Rabbi Zwerin's Eulogy for Fred Marcus

Rabbi Raymond A. Zwerin
Temple Sinai / Denver
July 1, 2002

FRED W. MARCUS [z'l]

Avraham Ben Shmuel v'Ruth

The Nobel Prize winning Jewish writer Nelly Sachs wrote:

Now that so little light shines in our life,
We especially need hope for a sunny future.
The only one who really sits in the dark
is the one who doesn't believe in the light at all.

It would have been so easy for Fred to live a shadow life — flitting from darkness and despair, nervously, rheumatically edging toward depression. But he believed in light, he believed in beauty, he believed in love, he believed in God — he believed in living life fully ... joyfully, richly. He believed in choices and the freedom to make them and to live by them. He believed in diversity and in acceptance — auf tsaluchis — in spite of all he invited the light, evoked it, and welcomed it.

Fred was born in Berlin in 1924, the only child of Samuel and Gertrude Semmy. His father was a most successful merchant who traveled all over Europe selling his goods. His mother, unfortunately, took ill shortly after he was born with a heart condition that rendered her weak. So, while father was away on business, Fred was in the care of maids and two maiden aunts. As a youngster he early on developed an interest in animals. He wanted to be a zoologist or perhaps a pediatrician, but the zoo became his escape, his refuge. The work crew and ground keepers knew him well and anticipated his frequent visits.

While he attended classes at regular German schools, by the time he entered high school, Hitler was entrenched and Nazi philosophy permeated the teaching staff and the student body. Every day he would hear the tune and lyrics to the "Horst Wessel" song calling for Jewish blood to be spilled. He was made so uncomfortable that he ultimately transferred to theGrosse Hamburgerstrasse school — the Jewish gymnasium in Berlin from which he graduated in 1939. Fred grew up in a wealthy, cultured home — the German language, poetry, writings were very much a part of his education. Each night he would listen to opera on the radio while following along with the libretto. He used to joke about having to go to bed before the opera ended and so he knew most of the first acts by heart, but the last acts hardly at all. His diary from those days reflected thoughts and feelings about his daily social and cultural activities.

He witnessed Kristalnacht, seeing from a hillside his synagogue on ablaze. It was 1939 and the window of opportunity to leave Germany was closing, but he couldn't leave his mother there and she was too weak to travel. As a 14 year old boy, he was trapped in Germany because of a heart condition. The irony was not lost on him in his final days. When his mother died, Fred and Samuel spread maps out on the table to discuss where they would go. Only three choices lay before them: Madagascar, South America, or Shanghai. They opted to join the other 20,000 German Jews who headed for China. Fred loved to talk about the luxury liner that took 30 days to get them there. The accommodations were elegant, the service impeccable, the food magnificent. He gave no thought to the end of the voyage. He was enjoying the trip immensely.

What a rude awakening awaited him — Shanghai offered a paucity of food; stale bread, thin soup, and sardines on cracked plates; 50 people shared a room in a ghetto area from which there was no exit. The stale bread he referred to as his "bread of affliction," and the salty tea reflected his tears. Two cousins, and an uncle were there with him. But when his father died, Fred was bereft. "I was orphaned, stateless, with no prospects for the future." Times had never been darker, yet some light began to seep through. He became a volunteer fireman and a volunteer ghetto policeman. The officers were British, and so with them Fred practiced his English. Ironically, in Germany he had to study English because the French classes were full.

Through a friend he was able to secure a pass to leave the ghetto once in a while — the freedom buoyed his spirits. And then he got a job working in the Cathay Hotel, now the Peace Hotel. It meant good food daily and a bit of freedom to boot. He met interesting people and had a good income. In fact, when most of the Jews were already on their way to America, Fred had it so good in China that he didn't want to leave. But when the American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee officer advised him that she had only a precious few visas left, he quickly changed his mind. He entrusted his savings to a banker he hardly knew, asking him to deposit all of it in a bank in San Francisco, and boarded a Liberty ship for the US. The funds were there when he arrived.

Disembarking in S.F., he asked a cab driver to take him to the address of his cousin. "Where you from?" the cabbie asked. Until that moment, Fred had thought he spoke English without an accent. Within days of his arrival on these shores, Rabbi Ted Alexander, his lifelong friend and companion in Shanghai introduced him to Lucy. They were married shortly thereafter. Vivian and David were born to them in the ensuing years. Fred was fortunate enough to land a job as assistant manager of the Huntington Hotel on Nob Hill — a position he held from 1949 to 1961. On days off, the Marcus family traveled just about every highway and back road in northern California. While he thoroughly enjoyed travel, their moves to Lafayette and Berkeley and to Phoenix for various positions were not so very satisfying. So in 1964, he returned to Palo Alto to take another hotel position, but this time he also began an involvement in Jewish education.

Rabbi Joe Gitin thought the world of Fred. Temple Emanuel was impressed with his educational and administrative skills and hired him to run the religious school, with the understanding that he would go to college to get his BA degree. SF State in conjunction with HUC in Los Angeles enabled Fred to get that degree in 1969. For 17 years he served as the creative, efficient head of that congregation's school. During those years, he introduced new educational techniques and encouraged the faculty to grow in Jewish knowledge. He personally taught every Bar/Bat Mitzvah student who went through the Temple system during his tenure. He was recognized by his colleagues by being elected to the position of President of the NATE — high honor indeed. For ten of those 17 years, Fred was not only the educator, he also served as Temple administrator. He attended every worship service, every committee meeting that Boards can conjure up, arrived early for every school session ... and even managed to earn his Master of Arts degree in education from HUC during that period.

