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FUNERAL HOME

Frank E. Campbell – The Funeral Chapel

1076 Madison Ave

New York City, New York

JOSEPH KOPLEWICZ Obituary

KOPLEWICZ--Joseph, 94, beloved husband of Roma, who passed in 2004, dearest companion of Janet Whitehill, loving father to Edith and Harold, adoring father in law to Linda Sirow, proud grandfather to Joshua, Adam, Sam, and Alex, and beloved uncle, grand uncle and great grand uncle died July 4, 2010. His extraordinary strength, courage, and resilience saw him through the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising and 14 concentration camps, and his unwavering spirit and intelligence guided him when, in May of 1949, he immigrated to the United States penniless with his beloved Roma to begin their life again. Joe truly embodied the American dream. With energy and joy he built a business, raised a family, helped those in need and touched the hearts of all who knew him. His death on July 4th is fitting as he was proud and loved being an American citizen. His sparkle will forever remain with his family and friends. Services will be held at Frank E. Campbell, 1076 Madison Avenue at 81st Street, Wednesday, July 7, at 9:30am. In lieu of flowers, please make contributions to the Roma and Joseph Koplewicz Fund at the U.S. Holocaust Memorial Museum, 100 Raoul Wallenberg Place, S.W., Washington, DC 2004-2126.

To plant trees in memory, please visit the Sympathy Store.

Published by New York Times on Jul. 6, 2010.

Memories and Condolences
for JOSEPH KOPLEWICZ

Sponsored by Linda Sirow, Joe Koplewicz's daughter-in-law .

30 Entries

David Koplewicz

March 28, 2012

With respect from France...

craig hatkoff

July 29, 2010

What remarkable eulogies of a remarkable man!

love and long savor the memories of Joseph

Sylvia Hammerman

July 26, 2010

Harold, news of your dear father's death came just recently and I just now found this on-line Guest Book. So many wonderful tributes for Joe, reminding me of the true specialness of this remarkable person, your father. Since the days when we were children and our parents were close friends, fellow survivors from Warsaw in this country, I have had an unwavering warm place in my heart for both your parents, Roma and Joe. Memories of Joe: kindhearted, wise and funny, handsome, dignified, earthy and warm. A true mensch of the highest order. With a playful glint in his eye. It is wonderful to read about your sons' deep connection with him.
I'm truly sad that we lost touch in more recent years. Please know that I'm thinking of you and your entire family and sending deepest condolences to you all.

With love and gratitude for having known Joe,
Sylvia Icken Hammerman
Newton, Massachusetts

Sam & Joe, Prague 2006

Linda Sirow

July 18, 2010

Sam's Eulogy
July 7, 2010

My grandfather recently recounted to me his last conversation with his own grandfather. Grandpa Joe had been sitting at dinner with his family when they received a call from his grandfather’s physician. The physician informed them that my great great grandfather was very ill and had requested to see my grandfather and my great grandfather, his son and grandson. Once they arrived, my grandfather entered the room first. My great great grandfather was a very religious man, and knew that his eldest grandson, my grandfather, was not. He asked my grandfather to come and sit next to him, and took his hand. He told him that it did not matter that he was not very religious. He told his grandson that if you can wake up in the morning, stand in front of the mirror and be proud of what you see, knowing that if there is something you should change you will make every effort to do so—than that is all the religion you need. With that, he told my grandfather that he loved him and asked him to send my great grandfather in. Grandpa Joe told me that it was only minutes later that his grandfather passed away.

It is hard to talk about my grandfather without feeling like I am bragging. He was a remarkable man who had a profound impact on every person that he met. Like many of you, I feel lucky to have even just met him and blessed to have had such a wonderful relationship with him. Lively, proud, intelligent, humorous and kind do not begin to describe the person he was. Although there is no way to sum up such a great and complex man through just a few anecdotes, I would like to share some stories that have particularly defined how I have come to view my grandfather and, in turn, myself.

Joe always used to say that he came to America with negative $50, since he borrowed money for the trip, and would joke that now he only had a little more than that. Even though before the war he worked in a law firm in Poland, when he first arrived in America there was no job that he would turn down. He cleaned toilets, painted houses, and worked on cars. One particularly grueling job that he took was moving crates off the boats in the shipyard here in New York. Once, on a hot day like today, he was wheeling a cart when the tires began to melt and, unbelievably, began to stick to the hot street. This didn’t stop him. Still pushing the cart, whose wheels were now completely soft and sticking to the street, he continued to work in the sweltering heat. Quitting was not in his vocabulary.

