.
Time, and false hopes, and pure bitachon, tricked us into believing that Mitch would be redeemed, that he would beat off the hammer-wielding Malach HaMaves. The bear with a death-watch. A Klansman with an evil look at his face. Who knows the true face of death?
Then, silence.
Then, I saw my dearest friend Zevvie, who wrestled with Mitch and me all those years, who voted for me (so he claims) at BTA when I ran for school president. On Rosh Chodesh Mar-Cheshvan, everyone was happy at the 8:30 Beth Sholom minyan in Lawrence. I tried to give Big Zev a friendly bear hug as I normally do.
But, Zev stepped back, holding me off, for the first time since the Cutlass Salons rolled down Church Avenue in Flatbush. I beheld his pallor and my heart sank. I knew what he knew. And he told me, in the most solemn of voices, “We lost a good man yesterday.” And, that was it. The culmination of 30 years of respect, honor, love, admiration, and fun was over. The legacy, vanquished. The bear, victorious.
What does HaKadosh Baruch Hu need with Mitch Merlis up there, when we all need him so badly down here? I walked onto Washington Avenue in front of my shul. And I respectfully lifted both my hands to the sky and shouted out, “Why Mitch Merlis? Why take my hero? Why now?” And the tears welled in my eyes, because I knew the answer.
Mitch loved to drive up to the mountains from Washington Heights late at night. Jerry Jozsef had this cool, l974 Brown Camaro, with a high-tech 8-track tape machine. Mitch loved Dust in the Wind by Kansas. He couldn’t turn that song on until we were far along the Palisades Parkway, past Exit 9 and in Harriman State Park. And, he would insist on silence when those wonderful words would come on.
“…Don’t hang on, nothing lasts forever but the earth and sky…” If only I could have been with you, Mitch, to play that ancient 8-track to you, so at least you would have gone on this great journey, down the long, long trail, with a smile on your face.
So ends the legend and legacy of Mitch Merlis. Tzaddik hayah b’dorosav.”
How can we, the survivors, teach the next generation of ballplayers what unbelievable purity Mitch brought to athletics? How can we explain to our youngsters that the coolest guy in any yeshiva summer camp wore a yarmulke and tzitzis and had zero tolerance for nivul peh? The toughest, strongest guy in the yeshiva leagues always put his arm around the simplest, weakest guy? How can our boys make any sense of that?
Those of us, the survivors of this tragedy, who loved that giant of a hero, can only say exactly what Mitch would want us to say: “Don’t ever give up your fight. Remember me for what I represented both on the mat and off the mat. And please, never give up your bitachon.”
Because Mitch Merlis never did.
My Hero Died Last Week:
By: Paul Freedman
Published: Thursday, October 25, 2007
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Mitch Merlis, a’h. In tribute to Mr. and Mrs. Henry Merlis; Paul, Mark, Elaina; and the Merlis children. HaMakom yenachem eschem b’soch sha’ar av’lei Tzion v’Yerushalayim.
October 16—As I write this tribute to a giant in my life, tears well up in my eyes, and I am not alone. Wherever I have gone throughout our town in the past week, I have bumped into a friend who stares at me for a brief moment and I back at him. And we both instantly commiserate on the tragedy that has befallen us. We nod. We sigh. All in absolute love and awe of our hero. Like Whitey, a’h. Neil Goldberg, a’h. Eddie Jacobs, a’h. Benjamin Strauss, a’h. Shelly Rokeach, a’h. Little Duvie Cooper, a’h. Donald Adler, a’h. Phil Braunstein, a’h. Chaim Weinstein, a’h. So many heroes, in my one lifetime, v’chulu, v’chulu…
Now, Mitch joins these tzaddikim, perhaps a long-awaited place of rest. After five years of fighting that dread disease, that Malach HaMaves. A young man, who defined so many aspects of what Modern Orthodoxy personifies. There isn’t a person on this earth who would deny the unquestionable courage, strength, and absolute pure koach u’gevurah.
Gevurah is what we all saw, as we grew up with Mitch. I remember playing ball with him in eleventh grade at the “outdoor athletic field” (a 20' x 30' driveway, complete with al-Qaeda-size bomb craters), outside the hallowed hallways of BTA. He wasn’t exceptionally skilled, nor was he overpowering. Yet, from the fall and into the cold winter months of 1972, Mitch played outside, with his dark sweatshirt and famous wool winter hat. That hat would later evolve into the more famous “NAPA hat” worn in his college years—shooting, dribbling, many times alone outside.
