11 June 2007

Lessons for the Living

Last week, as part of a trial innovation in our medical curriculum, I participated in a new session on breaking bad news, something that is part of the nature of any career in medical practice.
Little did I know that what remained of that week would bring bad news to me. Specifically, on Shabbat, the death of my grandfather Kurt Yehuda HaKohen Nothmann. It’s true what they say – no death is really expected, even when it’s known to be coming.

Poppy led a long life, ended in its 90th year, in which much was done and achieved, despite the adversity of being orphaned and losing most of his family at a young age, the loss of the rest of it (aside from one sister who had made it to the Promised Land) in the Holocaust and the personal and political limitations that are inherent in that. When he arrived in Australia, having left Germany on perhaps the last boat available to Jews, he has no money or belongings and was a citizen of nowhere, having been stripped of German nationality by the Nuremberg Laws. He was as his ancestors were when our family name was created. He was a man with nothing -- A Nothmann.

And yet from this nothing he built a life here, despite being a stranger in a strange land. He contributed to society and joined the Australian Defence Force – though of course as a German, even as one who’d been stripped of his citizenship, he wouldn’t be permitted to serve overseas. He married his beloved Dora, my Nanna, on the 25th of December, 1940 as Christmas was when the Army would release him for long enough for the wedding and the overseas honeymoon in Manly. Together they began a successful bakery business and, thankfully, a successful and happy family. My brother Joel has more about Poppy’s life at www.joelnothman.com/blog/

Instead, I’ll focus more on Poppy as a person.
Poppy was a wonderful man. Whatever was happening, at least until his decline over recent months, he always seemed to have something to smile about. Whatever was being discussed or whoever was arguing at the table he always had a knowing grin on his face; there was always a clever comment on its way. Bright and knowing, Poppy was great to be with. From taking us, and other kids, to the park to feed the ducks to Anzac Day marches and memorials with other active members of the National Association of Jewish Ex-Servicemen, Poppy was able to relate everyone around him.

As well as this, Poppy was probably the most patient person I’ve ever met. Also amongst the kindest and most generous. A gentler soul one has never met.
I’m sure that, if we were all just a little more like Poppy, the world would be a much better place. If we could all just be a bit more giving, a bit more accommodating; more patient and kinder. If we could see things in perspective and keep on striving – whatever we’ve been through isn’t really that bad, and there’s so much more that makes life wonderful. Poppy was like that and, through those attributes and attitudes, he helped make my childhood and upbringing as wonderful as it was.

May Poppy always be remembered this way, as I will surely remember him. May he serve as a role model, and may we do what we can to emulate him and improve the world around us. May his soul be blessed and move swiftly to the World to Come.

Poppy: we love you and miss you and will remember you for the rest of our lives. Thank you for being who you were, and making us who we’ve become.