It’s unclear whether his unflagging spirit was a product of perseverance or just stubbornness, but whichever it was, he had a great deal of it. While in a concentration camp during World War Two, he once complained that his tooth was hurting. An SS soldier took him to the dentist, who discovered that nothing was wrong and that the pain had subsided. Unsatisfied with this result, the SS soldier insisted that the dentist remove the tooth anyway. Unwilling to provide the SS man with the pleasure of seeing him suffer, my grandfather did not shed a tear. The soldier demanded another tooth, but not one tear would come from his eyes. The SS man demanded yet another tooth, at which point the dentist himself began to cry. My grandfather turned to the dentist and said, “what are you crying for? They do not give us food anyway.” Even in the worst of times, Grandpa Joe was able to carry with him his unbreakable sense of humor. This sense of humor defined his personality, allowed him to make it through the war, and helped him to live a full life to age 94.

I think it is a large understatement to say that my grandfather was a great man. I believe there are few that are as caring, funny, and honorable. This is why when I wake up in the morning and stand in front of the mirror, I can take my great great grandfather’s advice, knowing that I will always strive to see more of my Grandpa Joe starring back at me.

Prague 2006

Linda Sirow

July 18, 2010

Adam's Eulogy
July 7, 2010

Joe was my grandfather. I was his second grandchild. But Joe was more then my grandfather he was one of my best friends.

From my earliest memories Joe was part of my life. From my first sleepover to the person who got me interested in sports, and later weekly visits when he drove me to my tutors and we had after school snacks, and being a super fan at all my athletic events to teaching me how to drive – there was Joe.

His interest in me was genuine. He knew the names of my teachers, what I was studying and what was happening with my friends. He definitely knew more about my life than anyone else, especially my parents.

Joe was a model of perseverance, resilience and making the best of any situation and being able to approach life with a sense of humor.

Joe often told the story of when he came to the US in 1949 during a very hot summer and had to start from scratch. He had a menial job as a laborer.

One of the few pleasures he wanted after work was a scoop of vanilla ice cream. He had a very thick Polish accent and when he ordered the ice cream – the clerk had no clue what he was requesting. He would repeat the request of vanilla multiple times with clerk replying “what?” after each attempt and eventually Joe asking for chocolate. He would regularly practice at home in front of a mirror saying vanilla, vanilla, vanilla. And face the clerk the next day with the request for vanilla ice cream only to be faced with the clerk’s confusion and a scoop of chocolate ice cream.

Joe told me this story many times with glee and I always hoped he would eventually get his vanilla ice cream but instead he explained he learned to enjoy chocolate ice cream. He didn’t give up, he made the best of the situation and could laugh at himself. Later in life, however, with less of an accent he always ordered vanilla.

When Joe was almost 92 he came with my family to visit me while I was studying in Prague for a semester. It was the first time he had been back to Eastern Europe since the war. He was a great sport – willing to sight see even areas that were emotionally difficult including a former concentration camp. He was struggling with the long walks and when we got to the entrance there was an admission fee. Joe was exhausted and said mater of factly to the ticket collector “the last time I was here, it was free” as he showed his concentration camp tattoo. He politely decided to pass on this site.

Joe’s ability to use his sense of humor at the most stressful times made being with him not only easy but an awesome experience.

Even in his final days in the ICU the nurses commented that he smiled more than any other patient and continued to crack jokes to make us feel better.

I will never have another friend like Joe.

Brown Graduation 2005

Harold Koplewicz

July 18, 2010

Joshua’s Eulogy
July 7, 2010

My grandfather quite clearly had a great impact on my family’s lives. Though for all the many ways in which he influenced us, for some odd reason, as I think about him during these days since his passing, I keep coming back to the memory and symbol of food he shared with us.

Joe and I ate together very often. Sometimes alone at PJ Bernstein’s, sometimes with Roma or Janet at his apartment or house in Sag Harbor, sometimes at lively Sunday night dinners with my entire family, and even sometimes at a pizza parlor with a handful of my friends. I’m struggling to recall a meal with Joe I don’t look back upon fondly. I don’t know exactly what it was, but I remember always feeling more relaxed and happy after a meal with Joe – no matter the restaurant, no matter what food happened to be served.