By the spring of 1973, Mitch was out-rebounding everyone on the court. Even me. And, I watched him in awe, as I watch him now.
In the year following the Yom Kippur War, Watergate, and the oil crisis, the year of BTA seniors waiting on gas lines at 4:00 a.m. so our parents could drive to work, the legend of Mitch Merlis began in earnest. And the legend has never ended.
I played with Mitch on that admas kodesh backyard, watching him get stronger, faster, and more agile. Then, there was the sledge-hammer incident. Kids try to take dangerous risks. Walking onto the public-school playground on Avenue K and East l8th Street was exactly the kind of risk that BTA bachurim took. Mitch didn’t start fights in that park. But, I did see him end them. I saw Paul too, in my memories, grabbing a bike thief on Avenue L. Another famous story, yet to be told. Indeed, Mitch learned from his brother Paul how to be a giant, but how to act as a frum giant should.
At YU, Mitch and his abilities soared. This is only one of ten thousand stories about Mitch and his four wonderful years at Yeshiva University that need to be told:
To have been on Mitch’s team, the YU wrestling team, was to see the ultimate concept of kiddush Hashem played out before everyone’s eyes. Indeed, the Eighth Wonder of the World was to watch a YU wrestling match and see Mitch at work. Imagine…Mitch’s opponent actually crawled to a neutral corner and Mitch pulled him back in! The gadlus! The kiddush Hashem—especially the really tough guys, or the robot-like wrestlers—they all ran or crawled from Mitch.
Then, the Maccabiah games came in Israel, and Mitch won more medals than any other yeshiva athlete—ever. We were all so proud of our “Menachem Mendel,” just as we were all so proud of other stars in high school. Moshe (Witzy) Hoenig (still very much alive) and Mike Halpern a’h (wasted talent, personified), who broke Jerry Jozsef’s nose whenever he got a little upset during practice. These were all our heroes—and now some of them are just gone. When Mitch returned from Israel, our coach, the revered Neil Elman, pranced around the YU campus with Mitch as if he were carrying around his own human trophy.
If Mitch was indeed a hero, then his wife Elaina was a heroine. I shall never forget seeing her as she waited for Mitch in the lobby of the Morg dorms. She carried a little sefer Tehillim with her. I envisioned her reciting Tehillim on the No. 1 train filled with all kinds of riffraff. In those days, you took your life in your hands just getting on the No. 1 train, but Elaina was an eishes chayil before she was even engaged.
What was my special kesher to Mitch? I turned Mitch into a Freedmaniac—that strain of young men who braved the wilderness at night. Turkey Lake. Lake Superior. Lake George. Camp Ramah. Did Mitch actually confront members of the Klu Klux Klan in Wingdale, New York? Yes. Did Mitch actually frighten off a black bear at Lake Superior, with two soup cans? Yes. I was a witness to these events, too. They were as real as the fleeing thugs on Avenue K.
Alas, Mitch was greater than life. It’s hard to explain to today’s youth what priceless kedushah there is when you go amongst goyim with your kippah on your head. Mitch taught me that in athletic competition, that yarmulke means something to us, but it means something to them, as well. They watch the Jew in competition—and in real life, how we act and how we treat our opponents; how we take losing and how we deal with being the hero.
Then, Mitch got sick. The rumors flew. Perhaps Hashem, in some sort of inexplicable way, actually did want tzaddikim to be close to him, and that is why he takes them when they are young. When the news came out that Mitch Merlis had cancer, I think all of his friends felt a little bit of that cancer, too.
And then, the shocking story became a horror story. Mitch was just going into remission from his cancer when, while playing softball at his bungalow colony, he had a freak injury and was paralyzed. He was rushed by helicopter to Westchester Medical Center. They told his father, Henry Merlis (another hero of mine from high school), “Your son will never walk again,” and the story became surreal. I visited Mitch several months after his accident. Sitting in this couch-like chair, with a piece of his jaw removed, he was so majestic to me that I did not see one bit of his illness. It was like an elderly man, seeing his wife of 50 years deteriorate with Parkinson’s Disease, tell her visitors “how absolutely beautiful my wife is”! That is the love and admiration that I had for this man.
Time, and false hopes, and pure bitachon, tricked us into believing that Mitch would be redeemed, that he would beat off the hammer-wielding Malach HaMaves. The bear with a death-watch. A Klansman with an evil look at his face. Who knows the true face of death?
Then, silence.
Then, I saw my dearest friend Zevvie, who wrestled with Mitch and me all those years, who voted for me (so he claims) at BTA when I ran for school president. On Rosh Chodesh Mar-Cheshvan, everyone was happy at the 8:30 Beth Sholom minyan in Lawrence. I tried to give Big Zev a friendly bear hug as I normally do.