Both having been divorced for some time, he and Audrey met while pursuing a Master's program during their summer session at HUC in L.A. in 1973. He used to say that Audrey wrote the books and he used them. She remembers selling him one of her books, which showed he had good taste. From such beginnings great relationships develop. They dated long distance for a while until he proposed in the LAX airport while they were walking on a moving sidewalk. He always re-proposed every time they shared such a sidewalk. They were married at HUC in LA in November, 1974.

He retired from Temple Emanuel of San Jose in 1981. He had served that community with distinction. Audrey wanted to return to Denver. Her mother Anne was getting up in years, the children were still here, and so was her publishing business. Fred realized the wisdom of the move, but it was a most difficult transition for him to make — leaving his children and his friends and his life style was hard enough, but becoming as it were a refugee once again was crushing. So much change already, could he do it yet again?

Some 27 years later the answer is clear to us...and it was certainly clear to him. He built a very special life here — a life of high quality and significance. He was happy here. He went to work for the nice people at American International Travel — his third career path was right up his alley. He developed important friendships with thoughtful people. He and Audrey had a rich social life together. They traveled to 100 plus countries together usually in the company of friends. They met interesting people from all over the world and maintained many of those contacts and friendships.

One such relationship was very special. They offered their services to the Institute for International Education, volunteering to host any German visitors to the city. Martin Lohmann entered their lives through this program over two decades ago. Today he is editor-in-chief of a prominent newspaper in Bonn, had a radio talk show, and is involved in German politics. With him Fred was able to talk through his feeling about Germany and Germans and the Shoah. He was able to learn that the new generation of Germans is different from their fathers and far removed from deserving our opprobrium. They became fast friends and saw each other on each visit. Early in his last week, Fred had the joy of taking Martin's 4 year old to the zoo of his youth in Berlin. And Martin and family flew and drove for hours to see Fred after hearing that he had been hospitalized in Bavaria.
Martin writes: Fred had a big heart, a big mind, and unbelievable sensitivity. He opened our eyes to so many things — the world of the mind and the richness of mind. For me, he was like a father, but sometimes with his shy eyes, he was also like a little child. His young spirit was a gift from heaven.

A gift indeed. Fred became a community treasure. He shared his Holocaust experiences with school groups and church group often speaking two and three times a week. He was involved in the Catholic-Jewish Dialogue sponsored by the ADL. He served as President of the CAJE. He often filled in for me in conducting services here at Temple. He taught the adult Confirmation class for years — there are countless adult who reclaimed their heritage thanks to his teachings and countless more who deepened their commitment to Judaism because of him. And his lectures in the Monday night Adult Education Series here were met with anticipation and enthusiastic appreciation. Fred became the respected elder of the community -- our resident sage, who never seemed to grow in age, only in wisdom and experience. Two years ago, HUC awarded him a much deserved honorary doctorate degree. My most poignant memory is of him carrying in our Holocaust Torah and placing it in the Aron Kodesh when we dedicated this new sanctuary 15 years ago.

For his 70th birthday, Audrey and friends and family commissioned this menorah in his honor. I like to think that the shofarot herald his presence...and that the subtle flames of light bespeak his spiritual influence. As unique as this ritual object, so too the man for whom it was fashioned.

Fred Marcus was a passionate sports fan. Try not to interrupt his football games. When he lived in San Jose, Monday nights were as if holy; in Denver watching the game with Peter on Sunday afternoons was as if a sacred ritual. He was a 49ers fan, he said, because he came to America in 1949, but the Broncos were a very close second. And he loved baseball too, again with dual loyalties — he took both a Giants and a Rockies cap to the games here and switched them every half inning.

And Fred Marcus was a passionate family man. He adored his children, and he was especially proud of way in which both families had merged and blended. Audrey's children were his children too — and all of the spouses were welcomed with affection and a surfeit of enthusiasm which was irresistible. And family meant cousins and grandchildren too. He loved them all unconditionally, and they adored him. Josh who lived here and saw his Poppy several times a week were special pals — they went to movies together, and had serious discussions, and shared personal hopes and thoughts.

But the love of his life was his soul-mate, his wife of 27 years, his liebschen, his Audrey. They were as close to one another as a couple can be and yet they managed to allow space for one another to grow — to pursue their own interests. I have spent a lot of time in the Marcus home over the years, and never have I seen Fred leave the house without kissing his wife and telling her how much he loved her. Never did he address her with anything but a term of endearment — my darling, my sweetheart, and any number of German expressions of affection. Together they saw the world, healed each other's hurts, restored flagging energy, encouraged and protected one another in all manner of thoughtful and caring ways. They modeled a loving relationship for all who know them.

In sympathy our thoughts and hearts go out to Audrey, and to the children Vivian and David/Diane, and Jill/Peter, Dayle/David, Glen/Elizabeth, and to the grandchildren Josh, Gabe, Anya, Andrew, Jonathan, Solomon, Caleb, Anat, and Avram. And to cousins and nephews, to dear friends old and new, to acquaintances from one walk of life or another go our condolences. Fred lived life as he found it, with enthusiasm, courage, style and class...and along the way he touched the hearts and souls of all who were privileged to share it with him.

Rest in peace, dear friend. Amen