As a Holocaust survivor, Joe placed a unique meaning on cooking and eating and appreciating a decent meal in the company of loved ones. In fact, it felt like the most mundane of bagel lunches or chicken parm dinners alongside a smiling companion brought him pleasure in ways I have difficulty describing. As an aside, I also never met someone with such an obsessive love for shrimp cocktail – he either ordered a shrimp cocktail himself or peer pressured someone else at the table to order one. In fact, Joe could be a pretty stubborn guy and I’m certain I saw him even attempt to order shrimp cocktails at Chinese, Mexican, Thai, Indian and even once at an Australian Aboriginal themed restaurant – in those cases with varying end results. Still, Joe’s ease, positivity and joy at these meals were always contagious, and frankly so was his love of shrimp cocktail. My parents now oddly keep a bowl of prepared shrimp cocktail in their fridge constantly, my cousin Alex’ favorite food is shrimp cocktail, and I’ve even been known to go on a shrimp cocktail bender from time to time.

In Joe’s memory, on the topic of food, I wanted to share this next passage about my favorite food that Joe actually prepared for our family at his home – tuna fish salad. Though I wrote this about a decade ago in high school, I find it still rings true today.

Thank you Grandpa Joe, good bye…

My favorite food in the world is tuna salad. Not just any old tuna salad; my Grandpa Joe’s tuna salad. Just about once a month I travel alone to my grandparents’ house for Sunday afternoon lunch. When I walk in, I know just where to find my grandfather – in the kitchen, with his sleeves rolled-up. For the past hour and a half he has been boiling eggs, peeling onions and carrots, and slicing celery and cucumbers. Now, steadfast and patient, he obsessively dices the ingredients into finer and finer pieces. He would never think of using a machine. Faster and faster the knife hits the cutting board until every piece is thoroughly cut and everything is perfect. Only after the white onions have made him cry, and the steam from the pots has made him sweat, is my grandfather ready to mix-in these ingredients. But the famed dish is far from complete. The concoction will now be tasted and re-tasted with each spoonful of mayonnaise until it seems just right. A dash of salt and pepper finish the job as my grandmother prepares the table and pulls out the meal’s accessories –slices of tomato, toasted rolls, and Snapple.

We dig in. As I take the first bite I can always see my grandfather out of the corner of my eye watching me to see if his labor of love was worth it. To me, this tuna means more than just a good meal; it has magical power. We will sit at the table for hours talking about topics ranging from friends, politics, and Viagra, to the shadow that lies over my grandparents’ past – the Holocaust. One time my grandfather told me about his participation in the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising. Caught in crossfire, he and a friend were shot by a Nazi guard. His friend was shot in the face and died. Luckily, the bullet fired at my grandfather only grazed his ear. However, when he noticed the blood coming out of the side of his head along with his friend’s (which had spattered all over him) he felt sure that he had also been murdered. He fainted immediately. The next thing he knew, he woke on the floor of a cattle train headed toward the first of fourteen different concentration camps. Yet perhaps because of the setting, my grandparents are able to convert such a traumatic subject into a message for living. Their optimism, love, and remarkable perseverance always seem to shine through in their story telling, whether the subject was movies or war. Every conversation always ends up underscoring their mantra: to make every minute count.

Father's Day 2010

Harold Koplewicz

July 18, 2010

Harold's Eulogy
July 7, 2010

My father knew how to live. And most impressively, he recognized the most important gift in life was connecting with other people.

In the days since his death, I’ve received emails and calls from his friends, the children of his friends, as well as from relatives, my coworkers, my friends, and my children’s friends. All of them describe how my father truly touched their lives. Even our doorman had tears in his eyes when he told me what a gentleman my father had always been when he came to visit.

My father was a modest man. He never bragged about his accomplishments. I believe the only thing he bragged about were his children and grandchildren. In fact, my parents’ friends would often say that with my father there was no contest: He had the best daughter-in-law anyone could ever have.

Friendship was also paramount in his life. Although he lost many of his closet and oldest friends over the past decade, he continued in his nineties to make new friends. It could be no other way for a man who cared so deeply about the successes and happiness of others. He and my mother were honorary uncle and aunt as well as godparents to many people, and in every case they took their roles very seriously. My father adored his two nieces, along with their children and grandchildren. And I can tell you that, even for non-blood relatives, my father was a true godfather. For the past 60 years he has loved our Brooklyn neighbor’s daughter Judy and now her husband Gary and their grown up daughters. He gave of himself enormously to enrich other people’s lives. That brought him joy.

A junior high classmate of mine sent me an email yesterday to send his condolences but also to tell me that he’d regularly called and wrote to my father. He said that this past winter he and his wife visited my father and Janet, and then he said, “Your father always took an interest in me and was a model of how a man should be a husband and father.”