But, Zev stepped back, holding me off, for the first time since the Cutlass Salons rolled down Church Avenue in Flatbush. I beheld his pallor and my heart sank. I knew what he knew. And he told me, in the most solemn of voices, “We lost a good man yesterday.” And, that was it. The culmination of 30 years of respect, honor, love, admiration, and fun was over. The legacy, vanquished. The bear, victorious.
What does HaKadosh Baruch Hu need with Mitch Merlis up there, when we all need him so badly down here? I walked onto Washington Avenue in front of my shul. And I respectfully lifted both my hands to the sky and shouted out, “Why Mitch Merlis? Why take my hero? Why now?” And the tears welled in my eyes, because I knew the answer.
Mitch loved to drive up to the mountains from Washington Heights late at night. Jerry Jozsef had this cool, l974 Brown Camaro, with a high-tech 8-track tape machine. Mitch loved Dust in the Wind by Kansas. He couldn’t turn that song on until we were far along the Palisades Parkway, past Exit 9 and in Harriman State Park. And, he would insist on silence when those wonderful words would come on.
“…Don’t hang on, nothing lasts forever but the earth and sky…” If only I could have been with you, Mitch, to play that ancient 8-track to you, so at least you would have gone on this great journey, down the long, long trail, with a smile on your face.
So ends the legend and legacy of Mitch Merlis. Tzaddik hayah b’dorosav.”
How can we, the survivors, teach the next generation of ballplayers what unbelievable purity Mitch brought to athletics? How can we explain to our youngsters that the coolest guy in any yeshiva summer camp wore a yarmulke and tzitzis and had zero tolerance for nivul peh? The toughest, strongest guy in the yeshiva leagues always put his arm around the simplest, weakest guy? How can our boys make any sense of that?
Those of us, the survivors of this tragedy, who loved that giant of a hero, can only say exactly what Mitch would want us to say: “Don’t ever give up your fight. Remember me for what I represented both on the mat and off the mat. And please, never give up your bitachon.”
Because Mitch Merlis never did.
Dedicated to Mitch Merlis
By Hershel Roz
A light is fast approaching, with a clarity I don’t usually see,
Somehow I feel so certain, that this light is coming for me.
It is traveling with such speed, and such force,
I have no idea where it’s from, where is its source?
I am not familiar with my surroundings, as I turn around,
I am looking for a familiar face, but there are none to be found.
Something is very strange; where I am I have no clue,
Everything is so clear everything is so blue.
Suddenly, the light engulfs my face, like a slow gentle rain,
The next thing I realize, I am completely free of all pain.
Have they found the cure at last, after all this time?
I’m so full of excitement, I can’t believe it, and I’m going to be fine.
All of a sudden, the answer is as clear as day,
In the middle of the night I must have passed away.
To confirm my doubts, I look down, and slowly turn my head,
Yes, there I am, peacefully lying in my hospital bed.
I am not afraid; I am ready to go,
I have been preparing for this moment, for about four months or so.
Then I hear a voice behind me saying, hold on Mr. Attorney,
You’re not ready yet, for your final journey.
For seven days we will put your journey on the shelf,
Your first stop is at the funeral parlor that you picked out yourself.
It will be your privilege to observe a scene that will make you proud,
This large hall will be filled with a standing room only crowd.
You will listen to the beautiful hespadim your family and friends will deliver,
It will bring tears to your eyes, and make your whole body shiver.
You can bask in the knowledge, that all these people are here for you,
To pay you the respect you earned, your whole life through.
The next six days you’ll spend with your parents, brothers, children, and your wife.
You will hear your friends, not mourn your passing, but celebrate your life.
They will relate stories and experiences they had with you over the years,
it will make them laugh as well as bring them to tears.
You will hear them reminisce about the times you spent together,
You will hear them say how they will cherish those moments forever and ever.
As they discuss the past, there will be so much joy and love in their eyes,
And all the stories will be true, there is no need to fabricate, no need for lies.
The reason you are zoche to see all this, without a doubt
Is because this is what your life was all about.
You had an effect on everyone’s life that you knew, from young to old,
Maybe it was on account of all those stories you told.
You touched so many lives in so many different ways,
For so many people, you brightened up their days.
The ability to make people smile, was a gift given to you by G-d above,
Humor and laughter fit your personality like an expensive glove.
This dynamic personality was like a magnet in a way,
It made people congregate around you and there they wanted to stay
There was some kind of aura around you that put people at ease.
