Grandchildren’s Hesped / Eulogy for Arthur Waskow z”l
Delivered at Arthur’s funeral in Philadelphia on October 22, 2025
ZAD ELIOR SHIFRA YAELA KALMAN YONI
Yoni: Our granddad was a lot of things to a lot of people. He was a teacher, an activist, an author, an inspiration. . . To some, he was even a modern-day prophet. But to us, he was most often just our granddad. We want to share just a little bit about who he was to the five of us.
Yaela: We remember feeling safe in his arms when we were small. He was a warm presence, with a big beard and many colorful hats. He sang songs and told stories and whistled. We remember squeezing around his and Savta’s chairs in the breakfast room so we could sit at the table with them. We remember the sounds of his keyboard, his typing away when we passed his office to go up to sleep on the third floor, and sometimes already going again in the morning when we came downstairs. We always knew the best bet for finding him in the house was that office, with its sparkly ceiling, countless books, pictures, and the desk where he was somehow always writing.
Shifra: We remember his eagerness to connect with us about meaningful moments in our lives. When I was 11, I got my first period during lunch at Granddad and Savta’s house. I panicked while my mom helped me find a pad around the house. She and Savta advised Granddad to steer clear of the topic, hoping to spare me any further embarrassment. But Granddad characteristically approached me anyway. He said, “You're a woman now. There is so much to be excited about in this new chapter of womanhood.” I stood there, mortified, praying he would stop talking. While maybe that was an unorthodox approach, looking back now, I am grateful. He was one of the first to tell me that this moment of womanhood was something to be proud of, something to embrace. He taught all of us the importance of honoring life’s moments with presence and intention.
Kalman: We remember how much he loved to learn Torah with and from us. Granddad told us a story of his imagining a hippopotamus soaking in a river — totally immersed, comfortable, soothed — as he said the bracha “la’asok b’divrei Torah”, he would emphasize – “la’asoooooak” – an image of total immersion in the words and teachings of Torah. He repeated the things he learned from us, in speech and in writing, sometimes over and over and over again, not always in the words we would have chosen, but always as an act of love.
Elior: We remember Granddad inculcating in us the value of making Jewish practices our own. Over the years, we gathered for many shabbatot and chaggim at Granddad’s and Savta’s. Each time, we sang brachot together, each branch of the family singing their own version of the liturgy – often 2, sometimes even 3 – all simultaneously. Inevitably, the words morphed into an absurd and beautiful jumble of Hebrew, reflecting how each of us felt comfortable and even excited to craft our own Jewish rituals, traditions, and practices.
Yoni: We know that we have grown up in a world that has been shaped by his work, that would be true even if we weren’t his grandchildren. But we also know that we have been able to live unique Jewish lives because he was our granddad. We grew up in families that learn Torah together, make intentional choices about practice together, and work to build a better world together. Our familial inheritance is a Judaism rooted in justice, feminism, and egalitarianism, a Judaism that is deeply curious and creative, and a Judaism that can change and grow with us and who we become over time. We are so very lucky. We will miss him, and we know that so much of who he was and what he cared about lives on in us.