I remember similar words being said by a friend of my father’s on the 45th anniversary of my parents’ arrival to the United States. Linda and I were hosting a big party in our apartment. Friends and relatives—from every part of my parents’ lives—were there. My father’s favorite cousin Michel flew in from Canada. And a dear neighbor from Bayside was there and had been a den mother with my mom in the local cub scouts. It was an incredibly festive afternoon with wonderful people—there were many happy toasts, and everyone seemed truly at ease and joyful—but then a younger friend of my father’s stood up to make a toast in my father’s honor. He started by saying that he apologized for changing the tone of the party. Then, having our full attention, he said, “I met Joe in a concentration camp. I am ten years younger than him. I was scared, wild, and angry, and Joe taught me how to behave and, even in the camps, to live like a man.”

My father was also a model for me. He showed me how to live like a man as well. He told me that whether or not there was a God, it was important to live your life in such a way that every day, when you looked at yourself in the mirror, you liked what you saw.

His love affair with my mother was the stuff of romantic movies. Every year on their anniversary he gave her a red rose for every year they’d been together and three white roses for every year they’d been separated during the war. The card always said the same thing: “Life had no color without you.”

My father and mother truly adored each other, and I’m flooded with memories of their dancing, hugging, kissing, fighting, and laughing. Even when my mother’s Alzheimer’s became obvious to everyone, my father persisted in making a normal life with her. They continued going to Florida for the winter, Sag Harbor in the summer, and in between those stays, New York City. They still traveled to Australia to visit my mother’s best friend, Lena, from law school, as well as to visit Joshua who was studying abroad.

When my mother died six years ago, my father was devastated. He told me he wanted to die, so I told him I wasn’t ready to be an orphan and asked him to stay alive. He told me he’d try.

A month later we were having lunch on a Saturday, and my father told me he was seeing a psychiatrist. He was 88 at the time and had called his internist because he couldn’t sleep and thought he needed help. My father explained to the internist that at nighttime he kept thinking of my mother and this kept him awake. The internist said this was normal. My father said it wasn’t. He said he’d always been able to sleep, even as a prisoner in the concentration camps.

So the internist referred my father to a psychiatrist. My father informed me of this only after he’d started seeing the psychiatrist, and when I complained that he should have discussed his decision with me first, he reminded me that I was a child psychiatrist and that he wasn’t a child. He told me the psychiatrist’s name and explained that since the psychiatrist didn’t accept Medicare he’d negotiated a fee of $250 per session. I told my father that this was a very fair price. My father said it was a bargain compared to what I charged.

I asked him, finally, why he was telling me this now. He answered that the psychiatrist had wanted to give him medicine; he told him that he needed to discuss this with his son. He said to the psychiatrist, “Talking is one thing. But before I take medicine, I need a second opinion.”

That December, I traveled with my father on his return to Florida. He was still having a difficult time. He became weepy as we drove away from the Palm Beach Airport toward Boca Raton, and he told me that he wasn’t sure he could stay in Florida without my mother. I said it reminded me of when I was homesick at sleep-away camp and that he had to stay at least one month. We agreed that he would return to New York City in January for my birthday. That seemed to bring him some relief. And then, for the last evening I was in Florida, I encouraged him to get one of his and my mother’s friends to go out with us for dinner. Janet Whitehill was the friend. We all had a lovely evening, especially memorable because of Janet, who told me when my father went to the bathroom, “Don’t worry about your father, Harold. I will look after him. He will be fine.”

A month later, when my father came back to New York and sat next to me at my birthday dinner, he leaned in and whispered in my ear, “I’m not getting married, but Janet Whitehill is wonderful company.”

For the past five and a half years, Janet and my father have had great times. They’ve gone traveling, hosted dinner parties, gone out on countless nights, and, as my mother would say, done a lot of gallivanting. They’ve loved each other and taken great care of each other.

On the Friday of this past Father’s Day weekend, my father was so happy because he’d just been notified that he qualified for an experimental procedure to replace his aortic valve. He’d been constantly tired, and he wanted more energy to live the rest of his life with the quality existence he demanded. My father, Janet, Linda, and I went out that evening to a favorite waterfront restaurant, and my father ordered a frozen margarita with salt. He enjoyed the sunset. Later that weekend, he told Linda and her parents that, “Except for the holocaust, I’ve had a wonderful life.” And he truly meant it.