Your humor and gentle demeanor, felt like a comforting breeze.
This was a great midah but it wasn’t your best by far,
This is not what made you the star that you are.
After your illness was diagnosed, you didn’t crawl into a shell,
complain or mope,
Instead you went out to visit sick people, giving them encouragement,
giving them hope.
To help the sick even more, an entertainer you became,
There isn’t a sick child in the tri-state area that doesn’t know your name.
You magically transported these kids to an island where only happiness and health prevail,
Even if for only a short time, you freed them from their mental jail.
I don’t have to tell you, I am certain that you know,
This is a mitzvah that brings a person straight to olam habah.
You gave chizuk and hope to those who decided, that for them it was already too late,
This makes you a number one Gan Eden candidate.
Take a good look at your family and see what you have done,
You have a tzadekes for a wife, two incredible daughters, and a wonderful son.
They are all following on the path that you tirelessly paved for them,
They are a pleasure to look at, each in their own right, a beautiful gem.
Your midos were exemplary; you never spoke an angry word,
No loshon harah or richilus from your mouth was ever heard.
You didn’t have a problem, not speaking ill of others,
How could you, they were all your friends, they were all your brothers.
During your entire ordeal, your emunah never did waver,
You were like a walking and talking musar sefer.
Because in your heart you always understood,
That G-d is all-merciful, He is all-good.
Now the moratorium is over, because your family got up from sitting,
But this is not the end, au’contraire, for you it is a brand new beginning.
Now you must get ready for your journey, to a place that is kuloh chaim,
To start your new job, making people smile and laugh in Shamayim.
cut and paste this link for great pics of Mitch http://s242.photobucket.com/albums/ff200/LobovilleLegend/
Mitchell was so proud of being a Merlis. Whenever we had family get-togethers, it was always a party when Mitch was there. There was something so dynamic about his presence. His smile and personality could light up a room.
My sister Vanessa and I went to see Mitch in the hospital after his accident. When he saw us, he said, "My cousins are here! My cousins are here!" His hair was long and he looked handsome and fit as ever. He was sitting in a wheelchair asking us if we wanted any chulent, as his chopped liver was all gone. He stretched his legs and was moving his feet and we were in awe. We were simply amazed at his mind over matter. He said he was getting out of there soon and we believed him. There was not an empty space on the walls of that room, they were filled with pictures of the family, of Mitch when he was younger with his brothers, Mitch with his parents, Mitch and Elaina, and their beautiful children. So much love and hope for the future. Mitchell was in such great spirits, making jokes, telling us about the nurse whom he referred to as "Christian Shiksa". We laughed and wished we had gone to see him more often.
When my sisters Vanessa, Robin and I were kids, we used to refer to our cousins Paul, Mark and Mitchell, as "the giants". They were older than us, and much taller, so to our perspective, they were. Today I can only say that our perception was accurate. Mitchell was a giant.
We miss you Mitchell, it's never going to be the same without you.
Love,
Jessica (Merlis) Tarazi and the entire family
How lucky was I to have had the opportunity to work with Mitch - and get a chance to spend almost every day of seven years with such a great man? Yes, he often made me crazy ... but more often he made me laugh, and made me roll my eyes when he told corny jokes, and taught me yiddish phrases, and how to correctly pronounce "shwarma" and where to go for the best falafel.
He was a teacher and a friend. He was patient and fun-loving, generous and warm hearted.
My mind is filled with countless memories of his seemingly endless supply of wit and fun -- his boundless optimism and energy.
I cry each time I think of this world without Mitch in it - but I smile through the tears when I think of the good fortune I've had to have known him.
If he were reading this right now, he'd loudly proclaim: "naaaaw, c'mon...stop" but he'd be waving you on for more, with those 'keep-it-coming' hand gestures and impish grin.
I will miss you always, Mitch.
On the first Holiday since we lost Mitch, I got to thinking about how thankful I am for how all who visit this website have been blessed. I'm so thankful to Hashem for bringing Mitch and all of the Merlii into my life. Thankful for all that I have learned from them and continue to learn as time passes. I'm thankful for Mitch's spirit, for the life, love and laughter that he brought to all around him. For the years of happy memories - the one of a kind Delaware trips with our fearless lifeguard/nature guide; the Yankee games that became events; the days spent making – and then eating – homemade pickles; the shabbos meals (often my second of the night or day); days on the ballfield or in front of the bungalow; the specially picked watermelons being delivered each week – and watching how the kids would run to greet and then help their dad. Thankful for all of the times I was able to tag along and was treated like part of the family. And though it may be selfish, I’m so thankful for the extra five years – for Mitch’s strength, determination and emunah and the nissim to which we bore witness. For the times we got to share and for the example that he set, a true hero. For the growth and strengthening of a community on one person’s behalf that was remarkable to behold. And I’m thankful for all that I know Mitch will continue to do for us in Olam Habah, and, finally, for the menuchat nefesh that he now has.
