I miss not being able to talk with my father about the presidential campaign and hear the excitement in his voice about a candidate or an idea.

I want to share a brief story. I was describing to one of my closest friends, the amazing efforts that my father had put into organizing all of his affairs, including the multiple binders he left for my mother, my sisters and me that listed the details of his estate. I was interested in my friend's experience as his father was not quite so organized. He told me "Ev, when my dad died, it was like I was walking into a very messy room. There was no pressure, because I could not make it any worse, but when your dad died, it was like you were walking into Superman's fortress of solitude. All you can do is mess it up." Well, clearly, I am hoping not to mess anything up, but I love the description of my father as a Superhero, because he really was to me.
While the pain is not as great as it once was, I continue to miss him and think about him many, many times a day. I find myself frequently staring at a photo of him. I am fortunate to get to wear his beautiful shirts and ties and, occassionally, his leather blazers. My kids love to say "is that Zay's?" and I love that they notice.

My wonderful cousin Sheldon (Sheldy, to many of us), was one of my Zoken cousins,(since Aunt Dora was Zoken before she married Uncle Eddy). When I was very young, he was a big tease, but always in a fun way, and always with a smile.
Later I got to know him better. Shel was in the Coast Guard, and I think he was taking a night course in Taxation at Boston University, and I had a night course, also at B.U.,in one of my Education classes. He offered to take me and a friend to our class, and we had so much fun, laughing and joking to and from school. Ellie was part of his life by then, and we talked about her, too. It was obvious she was very special.
Around that time my brother Gerry, Shel, David Revis and I went to Connecticut together, and we laughed so much and got so crazy, that it was a wonder that we didn't go off the road.
Ellie and Shel and Herbie and I shared space the weekend of Stevie Soreff's Bar Mitzvah. I think we were in one of Uncle Lou's nursing homes in the basement. We all got along so well -it was fun being with Ellie and Shel, laughing, sharing, and enjoying our common values.
Because Shel was so modest and circumspect about his philanthropy, I never realized its scope. However, I was not surprised. He was a man of such great character, and a man of action.
He was also a loving son, husband, father, grandfather, uncle, nephew, and cousin. He tried to attend as many family events as possible, How happy we were that Shel and Ellie were at my mother's 95th birthday party, at a Bar Mitzvah of one of our grandchildren, and were getting ready to attend my recent marriage to my husband, Moshe. When illness prevented their attendance, we made plans to see them in New York. Our last visit with Shel was in New York, just before we left for Greece.
My darling cousin was so proud of his family, immediate and extended, was so generous to those in need, was always delighted to hear news of our happenings, was supportive in good times and bad. He was a true mensch. I will miss him. Cousin Irene

Thirteen years ago today Sarah and Evan were married at our home in Stanford. They had a wedding in the garden reminiscent of Shel and Ellie's wedding in Boston 39 years before. I remember Shel's warmth as he welcomed us into the very large Seevak family. I remember Shel's toast at the rehearsal dinner, noting the value of lasting
relationships. I remember Shel and Scott standing at our front entrance sharing the joy of welcoming guests to this very special event in our lives. I remember dancing with Shel on a makeshift dance floor on our driveway. And I remember the fun we all had posing for the photographer in various family groupings under the oak tree. It was the beginning of a treasured friendship.

Through Shel and Ellie, I became interested in Facing History. They invited me to New York where they had arranged for me to visit a model school and to witness first-hand the positive impact of a thought provoking curriculum on student's lives. Whenever I would see him, Shel was interested in what was happening in my school with teachers whom he'd met at a Bay Area Facing History dinner. He'd listen intently as I described a class I'd visited where Facing History materials were being used. One incident, in particular, I shared with Shel occurred last fall in a sophomore English class. The teacher had explained that his class was heterogeneously grouped – much to the dismay of many of his colleagues. (He believed strongly that lower-achieving students can and will achieve at a higher level if given a chance.) The teacher was so excited about one young's girl's active participation in the discussions. She had entered the class never having read a book, but the teacher had "hooked" her on reading. He had assigned Elie Wiesel’s "Night" the previous day. The young girl had burst into the room shortly before I arrived, telling him she had read the entire book, and couldn't wait to discuss it in the context of paintings that had been done in concentration camps. This young girl, through the nurturing of a teacher and powerful materials from Facing History had discovered she had a mind. She would no longer remain “silent or indifferent.” These were stories that resonated with Shel. Shel often spoke with gratitude of the educational opportunities he had had.