So while I’m incredibly sad right now, I’m also happy that we can celebrate my father’s extraordinary life. He was resilient. He was generous. He was honest. He was ambitious. He was patriotic. But like a great novel, I just wanted it to last a little longer.

Dad, I will miss you.

Linda Sirow

July 18, 2010

Eulogy Given by Adam Koplewicz
on July 7, 2010

Joe was my grandfather. I was his second grandchild. But Joe was more then my grandfather he was one of my best friends.

From my earliest memories Joe was part of my life. From my first sleepover to the person who got me interested in sports, and later weekly visits when he drove me to my tutors and we had after school snacks, and being a super fan at all my athletic events to teaching me how to drive – there was Joe.

His interest in me was genuine. He knew the names of my teachers, what I was studying and what was happening with my friends. He definitely knew more about my life than anyone else, especially my parents.

Joe was a model of perseverance, resilience and making the best of any situation and being able to approach life with a sense of humor.

Joe often told the story of when he came to the US in 1949 during a very hot summer and had to start from scratch. He had a menial job as a laborer.

One of the few pleasures he wanted after work was a scoop of vanilla ice cream. He had a very thick Polish accent and when he ordered the ice cream – the clerk had no clue what he was requesting. He would repeat the request of vanilla multiple times with clerk replying “what?” after each attempt and eventually Joe asking for chocolate. He would regularly practice at home in front of a mirror saying vanilla, vanilla, vanilla. And face the clerk the next day with the request for vanilla ice cream only to be faced with the clerk’s confusion and a scoop of chocolate ice cream.

Joe told me this story many times with glee and I always hoped he would eventually get his vanilla ice cream but instead he explained he learned to enjoy chocolate ice cream. He didn’t give up, he made the best of the situation and could laugh at himself. Later in life, however, with less of an accent he always ordered vanilla.

When Joe was almost 92 he came with my family to visit me while I was studying in Prague for a semester. It was the first time he had been back to Eastern Europe since the war. He was a great sport – willing to sight see even areas that were emotionally difficult including a former concentration camp. He was struggling with the long walks and when we got to the entrance there was an admission fee. Joe was exhausted and said mater of factly to the ticket collector “the last time I was here, it was free” as he showed his concentration camp tattoo. He politely decided to pass on this site.

Joe’s ability to use his sense of humor at the most stressful times made being with him not only easy but an awesome experience.

Even in his final days in the ICU the nurses commented that he smiled more than any other patient and continued to crack jokes to make us feel better.

I will never have another friend like Joe.

Linda Sirow

July 12, 2010

Dear Harold, Linda, Edith and children,
It was so so sad to hear the news about Joe. He was such a special person in our lives so I can’t even begin to imagine the loss you are all feeling. But one thing for sure is that we were all very lucky to have him in our lives. When I first traveled the world to meet some of my relatives and parents friends you never know if you will like each other or get along. Your parents, I was lucky enough to have met in Sydney, so I just couldn’t wait to spend time with them in New York. Family/ friends whatever- they were amazing people and I loved spending time with them, listening to their stories, laughing at their jokes. I felt very much at home with them. I was so happy they could come out for my wedding and then for other family simchas as it made my parents so happy also. If I have to recall when my father looked happiest it would be when Joe was in town.
It is always hard to say goodbye but we here are lucky to have so many beautiful memories of Joe and Roma. They were both such wonderful people and loved so much. We will be thinking of you at this difficult time and can only offer our love and support from afar. Joe was so special, and a wonderful passion for life. We will miss him very much too.
Love to all the family,
Martin, Vivian and children.

Linda Sirow

July 12, 2010

Dear Harold, Linda, Edith and families,

No words from far-off Australia could reduce the sorrow you bear, yet our thoughts are with you at this time of loss. Joe was an uncle to us in all but blood, but perhaps more, whenever we had the privilege of his company, his joy for life and inspiring personality would instantaneously make up for those other times when distance precluded even closer ties, He was a very special man.

Having had only brief glimpses of experiencing his gift for seeing the positive side of life as he did, I don't think we can imagine what it must mean to lose him, but I know that we can feel intensely for your loss. Mum was overcome when she heard. We grew up with news of Joe, Roma, and even of you and Edith as almost daily addenda to the evening news reports. Each report came with a well-worn commentary on how much your parents meant to them, on the depth, intensity and importance of their friendships, and on the immense love that they had always had for one another. While that would never compare to the love between Roma and Joe, this always stood out as a beacon in my parents' lives, and so something that I looked up to. It was natural to absorb those feelings and to share in a relationship towards Joe that could never be explained by your parents' brief stays in Sydney or my visit with them many years ago.

