We Called Him Rabbi Joe

  

Today’s commentary is for Palm Springs, California, where I used to live and work, so for some of you in other places, please  indulge me.

It’s about Rabbi Joseph Hurwitz, who died last week at age 91. He was leader of the city’s Jewish community for some 40 years. I’m originally from New York, so I did have some preconceived notions of what a rabbi was: an old man with a long beard and his nose in the Torah. Rabbi Joe, that was not.

I arrived in Palm Springs in the 1970s. I was a radio journalist, and  he was among the first people I was introduced to. Rabbi Joe, I soon found, was an accomplished comic. When it came to “roasting” anybody prominent in town, the job required one of two people, or both: Rabbi Joe Hurwitz and City Councilman Frank Purcell. Rabbi Joe didn’t mind appreciating his own jokes, with that signature squeaky laugh of his.

But he had strong opinions! As a newsperson, I did the annual interview with him during the winter holiday season, and he had a big problem with Jewish families who had what were called “Hanukkah bushes” in their homes to give the kids a little Christmas-tree experience, Not good, he said.

Among the major annual events was an April  march along Alejo Road to the then-brand new Temple Isaiah to commemorate the Holocaust, with many local survivors wearing signs with the names of the Nazi concentration camps they were in. On a lighter note, the rabbi was a key supporter of 1990’s state ballot proposition establishing protection for California mountain lions.

When the temple opened, he made sure it was equipped with one of the best echo-cancelling sound systems in town, and among the regular events was a lecture series that brought in people like Walter Cronkite, Carl Bernstein, and Joan Rivers. Rabbi Joe showed me where to plug my tape recorder into the system so I’d get the best sound for use on the radio the next morning.

In 1988, the rabbi arranged for me to join a group of journalists from all over the country to travel to Israel for a tour of the region at the height of a Palestinian uprising. The trip was one of the great experiences of my life.

Several years before I left town to move to Northern California, there was a Man of the Year lunch for Rabbi Joe, put on by the Chamber of Commerce. Many spoke his praises, but we all eagerly awaited his turn. I remember him telling the following joke: “Yesterday I was called on to perform a bris. I carry an emergency pager, but during those ceremonies, I always turn it off. Some things, you just don’t want to rush.”

If you’re Jewish, you are probably laughing. I’m not going to tell the rest of you what a “bris” is. You’ll have to look that up!