Jack Nathaniel Alpert

My Dad loved a good diagnosis. I remember dinner being a time when he tested our ever-evolving diagnostic skills. He especially appreciated a strong set-up:

-38-year-old woman

-hypertensive

-has visuals on one side but no other symptoms.

I would say, “Dad: I have no idea,” and he would say, “Of course you don’t, you haven’t asked me any questions yet!”

So I would start….

“Does she have a stressful life? Does she have any other pre-existing conditions we should know about? ”

He would give me more details and eventually ask again,

“So, what do you think?”

I was maybe thirteen.

It’s pretty incredible to be asked, “So, what do you think?” on a regular basis. And this started almost as early as I can remember, a family dinner.

Picture a typical Alpert Shabbat. Dad would sit at the head of the table and encourage big conversations about what was happening in the world. But when I was maybe seven or eight, I didn’t have a ton to contribute,But, I had memorized every page of my new favorite book: “Facts Everybody Should Know About The US Presidents.” When there was a lull, I would raise my hand and Dad would point at me dramatically and say, “Jessi has the floor!” I started, “Do you know the joke about Calvin Coolidge at the White House?” Almost everyone at the table would groan. This was maybe the fiftieth time my siblings had heard this joke. But Dad was thrilled. He wanted to hear it for the fifty-first time. And I bet you do, too.

Our thirtieth President, Calvin Coolidge was known as a man of few words. One night he was approached by a guest at a White House reception. The man went up to him and said, “I bet my wife I could get you to say more than two words.” Coolidge looked him in the eye and smiled. “You lose.”

the ultimate caretaker

Dad loved a good joke and a good debate. This was nurtured during his childhood dinners. Jack was born on 20 July 1938 in Newark, New Jersey to Ruby and Louis Alpert. He grew up with his beloved big sister Barbara, his grandmother Sophie, his parents and a host of pets on Burr Road in Maplewood, New Jersey. Ruby was a Juilliard-trained singer, and after her children were born she taught piano. She tried to teach Jack how to read music but he wasn’t that interested. Instead, he spent his time improvising and composing using a specific notation system only he could understand.

He did it his way. He always did it his way. His way was filled with curiosity, affection, dedication, lots of hard work, and a healthy scoop of stubbornness. He loved books and music. He loved traveling and eating good food. He appreciated a strong cocktail and a solid practical joke. He loved his family. He loved his friends.

And wow, did he love neurology. The man retired less than a year ago! He was the ultimate caretaker. Many of you know that he was on call for any illness or concern that you, your family, your best friend, your best friend’s cousin’s neighbor had. He was dedicated to that role, and we, his family, often volunteered him, even when he was in another state or country. Sometimes people would worry they were bothering him and we had to explain, again and again, that it gave him such joy to be able to help others.

Joy. That’s one of the words that remains top of mind when thinking about my Dad. The others?

Passion

Service

Kindness through service was his love language

I spent a few nights with him during his most recent stay in the hospital, and sleep was usually not on the agenda. We talked about a lot of things; places he wanted to visit, people he wanted to see, the grandchildren, the spouses. We also talked about his illness. Then he told me that he had already chosen the two quotes he wanted on his gravestone. He asked me to bring in his latest project, a book of quotes and aphorisms that he organized after decades of writing down his favorites. He thumbed through this big book and pointed to a quote from Maimonides,

“May there never develop in me the notion that my education is complete.”

This was so on brand. Earlier that day, he asked the rounding infectious disease doctor what he thought of the recent study about long-term use of a particular antibiotic, and the doctor was truly amazed.

“Where can I read about that, Dr. Alpert?”

“In the most recent ‘New England Journal of Medicine.” I had to laugh a little. Always on top of his game.

His second quote? From Aesop. “No act of kindness, no matter how small, is ever wasted.”

Dad truly embodied this quote. Kindness through service was his love language. It was a gift he gave others, but through this service I received another gift, the gift of example. I now walk through life having seen someone find their passion, consistently work at it, and as a result, freely and joyfully give to others. I’ve seen someone live this way, so I know it can be done. Will it be easy to figure out how to do? Absolutely not, but I do know it is possible.

Later that night, after he dozed off, I kept on flipping through that massive book looking for one of my favorite quotes. It was written by Edmund Burke, an eighteenth century Irish statesman. It feels very fitting right now.

“The true way to mourn the dead…is to take care of the living who belong to them.”

He always did it his way

Moving forward without my Dad, the caretaker and the community physician, the educator and the great debater, the intellectual and the practical joker, the loyal friend and the loving father and grandfather is something I cannot begin to imagine right now.

But I do know that he would want us to take care of each other just as he took care of us. He would want us to find our own passion and our own joy. He would want us to give freely and without reservation, to ourselves and to each other.

Just like he showed us.