Remembering Leonid Plotkin
Remembering Leonid Plotkin
by Mina Gobler
Steven Tobias introduced me to Leonid at Selichot services in September of 2003, several weeks after my husband and I had moved from Philadelphia. We became friends, though, sitting near one another at Shabbat services at the JCC. At some point, I began to drive Leonid home and so began a series of on-going conversations.
I learned about Leonid’s mother and father, life as a Jew in the former Soviet Union, Leonid’s marriage, the arrival of his daughter, his emigration to Israel, his service in the army there, and his subsequent move to the United States. I also learned about the industrial accident that forever changed his body, mind and life.
Leonid’s life was very much like Job’s in that it was marked by a series of tragic losses. As a Jew in the USSR, he lost his right to dignity, respect and physical safety. He lost his marriage; he lost his daughter because her mother told her he had died in a plane crash. He lost his homeland and language because he felt that leaving was his only choice.
He lost his illusions about Israel after serving in a war in a unit of only Russian immigrants. The war so traumatized him that he suffered afterwards from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.
What I understand is that Leonid came to the United States and worked as an electrician. He was making a very good living until the fateful day when a piece of display material fell on his head and body. Recovery was long, slow and painful and he never fully recovered.
He lived with constant pain, but the greatest damage was to his ability to read, to concentrate, to comprehend what he was reading. Leonid says that he had a large collection of books on a wide range of subjects and I’m convinced that he was a true intellectual.
Loneliness was Leonid’s greatest enemy, though. He dreaded going home to an empty apartment and wished that he had someone to share his time with. That’s where Netivot Shalom comes into the picture. Although we couldn’t grant that wish, we could become his extended synagogue family.
This happened when we moved to our own building. The JCC was borrowed space. What Leonid had was plenty of free time and he offered his time and muscle to help in building our shul. Others can attest to what he did, I only know how much happiness it gave him to give of himself.
Coming to services on Shabbat and participating in Torah study gave him great pleasure. What he enjoyed just as much was the Kiddush lunch. This was the only meal during the week that he ate with others and when he had any real appetite for food.
So many people have told me about their connections to Leonid and I am convinced that he touched many lives here just as you touched his life.
Please know that Leonid was happiest when he was here; that our shul provided him with his real home; that all of you were part of his family. Whether you knew Leonid well or not, by supporting this shul, you contributed to his happiness.
I conclude by returning to Leonid’s being alone. Who will be there to say Kaddish for him? It is critical that he not be forgotten and you can do something about that. I will say Kaddish for him when I am in shul on Shabbat. I ask you to do that when you look at Leonid’s empty chair or think about the interactions you had with him.
I will always remember how we ended our conversations on Shabbat when my car reached his building. No matter how sad he was feeling, he would turn to me and say: “Well, today is a beautiful day! Give my love at home and have a Good Shabbos.” That was the essence of Leonid, courage, determination, smiles and sunshine in the face of loneliness – a role model for all of us who have more than our share of life’s gifts.
May the memory of Leonid Plotkin be for a blessing.