The Oppenheimer Report 4/17/17

A belated Happy Easter to all my gentile friends, and a Happy Passover to all my fellow Jews. Yom Kippur and Passover are my two favorite Jewish holidays because they involve suffering. On Yom Kippur, a day of atonement, we Jews fast from sundown to sundown, and on Passover, we eat disgusting foods like gefilte fish and matzo for a little over a week. As far as suffering goes, I think the gefilte fish wins the prize, and I don’t think it is even one of the foods meant to symbolize hardship. Gefilte fish has the consistency of Jell-o; fish Jell-o is not something I want to put in my mouth. As a child, I used to loathe Seder suppers, because some well-meaning aunt would always insist I try “just one bite.” To boot, gefilte fish is as revolting to look at as it is to eat. It looks like doughy, beige, cellulite-riddled, thigh fat.

Sadly,  Dr. Joe Greenberg, a good friend of ours, passed away last Tuesday at the ripe old age of 95. Though I have not seen Joe in years, I used to write him from time to time, and Shauna and I spoke to him semi-regularly on the phone. The last time we spoke to “Dr.Joe,” as he was affectionately known by his patients and friends, was on the phone last summer. He sounded weak, but that did not stop him from telling a silly joke, or expressing genuine interest in our lives. Regrettably, we could not attend his funeral in Toronto, but I am not surprised that it was very well-attended. To follow are a few thoughts about this remarkable and popular man for whom I grew to care so deeply.

I first met Joe Greenberg and his wife Pepi in Toronto, at our wedding in 1994. His brother Dave’s wife is a first cousin to Shauna’s mom E.T., and the Greenberg and the Taylor families were very close. I grew to know Joe over the next several years, when I saw him at family events, or when, on occasion, he provided medical care for Shauna. While he was not our primary physician, his office was near our apartment in Toronto, and when one of Shauna’s many chronic illnesses would flair up, Joe was kind enough to see us on a moment’s notice. He was one of a handful of general practitioners left in Toronto who really sacrificed everything for his patients. He had what so many doctors today lack: great bedside manner, and he was one of an even smaller number of doctors who still made house calls. He was a great doctor, well-respected within the medical community, and yet he was also a humble man. His obituary describes in detail some of Joe’s finer achievements (http://www.legacy.com/obituaries/thestar/obituary.aspx?n=h-joseph-greenberg&pid=185066972), but for me, Joe was most notable for his unfailing love of most human beings. He was one of the kindest and most generous men I have ever met.

To sit in the waiting room of Dr. Joe’s office on Bathurst St. near College St. was an adventure in people watching. Patients from all walks of life packed his little office every day, many without appointments. When you were one of Joe’s patients, you became a part of his family. He’d come out of his office to call in the next patient, and engage all of us in his conversations. He was the brightest light in the room. Inevitably, patients would end up talking to each other in that waiting room, and there was always something new to learn about Joe’s many acts of kindness. When we were finally alone with him in his office, he always made us feel like we were his best friends, grilling us about personal details of our lives; always making us feel special. He told us stories about his past, he told jokes, he was warm and ingratiating; but he was an effective doctor as well. Clearly, Joe believed that compassion was part of the healing process, and I can’t think of any doctors who knew as much about or cared as much for his patients.

I watched a video on Facebook the other day, because tributes to this wonderful man are popping up all over the internet. Taped about five years ago, the interview deals with Joe’s experiences during WWII. In it he discussed six neighborhood boys who went off to fight in Europe, including himself. Only he and one other young man survived to return home. He cries during the video, and his grief is a palpable expression of the grief of all his fellow veterans. One of the many things I loved about Joe was that he wasn’t afraid to express his emotions. Stoicism may be widely considered to be a masculine trait, but I think Joe embodied the best qualities in any great man. In a world where our Commander-In-Tweet churns out ill-considered insults like a spoiled ten-year-old, Joe was the silent, cheerful hero. He was the real deal. Modest, intelligent, eloquent, funny, compassionate, kind; loving; Joe was a blessing to all who knew him.

They say it is meaningful and a great honour when a Jew’s death falls on a high holy day. My beloved father-in-law Syd passed on the eve of Yom Kippur. Dr. Joe died during Passover. I think he’d just had enough of the gefilte fish. Goodbye, my dear friend.  
 
Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2017 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED