Remarks by Paul Alan Levy, Reed '72

 I first met Moshe as a Reed freshman in the fall of 1968, when I was working in the unsuccessful campaign to re-elect Senator Wayne Morse.  Moshe and his wife Hilda were active in the progressive wing of the Democratic party – and in later years he treasured his relationship with the Morse archive and Morse Park in Eugene.  

The two of them made contact with many Reed students, giving them a home away from home, and bringing them into their circle.  So I recall spending time at parties with Reed faculty with whom Moshe and Hilda were close, including physics professor Jean DeLord and his wife Natalie, and econ professor Carl Stevens.

It was Moshe who first introduced me to the concept of the Freedom Seder.  This was just after two DC radicals had crafted a new seder with political content in the aftermath of the King assassination; Moshe and Hilda used the paperback version of that Hagadah in 1969.  As a teenager, I was somewhat resentful of the obligation to participate in this annual ritual in which my grandfather would recite and we had to join in prayers that had no meaning for me.  But being at the seder with Moshe, which combined left politics with a familiar tradition. and called for participation and discussion all around, rejuvenated my sense of Jewish heritage. Within a year or two I was having my own Freedom Seder at my Reed group house.  My family still celebrates a much revised Freedom Seder every year (indeed, we revise from year to year, and a Reed classmate often Zooms in from New Zealand).

During my last summer in Portland, when I was working for Multnomah County Planning after graduation, I actually had occasion to stay with Moshe and Hilda  for several days after our house was raided because of the marijuana growing in the backyard.  This was the year before decriminalization took effect; I was in effect hiding out with them until Moshe was able to connect me with one of the progressive lawyers in town, Nick Chaivoe, who contacted the authorities to find out if they needed to see me, and happily learned that they did not.  

I moved away from Portland after being graduated and for many years I rarely got there, but Moshe and I stayed in touch.  He and Hilda frequently got to DC, where I have lived since 1977, in connection with Hilda’s role as Democratic National Committeewoman for Oregon; they came in for various reasons, such as the Clinton inauguration.  On occasional trips to Portland, I stayed at their house on SE Crystal Springs where I was always welcome.  One of my vivid recollections is the piles of books on the shelves, so many that there were often books piled horizontally in front of the packed shelves where they stood vertically.  That to me is the house of a Reed alum.  And our house is like that, much to my wife Nancy’s chagrin.  When she beefs about that I remind her of Moshe’s house.

About twenty years ago, I started getting to Portland more regularly as an active Reed alum, and that meant many chances to spend time with Moshe (assuming that he was not down in Eugene for something to do with Wayne Morse and, later, taking care of his friend Meredith Burch).  Reed was always important to Moshe, so if there was a major to-do at the college I could count on seeing him there. Many Reedies —  alumni, faculty and staff—adored him.    

Usually I would drive him to campus in the later years, but I still had the chance to ride from time to time in the unbelievably ancient car and pickup truck from the 50's that he kept in his driveway at Crystal Springs Boulevard.   I swung by   that little brown house on Crystal Springs after I got to Portland, soaking up the memories,  and noted that the 1960's Volvo station wagon and wooden trailer are still sitting in the driveway.

Our visits gave many great chances to talk about politics, and books, and life.   He often talked about the communities in Government Camp, where he had a house that,  sadly, I never had the chance to visit, and in Eastmoreland.  Others will talk about the community involvements that continued throughout his life.

I saw him a few times at Rose Schnitzer Manor after he had to move there, both alone and with Nancy.  The last time Nancy and I were there, we remember him excitedly pulling out a map that showed the path taken by his army group on its march across France and into Germany, and recounting his experiences.  Then of course he traveled to France to participate in D-Day remembrances.

When I first heard from Kathy Saitas that he had come home from his most recent jaunt to a D-Day anniversary with COVID and was declining rapidly, I was not only upset but also angry – why take those risks, Mosh?  But on reflection, that reaction was wrong. Mosh continued to live his life to the fullest and to make his way to activities that mattered to him, rather than being chased cowering into isolation.  That’s a last chapter to which we all can aspire.

I was never got through on the phone to say a last goodbye; Kathy will relate what she told him in person, which had to speak for me.   But my memory of his face and his voice and his intellect remain.  

I will miss him.