|
|
| From: |
Anonymous |
|
| Dated: |
Wednesday, November 12 2008 @ 03:38 AM Eastern Standard Time |
| three 15 year old girls and three 15 year old boys went to a movie on Ceder Lane. Jonathan Wolf, Benjamin Praeger & Amir Lopatin- Amir was very generous and offered to buy Pizza for everyone. He was very smart and analytical-he was friendly and amicable- he is missed.
|
| From: |
Anonymous |
|
| Dated: |
Sunday, June 24 2007 @ 08:54 AM Eastern Daylight Time |
| There are two food items that I associate with Amir - 1998 Gan Eden Black Muscat kosher wine, and Trader Joe's Bruschetta tomato topping. Both of these are very delicious foodstuffs that I hadn't seen until Amir brought them back home and shared them when we were roommates at Stanford. Now these items are regulars in my kitchen, and they often bring back good memories and a silent toast to Amir.
|
| From: |
shoshana |
|
| Dated: |
Monday, May 29 2006 @ 01:57 PM Eastern Daylight Time |
Below are excerpts from a letter Amir kept in a file folder labelled "funny stuff." The letter is dated April 26, 1993 and was written by a member of the Ramaz administration exasperated by Amir's failure to conform with the Ramaz dress code. I love that Amir kept this letter, and I have to admit I am proud of my little brother for keeping the combine on its toes.
Dear Mr. and Mrs. Lopatin
It has been a longstanding tradition at Ramaz that students come to school on Yom Haatzmaut dressed in bigdei chag, the kind of clothes that they would wear on a yom tov . . . at the very least, the vast majority of male students come dressed in white shirts and ties.
Unfortunately, Amir came to school today dressed in blue jeans and a flannel shirt and tie. The dress code clearly states that dress shirts and required and any color of jeans is forbidden any day of the year, let alone on a day such as this. More important was the attitude he presented when asked about his attire. His responses ranged from alleged ignorance about dress code requirements …. to his insistence that he believes it is more important how he behaves than how he dresses. This is not the first time I have had discussions with Amir about the dress code or other issues. His attitude is frequently argumentative and unbending. I do not begrudge him his philosophical views; yet I must insist that the school’s rules be enforced and that the boundaries of appropriate behavior are not crossed.
I write you now to inform you of today’s incident and the sense of frustration that comes with it….
|
| From: |
Anonymous |
|
| Dated: |
Saturday, May 13 2006 @ 08:13 PM Eastern Daylight Time |
| I have just lost a father and on seeking information on laws of mourning I came upon this wonderful website. I should say I also lost a sister at the tender age of 31. She was my best friend , my...well my Amir. Well loved, young aspiring mother etc. I remember the line of cars on the way to the cemetary stretched beyond site. Reading the stories, eulogies, poems, thoughts on the site only bring back the feeling of intense loss. Intense doesn't begin to describe it really. My fathers recent death and my sisters death ,now 19 years ago are a painful reminder of our fragile existence here. It took me many years to forget the pain of her loss, only to be conjured back with another close death. The blessing you have done by posting this site with its heart fealt emotion surely is Amir's n'shama, his will, giving solace to others he never even knew. May your pain and sorrow be short and his spirit live forever.
|
| From: |
Anonymous |
|
| Dated: |
Friday, March 04 2005 @ 09:46 AM Eastern Standard Time |
I only met Amir a couple of times through our friend Ben, and my story comes from when we were kids and Amir came out to Cape Cod to spend a week or so with Ben's family. I have this memory because it was so very funny to me, and I hope that it can bring a smile to someone who reads it. If anyone knows the "The Cape" it was always a bit behind in technology and back in the early 80's it was far far behind. Watching TV for instance meant spending a good amount of time fidgeting with the rabbit ears on black & white TV.
One day while playing a board game (most likely RISK, which now that I think about it, Amir introduced me to RISK) the TV was on in the background and some Tropicana commercial came on, the ad had a particular scene where they pictured an orange juice glass upside down for a moment. Amir happened to be walking by the TV at that same moment and apparently had had it with the poor reception he had been having. Well, he abruptly starting whaling on the TV cursing it to the extent only an adolescent can. Of course the commercial played on with the glass being turned right side up and Amir walked away pleased with his Fonzie-like fixing of the problem.
Again, I hope this brings a smile.
-Mike
|
| From: |
Anonymous |
|
| Dated: |
Monday, June 28 2004 @ 11:23 PM Eastern Daylight Time |
I don’t know whether this goes in “Brown” or “Stories.” In any case, this is just one example of how my time at Brown was made even more memorable by knowing Amir.
