Farewell, Maestro.
The news of Joel Spiegelman’s departure caught me in mid-air above the Rockies. The Rockies cried, jolting the plane as a feather.
Joe was my confidant, mentor, comrade, and compass in life.
He was more than a grandfather to my teenage children; he then played the same role, fifteen years later, for my young grandchildren.
From Paris to Saint Petersburg, the enigmatic Bishkek, and finally the beautiful Uummannaq in Greenland—Joel's existence defied the laws of musical gravity, traversing continents and cultures.
His life’s songbook, a cacophony of humor and tragedy, resonated in symphonic vivacity with every encounter. From Cage to Gorbachev, Rachmaninov to Lars-Emil Johansen, the architect of Greenland's Home Rule.
Joel—composer, conductor, concert pianist, linguist, poet, adventurer, and explorer—was a weaver, knitting epochs and continents into the intricate tapestry of his being known as "Joel Spiegelman."
Rumors swirled that he was a CIA or Mossad agent—a fantastic yarn spun by those who didn't know him intimately.
Anyone could take advantage of his innocence; his heart, as pure as only a genuinely decent soul's could be.
He shared abundantly, taking little for himself.
Our conversations flowed endlessly until the final week.
He'd say, "I spoke to your mother Nina until her last day. Now, I speak to you." For the unacquainted, Nina, a young pianist during WWII, shared countless mutual friends with Joel.
Adieu, Joel. I'll see you soon. Give my regards to Nina.
Your laughter will echo through the ages. And here you are, captured in my lens in 2010, orchestrating Tchaikovsky's Symphony No. 6 "Pathetique" amidst the frozen expanse of Uummannaq Fjord, nestled beneath the Heart-Shaped Mountain
Your departure, akin to an unfinished symphony, leaves sagas waiting to be told.