Alexander M. Siegel, 1944-2003

Tonite is my Daddy's Yahrzeit. He died on August 13, three years ago. On the Hebrew calendar, he died on the 15th of the month of Av. That's last night and today. The 15th of Av is also called Tu b'Av, because the number 15 is written with the letters Tet-Vav, which spell Tu. Tu b'Av has become like Valentine's Day for mainstream Israelis. Religiously, it is a semi-festival, supposedly a good time for boys to meet girls. There are many themes relating to marriage, expecially inter-tribal marriage, that are ascribed to Tu b'Av in the Talmud. Some say it is like a Jewish Sadie Hawkins Day, when girls have the right to grab a husband, rather than vice versa. So Alex, whose life was 78% about looking at girls, is now eternally merged with a day all about girls, love, and gettin' together.

In honor of Alex's Yahrzeit (Avraham ben Shaul haLevi, z"l), I led prayers at the shul last night, lit a big candle, and took myself out for a quiet, delicious dinner and writing session at Gavna, the restaurant in the woods here in Bat Ayin. If YOU are ever lucky enough to have a date with me, I will take you Gavna (on the second date, not the first). I ate eggplant stuffed with red lentils and red onions and cheese in a salsa rosa with dollops of cream. Yum.

Some notes about Alex:

He was a fan of Wolfman Jack, "America's Favorite DJ," who, like Alex, made a lot of noise and died young.

He loved the work of adult star Ginger Lynn (who doesn't?)...


.....and he also loved Stevie Nicks. He used to say that she was his girlfriend. I believed him, sorta. But it wasn't true. Someone else was.
Born and raised in Brooklyn, Alex liked to put on a cowboy hat and a drawl and pretend he was a redneck, and hang out with folks listening to country music. He had some pretty awesome snakeskin cowboy boots too, and, way back, when he smoked, he smoked Marlboro (before my pleading and complaining led him to quit- heh)








He liked pigs and big belt buckles.


















He also liked black people, and liked to pretend he was black too. I never saw him with a black redneck, which would have certainly pushed his affected accent abilities.

Funny though, because for all the acting like someone he wasn't, and dressing up funny and porn-lovin' and hanging out in the shady part of town, I reckon that Alex was a real man of the people, helping out those who others wouldn't, respecting and associating with the down-and-out, the underpriveleged, the prostitutes, drug dealers, the scramblers for a place in the world as much (if not more) as with the upper-middle-class Jewish professionals of whose social class he was ostensibly a part.

A good example is that case back in the late 80s when this girl was raped outside of a Denny's, and the jury decided against her because she was dressed naughty, and was therefore "asking for it." After the trial, her lawyer ditched her, and Alex took over to help her deal with the press storm (not to say he didn't enjoy the chance to be on Oprah and Larry King). Yeah, she was a crazy cokehead who hung out with transsexuals, but she was also the victim of a personal crime and of a grotesque miscarriage of justice, and Alex was there by her side to make sure no one else took advantage of her.

I have no digital pics of Alex. If you do, send them please.

His funeral, as I have mentioned before, was like the funeral scene at the end of Big Fish: a motley crew of ex-cons, shifty operators, weeping women, an Orthodox Rabbi, a black nightclub owner-turned preacher (my Uncle Tommy), and your assorted well-groomed middle-class Jews. And me. His bewildered, saddened, abandoned, but somehow inspired son.

Here's to ya, Alex, wherever the hell you are now, you sure made a big noise on this earth, and lots of people mourned you when you left.