In short, I know it doesn't need to be said to you, but Joe was a wonderful, wonderful friend to us, and it has been a great joy and honour to have known him and to have been able to have called him 'friend'. No doubt Martin and mum will write separately but I, for my boys too, am so sorry for your loss.

May your memories give you strength and comfort.

With sympathy,

Stan Goldstein

Linda Sirow

July 12, 2010

Harold-
Susie and I discussed yesterday's funeral all the way back to DC. It was a wonderful tribute to your dad, and a gathering of those who have love and respect for you, Linda, and your family. Joe made Susie and I feel as if we were his friends and spoke to us that way, never making us feel we were just "friends of Harold and Linda" so all that people said rang quite true.
Your eulogy and those of all 3 boys indicated that the torch had been passed and he had influenced you all.
Our thoughts are with you in your grief and in your honoring of Joe's life-
Larry

Linda Sirow

July 12, 2010

A beautiful and deeply moving service-
Your sons are extraordinary.
And so are you.
You were so lucky to have had the father and mother that you did.
With love,
Linda and Arthur

Linda Sirow

July 12, 2010

Dear Harold,

I was one of those tutors that Adam referred to at the memorial service, that had the great pleasure of getting to know "Grandpa Joe", when he accompanied Adam to my office. You know what a joy it was for me to know Adam. What I learned this morning was that I was among many who also appreciated "Grandpa Joe's" company as well.

I have often remembered one long telephone conversation one evening when you and I were speaking about my work with Adam. I referred to the relationship between Joe and Adam. We then spoke about the difference you experienced between Joe being your father and the boys' grandfather and how it influenced your life. That was also referenced today with great understanding and appreciation. In conversations with "Grandpa Joe" about Adam's remarkable personality, Joe would often reflect on Adam being the most like you and said it with great affection, delight and pride.

It was important for me to attend the funeral this morning to extend my condolences to your family, to learn more about the man and to bring my own memories to add to those who attended. I only wish that I could capture, and sustain, the philosophy with which your father lived his life. From hearing all of you speak this morning I can see the valuable legacy that he has imparted to his family.

With warmest regards to you all,
Judy Marchese

Linda Sirow

July 12, 2010

Harold,

Just back from the funeral, I cannot stop thinking about what a uniquely special man your father was.
I would have been grateful to know him.

I wish you and your family comfort in the days ahead.

Rachel Adler

Linda Sirow

July 12, 2010

Dear Harold,

It was a most beautiful and powerful service. Joe is certainly a role model for you, your family, and all who knew him.

Elaine and I are happy that we were able to attend. We are only sad that we never got to me him and enjoy a conversation with him.

Take care and send our love to all of you.

Elaine and Hirschel

Linda Sirow

July 12, 2010

Harold-
I was moved to read about your father.
Doubtless, your courage in forging new pathways came, in part, from him. I am sure he will be missed and your family was blessed to have him so long, but still too short.

Marilyn Machlowitz

Linda Sirow

July 12, 2010

Harold-

I saw Lisa this morning and she told me about your father. I was sad to hear the news. I only new him for a short time but he touched my life. This world will miss your father as he exemplified a moral and familial code that society is lacking.

I am sorry for your loss.

Regards,

Todd Gage PT

Linda Sirow

July 12, 2010

For Harold: Always a child, always a father.

The Death of a Parent

Move to the front of the line a voice says,
and suddenly there is nobody left standing
between you and the world,
to take the first blows on their shoulders.
This is the place in books where part one ends,
And part two begins, and there is no part three.
The slate is wiped not clean
but like a canvas painted over in white
so that a whole new landscape must be started,
bits of the old still showing underneath—
those colors sadness lends to a certain hour of evening.
Now the line of light at the horizon is the hinge between earth and heaven,
only visible for a few moments as the sun drops its rusted padlock into place.

Sam interviewing Joe in Berlin 11/10

Linda Sirow

July 12, 2010

Dear Sam,

These news make me very sad, and I would like to express my heartfelt sympathies for you and your family.

In the few hours I had the privilege to be in the same room with your grandfather, he deeply impressed me by his kindness and the quirky sense of humor which he showed as he shared his life's story with us. The indescribable hardships he had to endure had not broken him, I felt; and I wish I could, should I ever reach his age, possess only a fraction of the dignity and menschlichkeit he emanated. May he rest in peace. And let us pass on remembrance of the great personality your grandfather was, so that he may inspire others in the same way he inspired you, and me.

