By David Behrman
Gene Borowitz is gone. He was experienced by each of us in a variety of ways. He was a giant in the field of postmodern Jewish thought. A beloved professor at HUC-JIR. A fierce intellect wrapped around an inquiring and caring soul. And so many of us, as we heard the news, sought to articulate what he had brought to us and to our part of each of the communities we live in.
For me there was a strong personal grab to this sad news, because Gene was a lively presence at Behrman House for many years: He and my father, Jacob, were close friends since before I was born. I remember visiting the Borowitz household on Long Island as a toddler and attending camp along with his daughters Nan, Lisa, and Drucy. Gene and Estelle attended my bar mitzvah and my wedding. As an adult I even had the privilege (and believe me, the challenge!) of being his editor on a revised edition of Choices in Modern Jewish Thought. And so the news of his death was deeply personal, especially since he is among the last of my late father’s contemporaries to leave us.
So how do I remember this intellectual giant? I remember him tooling around the streets of New York on the back of my dad’s old Lambretta motor scooter—without helmets (to the dismay of family members all around.) During his time as the then-UAHC’s Director of Education, and later as a professor at HUC-JIR, Gene would stop by our New York offices on 31st and Broadway on his way to Penn Station to schmooze with my father. He would occasionally take a nap on the red leather couch that still sits in our reception area. It was Gene who convinced my somewhat taciturn and certainly very shy father to have Behrman House celebrate educators at the early NATE conferences (where evidence shows that gallons of martinis were served). And Gene Borowitz was even responsible for naming our Golem Plan.
There’s a file cabinet here at Behrman House filled with things Gene wrote, including some to educators about the work we were producing. One of my favorites, from 1965, announces a new book with the sentence, “Things here are Wild! We’ve had our blessed event early.” And it is signed “In near abandon…. Eugene B. Borowitz.”
My father read widely, yet kept very few books, most not passing muster as worthy. After his death three years ago, I went through his apartment and found several volumes written by Gene—apparently the only author to rate having more than one work on Dad’s shelf. That makes sense to me. They were an intellectual pair, they did good stuff together for Jewish education, and they had fun together, too. I miss them both.
