Rabbi Abram Maron — A Personal View

Even though Rabbi Abram I. Maron died April 30, 1986, for me he will ever live on in memory. A man like him does not easily pass into oblivion without leaving his imprint on others.

At the outset I must forewarn that the observations which follow are purely personal, and I do not profess to have been an intimate of Rabbi Maron, or privy to any special information or insights. There are few people who have left their enduring mark on me. Rabbi Maron was one.

Some people take longer to know. That was the case with Rabbi Maron and me.

Since the Rabbi was not a personal man nor a back-slapper, one couldn't detect at first blush the genuine, caring and sensitive person he really was. He was a very private person and did not invite real intimacy. Despite his calling and frequent contacts with people, I found him to be somewhat diffident in demeanor rather than gregarious.

He always seemed to be on the run, whether standing or sitting still. Whenever I entered his office (the door was always open), I was invariably met by his overflowing desk and harried look. I felt I was intruding on myriad Congregation matters more important than mine, absorbing his time and attention. Rabbi Maron expecting an enlightened solution to this quandary. He listened carefully, as I logically presented both sides but whatever I needed done he, and then handed it right back to took care of effectively and without reminder. His hoped that he would opt for the traditional religious view: that one does not transgress the High Holy Days by driving. But as each successive contact with him generated increasing respect and admiration for him, personally, and for his singular brand of carrying out his rabbinical stewardship, I accepted his sometimes abrupt manner without qualm. I merely elevated substance over form and assessed the man on his responsiveness and performance rather than on his mannerisms.

My first real contact with Rabbi Maron came just before the Jewish New Year in 1964. I had never in my 45 years attended Yom Kippur, no matter what. Even during four years in the army and three years away at law school, I always managed to "head down" within walking distance of a synagogue so that I could observe the High Holy Days without driving. But my children were growing up and their mother, quite validly, felt it was important that they accompany me to services, and that would necessitate my driving to the synagogue.

It was a terrible dilemma for me. Confused, troubled and seeking sage counsel, I hied myself to Rabbi Maron expecting an enlightened solution to this quandary. He listened carefully, as I logically presented both sides but whatever I needed done, he took care of effectively and without reminder.

He then provided any definitive answer. I would undoubtedly have felt aggrieved by it and cogently argued the other side. The Rabbi's seemingly equivocal rejoinder taught me that certain of my problems were only resolvable by me alone, must weigh the two choices of conscience and make up my own mind.

At the time I was surprised that an Orthodox rabbi would not decide for the strict theological view in no uncertain terms. Today I am aware of how profound his response really was. Had he then provided any definitive answer, I would undoubtedly have felt aggrieved by it and cogently argued the other side. The Rabbi's seemingly equivocal rejoinder taught me that certain of my problems were only resolvable by me.

It was the first of several experiences I had in which Rabbi Maron tempered his religiosity with humane and temporal considerations.

Even though Rabbi Maron officiated most proficiently at the bar mitzvahs of my two sons in 1965 and 1967, I had very little intimate contact with him again until 1973. Then a most amazing and memorable incident took place.

In August of that year my father was struck by a car, critically injured, and in a life-death coma for quite a number of days. I needed solace and sought it from Rabbi Maron.

Later, much later, I learned that in June of that same year the Rabbi lost his dear son Marvin, barely 30, in a tragic automobile accident. Like my father, Marvin, too, had lingered on in a coma for some time; but, unlike my father, the Rabbi's son never left the hospital before passing away. I cry inwardly every time I think of how Rabbi Maron provided comfort and soothing for me while his own heart must have been breaking at the loss of his son.

He visited my father at UCLA Hospital several times, and my father was very honored by such visits. Rabbi Maron did it unstintingly and graciously, and of his own volition because I did not have the chutzpah to ask him to visit more than once.

Similarly, when my mother was suddenly stricken with a heart problem four years ago, he expressed concern for her welfare every time he saw me. Upon learning at what hospital she was and then, subsequently, at what convalescent home, at his own initiative he visited her several times.

One Shabbat afternoon when I went to see her at the convalescent home, she told me that Rabbi Maron had just been there. That morning he had conducted his usual full schedule of services at the synagogue, and then found the time and energy to walk almost five miles to visit my mother before presiding at the concluding evening services.

When a Rabbi over 70 does that, unsolicited, you don't forget easily, and you begin to grasp the distinctive quality of the man.

...you don't forget easily, and you begin to grasp the distinctive quality of the man.

It was Rabbi Maron whom I instinctively sought out that Saturday morning within an hour of my father's unexpected death. He left the pulpit at the Shabbat service to give me some initial guidance when he learned what happened.

The days immediately following my father's death fell on Shavuot as well as Memorial Day, and I was faced with a nightmarish problem in obtaining legal clearance for expeditious burial as required by Jewish law. The Rabbi, at my frantic request, made several calls to the coroner's office to that end. He made some of those calls during the Shavuot holiday, for which I was most appreciative. It was another example of how he placed content over form; being willing for such a worthy purpose to make a phone call on a Jewish holiday.

Rabbi Maron helped me organize the Kaddish prayer services at my mother's apartment during the period I sat shiva, and personally brought the special prayer books. He was present as part of the minyan almost every evening.

During the 11-month period preceding Rabbi Maron's demise, I saw him daily at the chapel while I was reciting the Mourner's Kaddish. How remarkable, I thought, that a man his age, or any age for that matter, would have the stamina and determination to attend both early morning services commencing at 7 a.m. and then, subsequently, evening services often ending as late as 8:30 p.m. besides carrying on a full schedule of activities in between as Rabbi of a very large Congregation.

Since the Rabbi was not a passive by-stander at any of these activities, the physical, mental and emotional drain must have been enormous.

At almost every service, he greeted new mourners who came to the chapel to say Kaddish or to commemorate a Yahrzeit for a parent. He seemed to know every one of them by name and background and for each he had an appropriate remark.

He occasionally brought in for the evening minyan some of the boys whom he was teaching their bar mitzvah lessons. He performed that function, too, when there was no one else to do it. I once groused to the Rabbi that as long as these youngsters unintentionally found themselves at the shul it would behoove them to pick up a siddur and try to follow the services. He looked at me with that resigned look of his and said, "I'm so glad that I can even get 'em here to study for their bar mitzvah let alone take part in daily services."

Watching Rabbi Maron, listening to him, seeing him in action was an on-going lesson about life, religion and people. Issues and consequences are much more complex and answers not as obvious as I thought.

Speaking of answers, I hardly missed an opportunity to ask the Rabbi questions about theological matters that came to mind. Each Saturday's sedrah (Torah) reading brought forth questions which perplexed or confounded me. While the Rabbi's answers did not always satisfy me, I at least had a deeper understanding of the religious doctrines involved.

One final melancholy note about these questions and answers, a most touching story about the Rabbi that I heard after his death, and a summation must wait until I conclude this requiem next month.

(To be concluded)