My last email correspondence with Shel focused on an article he had sent me from the San Jose Mercury News. One of the local school districts had cancelled a Facing History course for the coming year due to "budget constraints" and a controversy had erupted in the
community. Shel, in typical fashion, sent an accompanying message:"very sad".

I miss Shel's questions, his comments, his emails, his broad smile,and his warm hugs. He has left a powerful legacy – one man can make a difference.

With many fond memories,
Sandra Pearson

Shel Seevak was a remarkable person – a multi-dimensional package of consistency and surprises.

We first met Shel and Ellie eighteen years ago, when their son, Evan, and our daughter, Sarah, were undergrads at Harvard. Following the graduation ceremony, the Seevaks invited us to a celebratory dinner at LockOber's in Boston. Shel ordered a bottle of fine red wine and asked Sandra's father, Lester, who did not drink wine, to be the taster.
Lester chugged the wine, and as he slammed the glass on the table,looked up at Shel and said, "real good." Without missing a beat, Shel smiled and nodded to the waiter. From that moment on, we knew Shel was special.

We saw Shel and Ellie regularly thereafter, as our children became a couple, went to Stanford Medical School, got married, did their residencies at the University of Washington, had three children, and established their home in Piedmont, California (just an hour away from our home). Shel and Ellie have been warm and welcoming in-laws.

A conversation with Shel was always a challenge and a delight. Gently and without threat, Shel pushed people to clarify their views on issues of politics, philosophy, human rights, and philanthropy. Shel managed to effect change unobtrusively, yet insistently. He also was
a great and careful listener and learner. Shel was delighted when you helped to alter his way of thinking about important issues.

In spite of his talents and accomplishments, Shel was not pushy or showy. He did not try to fill the room with his own ego or personality. He led by example. Shel was not one to bluster his way through an argument. He inveigled his listeners through powerful logic, a thorough command of the facts, and an openness to change as he learned more. Shel was a man of strong opinions, but he was careful not to try to force them on others.

We spent the week following Shel's sudden death in Boston and New York with his family, surrounded by numerous family, friends, and admirers. After nearly two decades, we thought we knew Shel very well, as a loved and respected father, father-in-law, and grandfather. But during that intensely emotional week, we learned how profoundly Shel
has touched and influenced members of his extended family, his former business colleagues, and recipients of his philanthropic creativity. We, like they, will miss deeply his intelligent prodding and emotional support.

A few nice memories of Uncle Shel ( . . .naturally, many of them incorporate Aunt Ellie equally). Break fast get-togethers at Uncle Shel and Aunt Ellie’s place in New Jersey. Uncle Shel’s 60th Birthday at the Sagamore in New York. I think I still have the t-shirt. Uncle Shel and Aunt Ellie bought me my first laptop computer when I graduated from high school. It was a very big deal to have a laptop in 1998. Uncle Shelly and Aunt Ellie had 10 of the cousins out to Beaver Creek, where we all hung out together and learned to ski. Uncle Shel’s super cool hearing aid, which used a fake pen as a microphone. Going to “Get on the Ball” class with Uncle Shel at Canyon Ranch. He was clearly the oldest person in the class, but somehow was in way better shape, was far more flexible, and had better balance than everyone else. A couple of the women in the class approached me afterwards to say that he had put us all to shame. Uncle Shel giving my dad his first toast at his 60th birthday. Uncle Shel’s genuine excitement each time he saw me and his accompanying squeeze-hug.

Sometimes it feels like nothing will ever fill the hole in our hearts.
"I miss Zaide." (Abigail) "It's not fair, I wanted to spend more time
with him." (Emma) "I know Zaide is in heaven, cause he did so many good
things. Maybe if we do lots of good things, then Zaide will come back
and visit us again as an angel." (Nate)

We miss Shel. It's been exactly one month since he died, and it's
still hard for me to accept that he won't briskly walk around the
corner in his favorite leather jacket, spread his arms and say,
"What's going on?"

