Unexpected Teachers

Friday November 14, 2025/23 Cheshvan 5786/Shabbat Chaye Sarah

In Memory of Dr. Stephen Diamond, z"l

Hevre/Friends,

Yesterday I had the privilege of presiding over the funeral of a man I didn’t know but from whom I learned a great deal. He wasn’t a public figure or social activist, but he taught me valuable lessons about how to exercise my personal agency to help heal the rifts of our time.

Almost every one of the eulogies shared by Steve Diamond's family stressed that among his notable qualities and achievements was his unquenchable thirst for learning and his mastery of subjects as disparate as engineering, art, science, history, and architecture. But he was also a student of people: he’d engage with individuals of all kinds - young and old, locals and foreigners, scientists and fashion designers - out of genuine interest in them and an earnest desire to learn as much as he could about them. 

This unusual quality not only reflected Steve's insatiable curiosity and search for knowledge; it illuminated his respect for all human beings and the insights they’ve accumulated from their own lived experience. The wisdom he acquired from his efforts to learn from anyone he encountered wasn’t only the information he absorbed; it was the deepening of his belief in the dignity and value of every human life. 

I thought about this as I took my seat in the hearse to accompany the coffin to the cemetery for burial. I began reciting psalms, but kept thinking about the many different relationships that filled Steve's life as a consequence of the interest he took in everyone he met. He wasn’t a religious man, so I decided that a more respectful use of the drive ahead was to do what Steve would do. I turned to the driver and for the next 40 minutes I engaged him in a conversation about his life. We talked about his decision as a young adult to get off the streets and join the military, his daughter whom he raised alone since she was a toddler following the death of her mother, his current wife, second marriages, the countries he visited during his time in the service, how much war has changed, his perspective on city politics as a former transit bus operator, and more. This complete stranger and I shared an intimate exchange as parents, as Americans, as New Yorkers, and as people of faith.

While no longer alive, Steve continued to shape the living. Were it not for his own life and story, I would not have made the effort to learn about how another human being so different from me has navigated the varied landscapes we travel in life. We would have driven in silence as I kept my head down in my book and missed the opportunity to discover the bond between us as people which our ancient words are meant to inspire in the first place. 

At the cemetery, as we prepared to say goodbye to Steve, I thanked him for his parting gift. He taught me that while we may not all be scholars or researchers, we do each have the capacity to treat others with curiosity and kindness, and to open ourselves to the wisdom that emerges from our shared humanity. I will likely never see that hearse driver again, but now I know his story and I will think of it as I continue to write my own. This may not solve all of the pain our society is suffering from today, but it’s one way of learning to face it together.

With ongoing prayers for the return of all the murdered hostages, for the bereaved and the injured, and with blessings for a Shabbat Shalom,

Dini

(Photo by Ronen Avisror)