Leonard M. Weinstein
May 15, 1925 - December 13, 1944
Ryan's story is a bit more glamorous than my dad's. My dad saw very
little fighting. He spent most of his Army career training in obscure
bases in the deep South. And when he finally got sent to France, months
after the Normandy invasion, his unit got the relatively safe job of
watching a coastal German strong point that remained behind in the wake
of the Allied forces. But while he would survive the fighting, with
the death of his brother, he desperately needed to get back home
quickly. This past summer, many people went back in time to WW
II via a special movie, "Saving Private Ryan". But few people were
rooting for Tom Hanks on his perilous mission the way I was. You see
in 1944, just like Ryan, my dad, Erwin Davidson, became the lone
surviving child of his family when his brother was killed in battle.
In December 1944, his mom, Lily, was alone in New York City. Her husband had died years earlier of liver disease. Both of her sons were serving the US Army in France. And in this cold, dark month, she learned that her youngest, Leonard, had been killed in action. The unbearable pain led her to take her life.
My dad had many blessings in his life. His talent for drawing lead to a career as a draftsman and artist. He traveled back to France after the war to photograph both the art and the country side that so inspired him. He had a long marriage and named his only son after his late brother. But regrettably, when his mom needed someone to lean on, he could not be there.
WW II called upon the fortitude and perseverance of so many. I always considered my self priveleged to have parents from this generation.
And their feats continue to this day. And this time, it was my mom that provided the inspiration.
This past year my dad was stricken with cancer. Through out his illness, my mom handled the many challenges of caring for my dad. He could no longer walk, and needed help even just sitting up in bed. His treatment required him to see different doctors and to receive an wide array of medications. And while she despaired at watching her husband grow frail, she handled all overwhelming details with unwavering patience and helped insure that his days were spent together with the one that cared for him so deeply.
"Saving Private Ryan" was a tough movie for me to watch. It came out last summer, but I did not go see it until this now. I’m glad I did because there was an extra bit of magic for me. I finally got to see my dad as a young man.
My dad was 40 years old when I was born. A spinal operation in the late 1950's would require him to wear a metal brace and forever move with slow deliberation. When I finally saw the few faded photographs of him taken in 1940's, I was shocked: He was so young and handsome. I personally think he was better looking than Matt Damon, who plays Ryan in the movie. But, I may be biased.
On June 14 1998, on Flag Day, my dad was laid to rest. I have always had a tough time with good byes. I never feel adequate to the task of saying the right things. And I was particularly dreading this day, saying good bye to my dad. But I told the Rabbi, I wanted to say a few words at the end of the funeral service.
When the moment came, I was overwhelmed with grief. But I had a little help. In my hands, I had a tangible part of my dad's life. I had the Bible that the US Army had given him so long ago. I turned to the page to read aloud the psalm that he, and so many people, have turned in their hour of need:
The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want…