I met Amir early on at Brown (we being CS majors), but it wasn’t until our junior year that we became friends. We were both graphics geeks and I had the privilege of working with Amir on our final project for CS-224, one of those classes that makes geeks feel like blood brothers when they’re through. When our junior year ended, I was happy to hear that Amir had found a sublet for the summer right next door to my apartment on Governor St. There was a certain young woman that he was trying to impress so one day, he invited her and me (as wingman) to India Point to show off his sailing skills. He had been taking a sailing class and was now ready to brave the waters unsupervised. So the three of us hop in this little sailboat and Amir immediately starts ordering us around and telling us about the different ropes and doodads. After a few false starts, we’re off. Amir is pulling ropes, maneuvering the rudder. Then he says, “Hmm, this rope is tangled around the rudder. I’m gonna detach the rudder and try to fix it.” It wasn’t long before we found out that when you detach a rudder in open water, it’s nearly impossible to get it attached again. So Amir, looking slightly flustered now, says, “No worries, let’s just take down our sail. That’s the signal that we need help.” So we take down the sail, but there’s no sign that the boathouse employees are moving. The whole time, the boat is going wherever it wishes and we’re getting closer and closer to some pilings until !BANG! we crash right into them. We see the boathouse employees jump off their chairs and onto their waverunners. When they reached us, they looked totally pissed, but Amir just stood their calmly saying, “Didn’t you see me take down my sail?” Well, needless to say, that was the last time I stepped on a boat with Amir.
Amir, I can’t kick myself enough for saying, “Reunion’s coming up, I really need to get in touch with Amir.” You are sorely missed.
|
| From: |
abby |
|
| Dated: |
Thursday, April 22 2004 @ 04:25 PM Eastern Daylight Time |
| I want to share with everyone that last summer, in 2003, Amir registered for Hadar's havruta (Torah study partner) matching program. (Hadar is a traditional egalitarian prayer and study group on the upper west side of Manhattan.) Just last week, in reviewing some of Hadar's records on past programs, I came across Amir's name and his request to "investigate the passages in the torah that give me the most trouble (e.g. slavery, sexism, etc.) in accepting it as a divine or even divinely inspired document." I actually didn't know Amir, but I have heard so much about him over the past few weeks - about his kindness, intellectual capabilities, love of life and pursuit of truth. I feel lucky to have found Amir's entry and to have been moved and inspired by his pursuit of truth and his desire to not give up on Judaism but to study and struggle with some of the most difficult issues within the religion.
|
| From: |
Anonymous |
|
| Dated: |
Monday, April 19 2004 @ 07:51 AM Eastern Daylight Time |
It was so many years ago it seems that Sara and Yossi welcomed me and my family to Englewood. We had a wonderful Shabbat dinner at their home one frigid Friday night. It was in their teeny tiny dinning room. It was at that time that I got to meet all the Lopatin children.
Shosh quiet, intelligent and beautiful, Uri, the Judo enthusiast and Amir. There was just something about Amir that I could not explain... a defiance of spirit done with charm, the challenge or pronouncement delivered with a half smile and twinkle in his eye.
It was another time that I drove Sara and Amir home from the JCC and after listening to Amir explain to Sara why he needed to do what he wanted to do, making an eloquent argument for his position that I turned to Sara and said, "Sara, this is your American Child."
|
| From: |
PAA77 |
|
| Dated: |
Wednesday, April 14 2004 @ 11:32 PM Eastern Daylight Time |
Amir, along with the rest of the Lopatin family, were an important part of my wedding in May of 1982.
Amir was the youngest guest and appeared to be in some discomfort at having to dress-up. But, there he was in a simple light blue suit, having trouble keeping his pants from slipping off of his waist and staring at all the people and glitter through very large, rimmed glasses.
After the wedding ceremony, I happened to walk into a room in back of the reception area and saw Amir standing about four feet from the wedding cake. No one else was in the room.
When I glanced at the cake, there were two neat holes in the bottom layer. Amir was looking intensely down at his shoes. I asked if he had seen who poked their fingers into the cake, adding that I suspected that this is something his father might do since he could never wait for desert to be served.
Amir immediately ran over to me, slid the appropriate two fingers into the holes and said "See .. everyone else has larger fingers than mine .. my Dad too! Will I have to go home now?"
I assured him that all was okay as he helped me adjust some of the adjacent icing to cover the damage.
Amir's mind, even at that early age, was quick, not only to protect his father's reputation, but to empirically prove that I was wrong in my assumptions.
Peter Abrams
|
| From: |
Anonymous |
|
| Dated: |
Monday, April 05 2004 @ 01:45 PM Eastern Daylight Time |
Dear Mrs. Lopatin,
I have been trying to write this letter, and in the end, I just don’t know what to say. There really are no words that can express the loss we all feel at Amir’s passing. Amir was becoming a close friend of mine, and I actively feel his loss around campus, in my life, and in my future. Again, I don’t know what I might possibly say – there is no rhyme or reason. All I can do is offer you a few glimpses of Amir through my eyes, and hopefully convey to you how much he was loved and respected by those of us here at Stanford.
The last time I saw Amir was in early March, before I left for a three and a half week vacation. We had tentative plans to get together for a walk or for lunch this week to catch up after not seeing each other in almost a month – plans to which I was truly looking forward. I found out late on Sunday night that we would not be able to have lunch or take a walk – not this week. Not ever. And I cannot remember the last time I cried so hard.