We do still have the video recording of your interview with your grandfather; when we moved the office from Invalidenstr. to NYU's new Academic Center in Prenzlauer Berg several weeks ago, I personally put the cassette in one of the boxes. As soon as I find it, I shall make a copy of the recording and send it to you.

Please extend my best regards to you parents and your late grandfather's girlfriend.

All the best to you,
Cornelius Ludwig, Professor
New York University in Berlin, Germany

Linda Sirow

July 11, 2010

Harold,

We were sad to read of your dad's death, and just wanted to express our deepest condolences.

Yet, in reading about him, we got a chance to get a glimpse of what an extraordinary life he led and how he struggled through and overcame the most unfair of circumstances and the longest of odds. You and your family have been blessed to have had his presence, his life learnings, his perseverance, and his love. And, fortunately, we're sure you have a lifetime of memories that will stay with you, keep him with you, and give you strength going forth.

Again, our deepest sympathies,

Robert, Debra, and Claire

Linda Sirow

July 11, 2010

Dear Harold, I am traveling and have just found out about your loss. I am so very very sorry. In the description of his life it is so clear that Joseph was an extraordinary man filled with a conquering and positive spirit which he has obviously passed on to you. I hope you can find some comfort in knowing that your father continues to live through you as you so clearly embody many of the adjectives that are used to describe him. I also hope that it will be some comfort to know that you are loved and adored by so many of us in your community in New York. I for one am a huge fan and my heart breaks for you and your family. I want you to know that you are in my thoughts constantly and that I am sending hugs and love and wish of course that I may be there in person but am not back in time. I hope to see you later this summer but please know that you have friends everywhere who care so deeply about you. I know that it is so painful and difficult to deal with death and I am praying for you, Joseph, Linda and the boys. Lots of love, strength and courage. Claude

Linda Sirow

July 11, 2010

Harold,

The loss of your father has brought such emotion to me. The loss of a father is something so deep and personal, it is a little invasive to even try to relate to you, but I am forging ahead nonetheless.

From the moment you and I met, we were connected through my father. Although my brothers and I often did not know my father's students and mentees personally, my brothers and I were always aware of their importance in my father's life's mission. He so valued his role as teacher and mentor and he loved to surround himself by the best and the brightest of the next generation. He wanted to give of himself and be a link in the chain, somehow living on in those he taught. The first time we met, you reaffirmed that mission for him and gave me a new window through which to see my own father, in ways that I had never known or appreciated. In that way I saw you immediately as a little bit of a sibling. Therefore, the loss of your father has been particularly poignant for me. It has reminded me of the first days after I lost my father.

They say that time helps and that it gets better with time. I am not sure that is the complete story. The pain is different, and maybe less painful, but you never stop missing them.

I am sorry that I never met your father. From everything that I have heard, he was a remarkable man. You have mentioned that he was very difficult - a trait in a father that I know well. At the same time, I can't help but believe that his experience in the holocaust has translated into a very special gift for him and for you. His love of life seems clear. That appreciation of the gift of time together is something that you communicate to everyone you touch. You have that spirit of seeing the possible, not being limited by what might appear to be impossible. Your boundless energy, your reach for the stars, and your networks of people that want to be close to you, speak of a zeal for life that must have had some root with your father. You both make every second count.

I was so touched and so jealous of the close relationship your boys had with your father. My father never met my son, nor my niece and nephews. What could they have learned from him? How would he have learned from his parenting to inform his grandparenting? I will never know. You are so very lucky. Not only did your sons know your father, but he was a wonderful grandfather, based only on the intimate words from your sons - "my best friend", "he knew more about me than anyone, certainly my parents".

I feel pain at the loss of your father, but I also feel so much joy at what you have had. I know that it is impossible for the joy to outweigh the pain at this time, but try not to lose sight of it, even now.