I miss the frequent emails, "This is an interesting organization...",
"I thought you might be interested in this candidate...", "Sarah -- As
you contemplate your next career you might reflect on this speech.
(William Jefferson Clinton speaks to Harvard seniors at Class Day,
June 6, 2007) I think it is excellent. -- Love -- Shel" "Think things
through and follow your instincts."

Shel was many things to many people. What stands out most to me is
that he was exceptionally thoughtful and dependable.

Shel always gave wonderful toasts. Usually you could hear a pin drop
as he paused before he'd start to talk -- clearly I wasn't the only
one who wanted to hear and hold onto every word, as his sincere
aphorisms always rang true and often became guideposts for me.

When Evan and I were married 13 years ago, Shel welcomed all of our
"friends who feel like family, and family who feels like friends." He
was generous and embracing, always interested in meeting our friends
and hearing what they had to say. He'd always ask me, "So, what's
going on? What are you thinking about these days?" He seemed to
believe in me, he made me feel like I could do anything, and even
though I wasn't ready to plunge into another career, I really
appreciated that he was so encouraging, helping me to believe that I
would do something that would make a real difference someday.

The last big toast I heard him give was at Evan's 40th birthday dinner. Shel
said that when he looked back on his life, he realized that "the
things that really matter are the things you do for others." He did so
many good things for so many people, usually very quietly.

It is hard to believe that we won't see him again, and it's hard to imagine that the sadness will dissipate with time. Although I deeply miss a wonderful mentor, friend, and father-in-law, my heart is filled with an overwhelming warmth, with awe and gratitude and inspiration. Shel was a great man. We are so fortunate to have had him in our lives. And he will live on, as we remember the fun we had together and try to emulate his wonderful qualities.

I like this poem, sometimes attributed to Mary Frye, sometimes said to
be based on Native American folklore.

(do not stand at my grave and weep)

Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there; I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow,
I am the sun on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there; I did not die.

Shel would say, when I'm gone, I'm gone. It's up to you. But he is
with us, always.

Hello Mrs. Seevak

A blink of an eye and Evan and I are burnishing our already fine manners at Bnai Jesh. Maybe it’s a Saturday afternoon when you took us back to your house in South Orange for a little lunch followed by some basketball in the backyard. I didn’t know Shel as well in those seemingly perpetual days but all of the little boys looked up to him. Unexpectedly, he became the parent who was most influential and open with me as an adult.

In Seattle, around the time of Emma’s birth I remember longer conversations with Shel. One night I was seated next to him at a restaurant. His diminished hearing made larger table conversation difficultr to resolve, and we settled into our own conversation. I was taken in by his willingness to share his experience. I asked him what unique qualities or approaches had rendered him more successful than others. He responded with a short anectdote about an early legal case where he asked for and received an extremely favorable settlement. He recalled many childhood peers with standout qualities and didn’t feel he was one of them. I asked what he did when this stategy of asking for what he want failed. He said he didn’t take the setbacks personally and moved on. I was courting my future wife at the time, and not feeling secure with the occasional mixed signals. But, intellectually, emotionally and in many other ways she stood out compared to the other women I had dated. The course was clear.

A year ago at Nate’s party I was seated on one of Ev’s couches in Rockridge with my son Leif between me and Shel. Shel was playing a modified “give me five” with a little laughing Leif. I was heartened by his smile as he looked at Leif and said, “What a love.” Although, I didn’t sense he was judging me or my son, I felt warmed by the appreciation of my son from a man I had admired as a little boy.

Whether it was working with a trainer to place his palms on the ground, creating a progam to change the way highschool students think, or loving his family, Shel was a great man.

I am deeply saddened by your loss and send my love,

Brad Rabin

I have many wonderful and strong memories of my father. I am not sure that I can do him justice in just one entry, so I plan to add memories as they come to me.
I probably shoud start with something more dignified, but in the spirit of the High Holy Days, I remember my father complaining about being unusually hungry just as we finished dinner and the sun set on the evening of Yom Kippur. Needless to say, fasting was not one of his highest priorities. While I don't think we ever went to Don's (South Orange Avenue in Livingston) on Yom Kippur, it was often discussed in our car.