But I digress, because I do want to share with you the last time I saw Amir, and maybe a few other stories besides that one. I was sitting at my desk, in my office, working hard on a paper that was due for presentation the next day. In rushed Amir, looking a bit flustered, and very excited. “Do you have a lamp?” he demanded. I looked up, stumped. “A lamp?” I asked, “Um. No. Amir, why do you need a lamp?” I glanced down at my watch and continued “and aren’t you supposed to be in class right now?” He looked at me with those sparking blue-green eyes and his disarming smile, and explained to me that he had this absolutely fantastic idea for an experiment, and he wanted to catch his classmates on their way out of class, and he needed a lamp for the experiment. “Ah. I see. Nope - no lamp over here. Sorry.” I laughed at his exasperated look and his rushed demeanor as he raced out of my office, in pursuit of a lamp with which to run his experiment. I giggled to myself and reflected on how amazing it is to find someone with such a passion for his studies and so much enthusiasm for his work. It made me pause to consider how drudgingly I had been pursuing my own studies, and I made a mental note to “be more like Amir,” and remember how interesting my own work was, and how fortunate I am to be a learner.
This episode has been continuously crossing my mind ever since I heard of Amir’s passing, not just because it was the last time I saw him, but because of how much it speaks to his personality. Amir was one of the most curious, intelligent, excited and enthusiastic people I have ever had the fortune to meet. But even more, Amir was constantly looking for illumination. In the questions he asked, the rigor with which he analyzed a topic, the excitement in his eyes and the query in his words – Amir was always looking to learn and to teach – he was both a light for others and a receiver of light from others. As I continue to live each day, I aim to both provide and receive illumination as enthusiastically and inspiringly as did your son.
Another funny Amir vignette: We were out for a walk on a misty afternoon. We had considered canceling for rain, but he assured me that he looked just as good wet as he did dry, so he was not opposed to venturing out in the rain. We were immersed in conversation about some political theory or another, when suddenly and without warning he completely changed the topic on me. Perplexed, I asked him how on earth he had gotten from point A to point B. He informed me that he had been thinking about point B for 10-15 minutes already, while we had been debating point A. You see, Amir never just thought about one thing at a time, as he explained to me that afternoon. Instead, he had to store up the other conversation topics that came to mind. Sometimes, apparently, he forgot some of the ones he was storing, so if he thought of something particularly interesting, he would just change the subject, so as to make sure it got covered in a given conversation. After our 90 minute walk, he climbed onto his bike and off he rode. When he reached the stop sign he turned and looked at me over his shoulder, and I swear he was about to double back to start on some other topic, point Z perhaps, that he didn’t want to forget before next time. And today, I am left wondering what point Z was all about, and feeling saddened that I will never know.
Amir and I were in the same school at Stanford, although our specialties within the field of education were very different. We both shared a love of the outdoors and an interest in theories and philosophies beyond basic education. The first time we spent time together outside of school, we decided to meet at a coffee shop near campus, although he warned me that he was not sure that particular coffee shop was open past 9pm. I assured him in no uncertain terms that it was, and we made our plans. When I walked up to Harmony Café at 9pm on a Wednesday night in early February, he was leaning against an outside table, next to a very dark and very closed coffee shop. “Bad choice.” He called out to me, this person he barely knew. And with this honest assessment we moved on to the pub next door, and spent the next many hours debating theories of socialism, communism, the capital markets, technology and Judaism. I quickly saw that he had an astounding sense of humor, an incredible brilliance, and an extremely generous soul. We began one of the most fulfilling friendships of my time at Stanford, and one which I have been actively looking forward to pursuing over the next many years. I still cannot quite fully comprehend his absence, and I am only beginning to mourn the loss of such an amazing person in my life and the lives of all those around me. It seems that I cannot stop thinking about his mischievous smile, his glittering eyes, and his honest words.
I know that the memorial service at the Chabad Center was taped so you and your family might be able to see the wonderful things people said about Amir, but I wanted to highlight one thing that really stood out to me at that service. So many of the stories began with “Amir was riding by on his bike, and he stopped to say hi…” and I think that that one action, his stopping his bike to say hi to someone, really speaks to who Amir was. He was someone who took the time to stop and say hello, to ask how you were, to remember the details of your life and follow up on the little things that were important to you – he had a gift for listening and comforting and prodding and inciting.
Mrs. Lopatin, in the short two months in which I knew Amir, he changed my perspective on life and on friendship. Never before have I so deeply felt the loss of someone’s passing – not only will I miss your son, but I will miss out on your son, which is in itself a true tragedy. But Amir affected me tremendously in the short time we did spend together, and in the memories I and his other friends hold of him, in the ways that he influenced our lives, Amir’s spirit will live on, and continue to affect people in countless ways.
Thank you for providing us with such a wonderful friend and teacher – we will never forget the lessons he unwittingly taught us in his own quirky way.
With all my heart,
Katharine Strunk
|
First | Previous | 1 2 | Next | Last |