i went to camp morasha. we were all in awe of mitch (and paul, too)- they were larger than life. mitch was so strong, handsome. he wore his yarmulka and tzizis with pride. we swallowed hard in pride whenever he led our teams in victory over the other camps. when i heard he succumbed to cancer, i was devastated. to see such a strapping man waste away to cancer must have been very difficult for everyone. if it's any consolation- mitch had the kind of personality which made an impression on so many people with whom he probably never even shared a word. his presence alone was enough.
i remember one small incident in camp- i was playing baseball and mitch was the coach, and we were playing against a non-jewish or barely jewish camp. i purposely swung like an awkward geek on the first two pitches to lure the outfield in. on the third pitch, i knocked the ball over their heads for a home run. mitch gave me a high five and promised me a case of soda! he never got around to giving me the soda, but for some reason, i always remembered how good it felt to make mitch proud.
may hashem give comfort to the family and friends. i suppose we were lucky enough to have him even for too short a time. sigh.
February 26, 2009
Mitch Merlis was a high school classmate of mine, BTA class of 1974. I learned about his death just this past week, when I received a surprise phone call from another BTA classmate who looked me up on the Internet.
The last time I spoke with Mitch was at a wedding during the summer of 1978. Over thirty years ago. Afterwards, I lost contact with Mitch (along with almost all my other classmates). And still, his death affects me.
I remember Mitch for his quick wit. Some of the clever things he said had me laughing back in high school. And they were so memorable that they still have me laughing today. Yes, three decades later, I still remember his exact words, and the context in which he said them. He was one funny guy.
I remember Mitch for his compassion. I recall a time, as a high school senior, when I did poorly at a task at which I had expected to do well. Mitch was right there, assuring me that it was okay.
And I remember Mitch for his joyful spirit. I still recall his joyful dancing and performing at the wedding at which we last spoke, thirty years ago. I was also one of the performers during that wedding, and I recall the effort I had to make to keep up with him.
Mitch had a positive impact on my life. That was a long time ago, and yet that positive impact remains with me. His memory remains a blessing.
With respect and appreciation,
Jon T. Strauss
JonTStrauss@aol.com
Saul Bruh saul@sdbllc.com
I knew Mitch as one of the most amazing human beings I ever met. I really only knew him as a fellow attorney from Civil Court, L&T in New York and that was my loss. In my law firm we all loved Mitch so much we made him an honorary part of our firm so that he could be on our Lawyer's league basketball team. Mitch was such an amazing player that it was as if he was playing division 1 basketball and we were Lawyer's League.
I loved being on the team with him but I have to say that our casual discussions in court was where I got to know him and he touched my life in the way he did with so many people. I read recently about his "how ya doin" greeting. It is so true, he really wanted to explore and reach out and into your soul. Despite the casualness of his greeting it wasn't meant to be casual. It was a serious effort to allow you to unload to him what you were feeling on that day. His smile was so genuine and his probing eyes really expressed his true intent to convey that he wanted to help you with your day in that jovial way he had.
As I said, I wish that I knew him in the way that his real friends did. But despite the fact that I never had that relationship, I have often related to people I am friendly with, that Mitch was probably the most amazing and special person I ever met. It is a feeling that I can't really fully explain, but to be in his presence was to before a true tzadik in every sense of the word.
On of the most amazing things about him that I could never get over was the fact that despite being in court and dealing with so many "adversaries" and difficult personages, Mitch never, NEVER, had a mean word, nor a negative desription of anyone he dealt with or knew. You could never pull it out of him, even if he was being unfairly treated by someone, the most that Mitch could bring himself to say was that that person was marginal. MARGINAL, is not a mean word and could never be described as LASHON HARA ( speaking ill of someone). That was perhaps the most amazing thing. We all had so many stories, daily difficult interactions, yet to Mitch nothing could be described as anything worse than 'marginal'. That floored me, yet I realized that over the years it was the way a true tzadik conducted his life.
From someone that is jealous of the amount of time I never spent with Mitch I can only say that in that small amount of time we shared I realized I was in the presence of an Tzadik. And now the angels are laughing and enjoying with Mitch. May G-d bless his soul as I am sure G-d continues to do.
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