Mon, 5 August 2019 = 4th of Av, 5779. These are the last few days before Tisha B'Av, the saddest day of the year for the Jewish people.

Today, just five days before the fast day of Tisha B'Av, a day of mourning for the two Temples as well as a day of commemmorating the myriad of tragedies which the Jewish people have had to endure in the last four thousand years, I wish to share a story of my own profound loss of a dear friend who quite literally saved my life from oblivion at age twenty. I am not sure whether David still lives in this world, and yet he is here in my heart, in Jerusalem today as I compose this diary entry. The following poem was composed in David's honor and published in the literary quarterly, Affair of the Mind, Vol, 2, Issue 2, Limited Edition II, ed. Tracy Lyn Rottkamp, Rottkamp Publishers, New York, New York, 1998.

"Do Look Out From Between The Quotes"

Already twenty years labeled

A schizophrenic

Having spent time in the county institution

A hardened, obese, maladjusted man whose

Vespertine existence in obscurity becomes illuminated

In writing poetry and short stories

One significant protagonist portrayed

A nondescript citizen

Residing above a tavern in an urban trouble spot

The daily routine of such a person whose

Clandestine activities become realized

In intently observing people

Sought out by

No one,

Living life through fabricated characterizations

This author of the disparate desperate whose

Very time on earth becomes less connected

With the reality he loved so much

Now,

With humane concern in declaring:

DO LOOK OUT FROM BETWEEN THE QUOTES

__________________________________________________________________________

The following is the diary entry.

A True Friend In Need This Time Received The Ear of His Dear Friend, In Deed

The listening experience that David and I attained to surpassed all other fraternal experiences I have had with any friend in my life. David and I became friends while attending Hebrew school at age nine at Temple Beth Israel, in Chicago. That was sixty years ago. Throughout those early years, into our high-school years at Von Steuben High School, and in the beginning years at the University of Illinois at Chicago, we became very close. We talked every day, went on long walks when we not only discussed our personal hopes and dreams, but also our thoughts on life, religion, and the universe; bicycled for miles on end, played basketball; and, most importantly, ruminated on our lives as human beings living in the twentieth century . At the end of high school, I was planning to enter the University of Illinois as a a pre-med student; while David was entering as a chemistry major. I ended up dropping out of school and attempting to re-enter several times until I finally stopped trying at all. Meanwhile, David continued with his studies as a chemistry major until his junior year. And then . . . David offered me the best advice I have ever received from any human being in my life: "Go to junior college like your father did thirty years ago. The pressures of high school and the quarter systen at the University of Illinois may have been too much for you to bear. You might benefit from the semester system: sixteen weeks of study at a more lsisurely pace versus ten weeks at a grueling pace. Don't pressure yourself into becoming what you may not have been destined to become. After all, you have told me that your time in Israel last year was the most meaningful time spent at any place in your life. Listen to your heart, your head, and your soul. What are they saying to you now? Who are you, really? What is your destination in life? Listen to the pulse of the moment! As your friend, I implore you to listen to your inner voice, your neshama. Don't be afraid. It is your best friend and the closest voice to you besides the L-rd."

And then , , , the floor fell out from David's ties to this world while his parents were touring Israel for the first time. I had entered junior college at Wilbur Wright Junior College and was attending a class when David called my parents' home. My younger brother was the only one home. He was thirteen at the time. Immediately upon my entering the house, he told me that David had called in hysteria and utter confusion. Forthwith, I called him at his parents' apartment. After listening to babble, I determined to drive to their apartment, pick him up, and take him to my parents' home. To tell the truth, I was scared for him . . . and for me. We were only twenty years old at the time. My father was on the road selling jewelry somewhere in Iowa, hundreds of miles away. My mother was at work for Dr. Barry Goldsmith, a chemosurgeon, also, David's physician.

When we arrived "home," we took Baron, my parents' labrador retriever, for a walk in the neighboor. As we continued our walk, I could tell that David was slipping into a psychosis that I was not able to cope with. He spoke about attending a party in the evening. I wondered, What kind of party could this young man attend in such a state? Oy, confusion, how dismal you are . . . ! When we came "home," I called my mother to come home as soon as possible. She acquiesced, for she was in the middle of her work day. Upon her arrival "home," David expressed his gratitude for our opening our door to him. He told us that he was really scared.

Night came upon us. David remained downstairs. We were upstairs in our bedrooms. The sound of silverware could be heard in the kitchen. The thought of an attack upon us was overwhelming. Subsequently, my mother called Dr. Goldsmith. He suggested that he call David's uncle, his father's brother . . . and the local police! When the police arrived, they quickly asessed David's situation and told him to leave the house. They explained to us that he "could be a threat to us." Within a short period of time, Dr. Goldsmith and David's uncle arrived and soon were patrolling the streets looking for him. When they found him, they asked him to enter the car. Without any hesitation, David agreed. Their journey to the county institution was completed within three-quarters of an hour. David was interned as a resident for an extended period of time and treated for "schizophrenia," that is "bi-polar" syndrome. He was given psychotropic drugs, especially lithium.

I remember David's invitation for my wife Esther and I to a dinner at his parents' apartment some twenty years later. David had cooked the entire dinner! He was living at "home" at the time, but would spend extended periods of time in half-way houses in the future as he had after his stay at Reed Zone Center, the county institution.

David shared some of his poetry and short stories with me that evening and had even made copies for me to take home. The literary works were verily sentient, clearly auscultatory, subliminal manifestations of profound artistry. David heard what most people never hear: his listening abilities were approaching those of the supernal, the human affinity to his or her Divine Interlocutor/ Primary Progenitor.