Baruch Dayan HaEmet -- Moshe Cohen-Skali

[gnomi]

Yesterday, we learned of the death of Moshe Cohen-Skali, most familiar to local folks as the owner of Beacon Kosher, the newer (though it's been around for about 15 years) of the kosher grocery stores in Boston. I knew Moshe. In fact, I knew him quite well -- before he was proprietor of Beacon Kosher, he was my Hebrew language teacher for six years (from seventh through twelfth grade) at the Maimonides School.

I first met Moshe the first day of school in September of 1983. To this day I remember being intimidated by him. This feeling continued for years. In the early years, I was convinced he hated me, even though he spoke kindly of me to my parents when they went to him for parent-teacher conferences. And even once I knew he didn't hate me, I was wary of him and his teaching style. He had a major rule -- his students were never allowed to speak to him in English. It was Hebrew only, 100% of the time. In class, outside of class, it didn't matter. Over the years -- and especially once I'd graduated and was living in Israel -- I came to appreciate this technique. My spoken, conversational Hebrew would not be what it is had Moshe allowed us to speak English to him. He made us work, made us learn.

An illustrative story: At Maimonides, all of the high school students have lockers in which to store their books, coats, etc., and the lockers are locked (or, at least, were at the time; it may still be true) with keys that are issued by the school (and have stamped on them "This Key Cannot Be Copied," though there was/is a place in Brookline Village that will copy them). One year, I had Hebrew last period on one of the days, and I left class to go to my locker to get my stuff to go home. When I stuck my hand in my pocket, no keys. So I went back to Moshe's classroom (always Room 4, for all the years I had him) to see if my keys were there. I looked around my desk... no keys. I started looking around other parts of the room, in case they'd gotten kicked somewhere. Still no keys. I keep looking, getting more frantic -- if I can't find my keys, I can't get my coat, which means no wallet and such, which means not getting home. While I'm looking, Moshe comes back into the classroom and sees me flailing. He asks me in Hebrew what I'm doing.

"Ani m'chapesset l'..." [I'm looking for...] and then I realized I couldn't remember the word for "keys," so I said, "keys sheli." [my keys]

Problem -- "keys" (or, as I'd spell it in transliteration, "kis") is a Hebrew word meaning "pocket." So Moshe responds (even though he knew what I meant) by pointing to my skirt pocket.

"Lo, lo... ha..." [no, no... the...] I said.

We went back and forth like this for a couple of minutes, with me trying to explain in words I could remember what keys do so that he'd just give me the word for "keys" so that I could get his help looking. "Ha... d'varim she potchim d'latot." [the things... that open doors.] That sort of thing.

Finally, Moshe said, "Hamaftechot shelach?" [your keys?]

"Kein! Kein!" I responded. [yes! yes!]

We did eventually find my keys (though where they were is lost to my memory). And I've never forgotten the Hebrew word for "keys" since then.

Moshe also made sure we pronounced things properly. It is because of Moshe that I pronounce my reishes as reishes and not as Rs and that I can -- though I don't usually -- pronounce the ayin and chet the "correct" way.

Outside the classroom, Moshe was a fascinating individual. His life outside school was shrouded in mystery to his students. He'd get phone calls from Israel during class that he'd be paged to the office for and that he'd drop everything to go answer, and then he'd be very cagy about them afterwards. He'd go to Israel for school vacations and then not tell us anything about where he went or what he did. He wouldn't let anyone take his picture (the photo of Moshe in my class' yearbook is actually one of my classmates, who dressed up like Moshe for Purim). There was rumor and speculation he was a member of the Mossad.

After I graduated, I went to Israel for a year and then to BU. I went into Beacon Kosher not long after they opened, and Moshe greeted me like family. He always opened a new register for me when the store was crowded and there was a long line to pay. He was, above all, a mentch.

They say that a teacher is remembered through his students, through how they absorbed his lessons. I hope that in some small way I serve as a fitting memorial to Moshe Cohen-Skali.

Comments

[cbpotts.livejournal.com]

Condolences on your loss, Nomi. Moshe sounds like he was quite a person to know.

[eal.livejournal.com]

I'm so sorry for your loss.

[vettecat.livejournal.com]

It was quite a shock when I heard the news... all I could think was, how is his wife going to support all those kids on her own? Rumor thus far is that the store will stay open, but who knows.

[sharonaf.livejournal.com]

I learned from him one year also, in 8th grade at Torah Academy. My clearest memories: The way he wouldn't let us take any notes at all until he'd finished a topic. The way he'd stalk back and forth in the front of the room like a caged lion, occasionally escaping altogether to pace the halls when we were up to taking notes. The way he'd tug on his peyot without really thinking about it. And of course the way he granted us free advice and supplies at cost for our 8th-grade canteen from his experiences at the grocery store down the block. He was a generous man, a quirky and effective teacher (we felt so smart to be learning all of these hifalutin grammar bits!), and a real original. It's truly hard to imagine that he's gone. Boston will be a different community without him.