Paul Silbersher, beloved rabbi/cantor and spiritual leader of Jewish life in Kansas City for over 40 years, died April 26, 2020, just as covid had shut down life as we knew it.
The new lockdown meant he was not to have visitors as he lay dying at home, so he put all his will into holding on til his 90th birthday, April 23rd—which with me (his eldest), his granddaughter Scout, and angelic health carers by his side, he was able to accomplish before letting go.
Scout and I flew back East to bury Dad quietly in the family plot in Beth Israel Cemetery in NJ…still no one else in attendance. He could not even have a fitting funeral in either place once he passed.
For a man who conducted thousands of profound funerals in his own lifetime, thousands of inspired weddings, bar/bat mitzvahs, and ceremonies across his 70 years of serving others—this was a massive travesty. And so the year passed, everyone locked at home in a sort of global shiva, while the travesty remained.
I had a year to deal with my Dad. To clean out his home, tidy his affairs, to mourn, to re-learn Kaddish, to talk about him, go through his letters, pictures, papers. And to think. He was complex, and he was flawed. He gave more to everyone else than he gave to his nuclear family(s).
BUT. The flame he managed to hand me — passed as a Cohane from my Grandfather and beyond — was so profound, that I learned to burn with it myself. My Dad taught me Meaning. He taught us all what it means to feel and live with Meaning. What we do with that feeling is up to us, but to be handed the spark is a spiritual privilege he lived to give us.
And with that pride of purpose, I booked the KC Jewish Community Center for a gathering on behalf of his community, aiming for his Yahrzeit date. With safety protocols finally lifted by Sunday May 23, “Celebration of a Life” came together.
A room full of devoted stalwarts from all walks of Dad’s life shuffled in. The social hall was set up in a horseshoe, like a campfire, so people could face each other together. Familiar belongings shrouded the dais and his recorded services played. On a plate sat a challah with a nectarine on top, representing Paul’s foundation of tradition balanced with modernity and humor (an homage to the 2,000-year-old man).
I have never held a dais, and to stand there on behalf of a man who was most at home on one, was daunting. But I was not there for me—I’d already had my year. I was there to “honor my father” by honoring all those who he loved and had to leave behind without a word. To create a campfire and light a match.
Everyone else was the reason I was there.
They deserved to celebrate, remember, feel, learn, connect, be together and enjoy closure. The lovely surprise I did not expect, was to see all the sprouts of unexpected continuity. The community Dad built still pulses on. And this is a reflection of Paul himself.
He tossed thousands of seeds over his years, and it became clear how many little shoots of life still grow out of even the mention of his name. He left a life force with people—it was their own life force that he touched — and it was a blessing to witness this in every story shared, every song sung, each shofar blasted, every funny memory that got a rise out of the room, every choked-up moment that brought us to tears for 2-1/2 hours of expressing meaning together, and in the process, building even more of it.
As his dear friend David Block said afterward, “I’m not done with him yet.”
There is a wonderful new furniture setting that now sits in the theater lobby of the J which bears a plaque for Paul. Pincus (Paul’s Hebrew name) loved nothing more than sitting together with people, talking and fressing.
If you care to be a part of this living memory, it would be very meaningful to help fund it and a place Dad called home, by directing any donations to the JCC, via Alley DeWitt at . Deep thanks to all who have already done so. For a CD of Paul’s album and notice of when the event recording goes online etc, contact Ricky at: .
Precious todahs to all who threw their hats in the ring to make the celebration come to life.
Devra & Bruce Lerner and the Nigun Choir, Linda & Vance Andreas for blowing Dad’s shofar, Sam Matier for filming everything (which will be cut and shared online soon), Jan and Debbie for manning the guest book, Alley at the J for hosting us, Kim’s homemade kosher cookies, Steve at Louis Chapel who posted the event flyer, Larry Gelb for being the oldest there at 94 and who stuck with Dad through everything to the very end including this ceremony. To his friends who invited me for meals, to David Block who has made space for Dad’s library of books and music, donated the guest book, flowers, and beyond.
To ALL who WERE THERE and ALL who WERE NOT. As Paul would say, “nothing missing, nothing broken.”
