When I think of my father, Chonon Shugarman, a”h, an anecdote that he shared with us, his family, arises in my mind. That is of my father as a little boy, sucking on a candy ever so slowly, trying to keep the moment of pleasure for as long as possible. His love for life and enjoyment of the wonders of this world led my father to explore a question that he entertained even as a youngster – which was what happens after death? None of the adults around him were able to give my father an adequate answer to his persistent question. Born into a traditional family and attending Baltimore public schools, my father’s search for truth was aided by the Hebrew School he attended. By the time he reached bar mitzva, he was already keeping Shabbos and kashrus as best as he could. Later, Harav Moshe Heinemann, shlita, as well as the community surrounding TA, Etz Chaim Center, and his co-worker Chaim Pollock contributed to his becoming a proper Orthodox Jew.
It has been 10
years since my father’s passing, on the 3rd of Kislev. Anyone who
knew my father would certainly attest that his journey as a baal teshuva never ceased even after he
was fully shomer Torah umitzvos. For
many newcomers to religious Judaism, the fire of their newfound passion burns
strong and then, as the years pass, the passion tapers off. Not so my father;
his excitement and passion for Yiddishkeit remained strong always and continued
to grow. In our home, Shabbos and Yom Tov were such special occasions, with our
parents gracing our seudos with divrei Torah, zemiros, and special
treats galore that my father took tremendous pleasure in buying and giving us.
I will never forget the Chanukah that my father ordered for us authentic long
licorice ropes, the size of actual jump ropes. We were so excited when the box
was delivered, until we took a bite and discovered how bitter real licorice is!
My father was one
of those rare individuals who led the life he believed in, without any sense of
peer pressure whatsoever. When he asked his lifelong rav, Harav Heinemann, a
question, whether in halacha or hashkafa,
he followed exactly what the Rav told him, never caring what others thought or
allowing popular trends to influence him.
After becoming frum, my father sold his extremely large
baseball card collection and with the money from the sale, supported his
younger brother, Laibel, to learn at Yeshivas Ohr Somayach and other yeshivos
in Eretz Yisrael. Thereafter, he turned his entrepreneurial mind to creating
trading cards with Jewish heroes on them, reasoning that that it would be so
beautiful to for young frum kids to
have them. So began “Torah Personalities,” my father’s non-profit sale of rabbi
cards. As this was a novel idea back then, my father was interviewed by many
secular and non-Jewish newspapers and invited to participate on a game show in
Hollywood, called “To Tell The Truth.” With the Rav’s approval to participate
in the game show, my father made a big kiddush
Hashem during his trip. When people saw him sitting down with his kosher
lunch in his brown paper bag, they exclaimed, “He’s for real!”
Making a kiddush Hashem was really my father’s
modus operandi. As a CPA, he set the bar high in one of his early
advertisements. My father let it be known that he was honest and aggressive,
specializing in three R’s: “Rabbis, Retirement Plans and Relevant other tax
areas.” As an expert in the intricate laws laid out by the IRS, my father’s
business had international clients along with local ones. During the shiva, so many people shared stories about
how he saved them financially, as in audit cases, and greatly assisted them in
making their businesses a huge success. He took special pride in helping rebbeim
and kollel families with their taxes and mortgages.
Once, when I asked
my father if he enjoyed his profession, his answer was that he viewed his work
as the means to support his family. Since he worked from a home office, he had
the convenience to put us kids to sleep and then spend some quiet nighttime
hours immersed in his work. However, as late as it was, sometimes at 1:00 a.m.,
we always found him at the end of his long busy days in the rocking chair in
the living room, a sefer in hand. For
my father, there was no compromising on his daily learning.
When I was cleaning
my father’s office after he passed away, I was overwhelmed by all the chesed he was involved with and tzedaka that he gave. If you entered my
father’s office, you would have seen files upon files everywhere. In
fact, until I came to clear out his office, I had never seen what his desktop
looked like as it was so full of papers. Yet he knew precisely where to find
every single thing! However, what was really amazing were all the tzedaka receipts I found interspersed
with his work papers since giving to others in every way he could was such an
integral part of my father’s essence.
I still don’t know
how my father had time for all that he did; I think it will always remain a
mystery. He was a small, frail man physically but a genius with a capacity to
benefit everyone around him using the exceptional qualities he was blessed
with. What would take most people quite a long time to do or figure out, he
would understand and do it in minutes. He loved the Baltimore community and
served it in so many different ways. My father became president of the hachnasas orchim organization when he organized the purchase of Bais Pessy,
the current hachnasas orchim building. He was the treasurer of
the Eruv of Baltimore, the NWCP, and Community Kollel for Mechanchim. He used his expertise to assist many other
organizations as well. He was gabbai
at the Agudah’s 8:30 a.m. minyan from its inception. He was also the editor of
the Agudah of Baltimore newsletter and organized the large seudah for Baltimore’s annual siyum
haTorah. One of my father’s dreams was to open another girls school in
Baltimore, and through much hard effort, he succeeded in this, too, and with
the help of many others, started Bnos Yisroel.
My father was a
very busy man, but despite all of his involvements, I do not remember a single
time that he compromised on being a family man. My three siblings and I were zocheh to witness our father’s beautiful
marriage to our mother, Mrs. Marsha Shugarman, shetichyeh, built upon hard work and much loyalty, love, and respect.
When my father’s parents became elderly, he devotedly assisted them and built
an addition to our house, so my grandparents were able to live next to us. My
father was always there for us, his family. We would go upstairs to his office
when we had school assignment questions. He would order prizes, toys, and
treats from all over the world, and we shared so many memorable Sunday outings
and summer vacations. We knew that even with all of his klal and work commitments, we were the focus of his life, even in
tax season!
My father was a
dreamer. He envisioned a world of unity on every level. As a man of peace, my
father met with many Gedolim, for whom
he had a strong love, and spoke to them about bridging the gaps in different
religious communities. When we went to Eretz Yisrael, where he so much desired
to live, he would travel to see the Gedolim
there, too, and discuss with them ideas he had to facilitate shalom and a
connection between the secular and religious Israelis.
It has been 10
years since my father was niftar at
the young age of 57 after being ill for about a year. The Hebrew letter that
signifies 10 is the yud, the smallest
of the letters, and my father was a “yud
of a Yid.” He was small and so
humble, as modest and gentle as a man could get. Although we knew much about my
father’s greatness and accomplishments, we heard so many more stories that we
didn't know about until after he passed away. For example, he inspired someone
to become a baal tokeah at the
Shacharis minyan in the Agudah. To truly be humble is not easy, especially when
so much greatness has been achieved. I am sure that this is what made my father
a “sugar man.” The sweetness he possessed and the chein (grace)
– from
his name, Chonon – are what endeared him to others.
It is fitting that
Chodesh Kislev is the month that my father was niftar. Since my father would not allow a family simcha to go by
without sharing a clever gematria (he
was a math genius), it is only proper that I share one for him, too. The gematria of my father’s name, Chonon, is
108 – 1+8=9. There are not eight candles in the menorah;
rather, there are 8+1. The one that stands out and in fact is the tallest is
the shamash. This is because it
serves the rest. My father, like the shamash
and the letter yud, rose to greatness
because he spent his whole life taking pleasure in helping others. I think that
is the secret of his modesty, of his chein.
My father always gave $108 when he was called up for an aliyah at the Agudah because that amount is the gematria of his name. It is
fascinating that my father now has two grandsons, both named after him, who
were born on January 8 = 1/08. May all of my father’s ma’asim tovim, which continue here in this world, elevate his neshama to even higher levels. Yehi zichro baruch.
