Eulogy For Joseph S. Gots, My Grandpa--Died this Easter

My grandfather, who we always called Pop-Pop, was a man of few words—the cliché “still waters run deep” might have been invented for him. As far back as I can remember, he presided over our family’s Passover table: Passover was always magical—never perfunctory, never boring or rushed. When Pop Pop opened the door and announced that Elijah was coming to drink the wine, you believed it—and the surprise on his face when we all opened our eyes and saw that the cup was empty—was always real, even though, being the curious soul that I was, I had peeked once and seen Pop-Pop quickly downing Elijah’s cup.

I remember him as strong, solid, sometimes formidable, often very funny. For some reason so many of my memories of Pop-Pop are connected with Passover. Here’s another one: every year, when he would hide the afikomen (the matzo at the end of the meal), the hiding place would become more difficult, the riddle more complex. I wish I could remember some of the hiding places—I think one was behind a mirror and another was in a book—what I remember is that he was playful and smart. He was challenging our intellects (mine and my sister’s). He deliberately made the thing progressively more challenging to push us to think harder—to use our brains. I think I always knew, even before I had much of a concept of intellect, that Pop Pop was a very smart guy. That meant, and means something to me—it lends a kind of genetic reassurance to my own sense of self.

Also, he and Mom-Mom traveled all over the world, and were always showing us slides and seashells. That, without question, inspired and continues to inspire me to see life not as a mindless, money-making venture but as an opportunity to reach out and to learn—as an adventure. I have traveled, often thinking of his and mom-mom’s legacy, to Finland, France, Turkey, Mexico, Costa Rica, Leningrad and other countries, and travel will always be an important part of my family’s life. I also want to learn to scuba dive—maybe this Summer in Turkey where it’s easy to get certified because they’re not as concerned as we are about safety.

I am a teacher, like he was. Although my work is more in the realm of words and ideas and imaginary people than in cells and Petri dishes, I am motivated, as he was, by curiosity and the firm belief that, if you pay close enough attention, there are things to discover in this world. I do not exaggerate when I say that Pop-Pop’s life and work lend me a sense of deep entitlement to stand in front of students and teach. Like him, I try to make them laugh. Like him, I push them to think, to ask questions, and not to trust easy answers. Unlike him, I don’t throw worms at the students, or mix the occasional nude lady in with my slides. But that’s only because the former wouldn’t make much sense in a Literature class, and the latter would get me summarily fired.

Beyond all of this, I loved him—he was and always will be an enigmatic, powerful, and inspiring figure to me. I remember his kindness, his patience, his stillness, and the sense he always had of a deep wisdom mixed with playfulness—as if he were somehow very ancient and very very young at the same time. I believe he was a good man and I’m proud that he was my grandfather. He was what I think grandfathers are supposed to be to grandsons: a good example of how to be a man.