If there is anyway that I can be helpful, please don't hesitate to let me know. You have my thoughts and deepest sympathies,

Laura Philips

Linda Sirow

July 11, 2010

KOPLEWICZ--Joseph. Joe, you were more than a grandfather or a third parent. You were our best friend. We will miss you and remember you forever.
Josh, Adam and Sam

Published in The New York Times on July 7, 2010

Linda Sirow

July 11, 2010

KOPLEWICZ--Joseph. We are so grateful for the five plus years we shared. You were a partner, confidant, friend, parent and grandparent. You will be deeply missed.
Janet and the Whitehill Family

Published in The New York Times on July 7, 2010

Linda Sirow

July 11, 2010

Linda Sirow

July 11, 2010

KOPLEWICZ--Joseph. The NYU Child Study Center expresses its deepest condolences to the family of Joseph. The respect and love that our founding director, Dr. Harold Koplewicz, expressed for his father and late mother Roma left a deep impact on his colleagues and friends. A resilient survivor, Joseph was devoted to his family and deeply appreciative of his friends and his remarkable life. Our thoughts and prayers are with his children, Harold and Edith, his daughter-in-law Linda Sirow, his grandchildren, Joshua, Adam, Sam, and Alex, and his companion, Janet Whitehill.

Linda Sirow

July 11, 2010

Linda Sirow

July 11, 2010

EAST HAMPTON STAR
July 8, 2010 Obituary

Joseph Koplewicz was known to say to his four grandsons that except for the Holocaust, I have had a wonderful life. He was one of the last survivors of the Warsaw Ghetto uprising.

Mr. Koplewicz, a resident of Sag Harbor for 25 years and a longtime member of Temple Adas Israel, died on Sunday at New York-Presbyterian Hospital of complications from cardiac surgery. He was 94.

He died after undergoing an experimental surgical procedure to replace his aortic heart valve. Until that time, he had been active, attending a grandson's wedding in Bar Harbor, Me., over Memorial Day weekend and spending Father's Day at the Palm in East Hampton, his favorite restaurant.

His two oldest grandsons played soccer in Sag Harbor, and he attended all of their games.

Until three years ago, Mr. Koplewicz lived at the Villas on West Water Street in Sag Harbor, first with his wife, Roma, who died in 2004, and then with his companion, Janet Whitehill, who survives. Though he then began dividing his time between New York City and Boca Raton, Fla., he still visited his son''s house in East Hampton.

He was born in Kielce, Poland, on Dec. 7, 1915, to Herman and Rosa Koplewicz. His father owned a factory and land mined for clay that could be made into ceramics. He graduated from a public school in 1931 and then attended officers school, followed by the University of Warsaw Law School, from which he graduated in 1936.

He worked in a law office in Warsaw until the Nazis invaded Poland in 1939. Prior to the occupation, he fell in love with Roma Magid, who was the daughter of a client, in a train station as he was getting a cab for her. They married in the ghetto and she was eventually able to escape with falsified documents. Mr. Koplewicz could not, however, and in 1943 he took part in the uprising.

He was sent to 14 different concentration camps, including Dachau. He had an aluminum cigarette case at the time and carved into it the names of the 14 camps. He would later donate it to the Holocaust Memorial Museum in Washington, D.C.

The couple reunited after the war and moved to Coney Island three years later. Mr. Koplewicz worked as a machinist and went on to start his own manufacturing business, Metalcraft Machine Products. He sold it in 1971.

In 1953, the couple's first child, Harold, was born. A daughter, Edith, followed in 1959. He taught his children to value education. He was devoted to his grandchildren and to Ms. Whitehill's grandson, as well.

His children, Edith Koplewicz of New York City and Harold Koplewicz of East Hampton and New York City, survive him, as do his grandchildren. Two sisters and a brother predeceased him.

A service was held at the Frank E. Campbell funeral chapel yesterday at 9:30 a.m. Burial followed at the Independent Jewish Cemetery in Sag Harbor.

Memorial contributions have been suggested to the Roma and Joseph Koplewicz Fund at the Holocaust Memorial Museum, 100 Raoul Wallenberg Place S.W., Washington, D.C. 20024.

Sarah Grunstein

July 7, 2010

Beloved friend of Bolek, closer with Bolek than even brothers could be. They survived the Warsaw Ghetto, and survived, escaped, and further survived numerous concentration camps together. Adored and revered by Bolek whom Joe said was like a son to him, we have no doubt they survived and later lived their lives to the fullest, in part because of their extraordinary bond. As far away as Australia, Joe has family and friends for whom he will always remain a pinnacle of strength and courage, our mentor, our beloved and trusted friend, and the most positive life force one could ever meet. We extend our condolences to Harold, Linda, Edith, Joshua, Adam, Sam, Alex, and Janet. Joe, your sparkle has touched our lives forever. With deepest love, Bolek, Hania (deceased), Mark (deceased), Harry, Marina, Sarah, David, Vanessa, Simon, the Grunstein family.