In bidding farewell to our beloved relative and dear friend, I commend to your attention the words of King David in the first chapter of the Book of Psalms: “And he shall be like a tree planted by streams of water, that bringeth forth its fruit in its season, and whose leaf doth not wither; and in whatsoever he doeth he shall prosper.” This felicitous simile – “like a tree planted by streams of water” – is particularly appropriate for the kind of person that Abraham Landau was, and is especially significant on this eve of Tu Bi’Shevat, the Arbor Day of Judaism. Like a stately tree planted by streams of living water, he too was a man of great dignity in his demeanor and in his manner. In bearing and in deportment he was wholly a gentleman – impressive and earning the admiration and respect of all those with whom he came in contact. His roots were well nourished. The youngest of a large family, he came from pious and devout parents, who had boasted a long line of sages and rabbis. Though orphaned from both parents by the time he was six years old, Providence granted him the good fortune of an older brother, Lou, may he rest in peace, who was to him a second father, and whom he cherished and loved very dearly indeed. His roots drank in from the streams of the Jewish heritage – the love of God and the love of man. From the roots there grew the tree itself, strong in spirit, firm in conviction. It was a strong trunk, in which firmness of character was merged with loveliness, principled personality with goodness of heart and mellowness of expression. This tree that was Abraham Landau had many branches. What were some of them? First there was the religious branch. He was a man who had deep devotion within, a very genuine and heartfelt commitment to the principles of our Jewish faith. We of The Jewish Center shall surely miss him. He was one of our original founders, one of those who drew the charter of our House of God. He was the kind of man who deserved his reputation a…

Friends: Tishah Be’av has come too early for the Schwarzschild family – too early in terms of days, and much too early in terms of years. Jewish tradition teaches that man is in many ways symbolized by the Temple, and the Temple by man – for both of them are the abode of God Almighty, and there is therefore an equivalence between them. The Temple possesses a Menorah (a candelabrum), and man must possess enlightenment and wisdom. The Temple possesses a mizbeiach (an altar), and man, if he be truly human, must possess the capacity for self-sacrifice and sacrificial love and loyalty. The Temple possesses the Sefer Torah (the Scroll of Law), and man must be committed to Almighty God and the tradition of his forebearers. The Temple has the kodesh ha-kadashim (the Holy of Holies), the inner sanctum, and man must have depth, an inner life, a heart, a reservoir of goodness and charitableness.And now, but several days before all Israel commemorates the Churban Ha'bayit, the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem, we here not only the family, but all of us who loved and admired this man, we at this time, experi- ence Churban. The passing of Dr. Ludwig Schwarzschild is no less a grievous trauma for those who were intimate with him, for those who acknowledged the kind of person he was, than the destruction of the Temple was a tragedy for all the House of Israel, not forgotten and continuously observed by our people for some 2000 years.Jeremiah, when he witnessed the destruction of the first Temple, com- posed The Book of Lamentations which we shall read on Tishah Be’av, and which begins with the word Ekhan, "how has it come to pass?" Mrs. Schwarzschild, Marty, Laura: I would like you to know on behalf of all of us who are here, and the many others who couldn’t come in time to this sad farewell, that we Joinyou in this Ekhah. We Join you fully in it. We grieve at this great loss thathas struck your family. This nan was a glorious Temple of wisdom, of culture, of commitment, of…

We gather today both as Americans and as Jews to express our concern, our heart break, our fury, and our worry about the future on a day that has been described by one of the highest officials of this country as “worse than Pearl Harbor.” It will forever remain a black day in American history. Additionally, for Jews this is already a day of sad and bitter recollection: today, the 23rd of Elul, is the anniversary of the Nazi liquidation of the Vilna ghetto. So for us, both as Jews and as Americans, this is a day of irvuv — confusion, chaos, and commiseration for all those whose lives were lost, and for those whose loved ones were murdered or are missing. These men and women — no matter what their race or religion or politics — were all by virtue of their humanity created be’tzelem Elohim, in the divine Image, and we mourn for them and grieve with the people they left behind. I suspect that in the coming days we will learn that there are people who are close to us, relatives and alumni whom we have known and cherished, who are or will yet be victims of this cruel and vicious attack. I received a call this morning about a graduate of Yeshiva College and of Cardozo whose offices were on the 85th or 86th floor of the World Trade Center; fortunately he went to another office in Jersey this morning, but he learned that his entire law firm was virtually disintegrated, and many of the leaders of the firm are dead. We will be hearing more stories of this kind as time goes on. But even as we feel overwhelmed by the shock and by feelings of depression and dejection, we must strive to concentrate on the future, and express our hope and our tefillah that all who are still alive be saved, and that the families of the victims be consoled. In the days and years to come we will take account of what happened and, as a community and as a nation, do what has to be done. How are we to make sense of this incredible cataclysm? As believing Jews, מאמינים בני מאמינים, we are puzzled: why, o…