"Do you know 'Sugar, Sugar' by the Archies?" Rabbi Andy Sacks did. A tribute.

Rabbi Andy Sacks,z'l. A reflection on an iconoclast, fighter for the little guy and champion for progressive Judaism in Israel, and most importantly, a friend to me and so many.

(A loving pictoral tribute created by long-time friend, Joanne Fink.)

Rabbi Andy. “Drew”.

I first met Andy in the mid-80’s. He was a rag-top-owning, Mustang-driving Rabbi, who taught my class in comparative Jewish studies at Akiba Hebrew Academy. He was working then (as I do now as Hazzan) as the Rabbi at a sleepy little Conservative shul called “Beth Am Israel.”

He took a few of us from Akiba on a field trip to the shul, all of us thinking how cool it was that a Rabbi was driving us around in his convertible.

In Israel a few years later: I ran into Andy again, when my bar band, “Empty Glass” played some of the seedier joints in Jerusalem, like the Underground Pub and Disco. Rabbi Andy was there, hoisting a Goldstar with that gleeful smile of his, shouting out inane requests for obscure pop songs, songs we would never play even if we knew them.

Back at Andy’s apartment, Andy described how he had cable TV. Well, sort of. This was 1989, and there was no cable TV in Israel, but Andy explained that oh no, he had literally strung a cable from his TV to his upstairs neighbor’s TV (with permission) and so at a certain point in the evening, whenever his neighbor put on his TV, Andy could watch whatever movie his neighbor put on.

In the mid-90’s I lived in Jerusalem and Tel Aviv. Andy’s then-new apartment, (in and around which there was always some controversy with his Sabra neighbors) was a youth hostel by any other name. There was always a key under the mat, and there were always people coming and going at all hours of the day and night.

There was an outstanding record collection of rock and pop from the 60’s and 70’s, there were reams of VHS tapes with his beloved Letterman that friends had taped and sent to Israel. There was his always well-stocked fridge.

For Andy the night got started around 11 pm and you went from there.

Andy called me Tzvika, a play on my Hebrew name, “Tzvi”. He always wanted to know (and you need to picture Andy saying this in his native Philly drawl, “Can I ask you: Why don’t you go by Tzvika?” With the cat that ate the canary smile of his.  Andy had found his name for me, and that was that.

Andy loved pop culture, American pop culture to be specific. He loved Letterman, and you were not allowed to simply plop on his couch and watch. He would set up his stationary bike and peddle the shit out of it, working up an incredible sweat, with the volume turned way up to compensate for the loud ‘whir’ of his bike.

It was typically 3 am before he went to bed.

Andy was always openhearted, generous (sometimes to a fault), a fighter for civil liberties, for religious tolerance, and an advocate and champion for the little guy, the man or woman who was not on the inside track of Israeli society. Andy worked tirelessly for those who had less, for those who needed a smart (he was for sure one of the smartest people I’ve ever met), and reasoned voice to champion their cause. He saw injustice in so many places in Israel and never stopped fighting to make the world in which he lived a better place.

I knew him best in my 20s, which is to say many years ago when we both lived in Jerusalem. At some point in my Jerusalem stay, a scumbag landlord (are there other kinds?) had bilked me out of thousands of shekels. I sued him and my day in court had finally arrived. The week before Andy asked if anyone would be there to represent me. The naïve twenty-something that I was decided on going it alone and upon learning this Andy said, “Tell me when the time and place and I’ll be there.”

Sure enough, the morning of the trial arrived, me with my broken Hebrew and zero understanding of the court system, and there he was:  Andy came and helped me through the legalese of the trial. (I won, but never saw an agurah.) But I just remember the relief and overwhelming sense of gratitude seeing not just a familiar face, but Andy’s face, because I knew he would do whatever he could to help me. He always did.

But Andy always helped everyone -friend and stranger - alike. It was just in his tireless, sleep-deprived nature, fighting ‘the man’, the bureaucracy, the red tape, the Byzantine legal system of Israel, and the corrupt halls of the Orthodox-monopolized religious system. Andy fought and often won, and when he didn’t, he kept on fighting.

Finally, Andy was a great patron of the arts, and by arts I mean music, and by music I mean my bar band, ‘The Skoobies’. For a few years, Eitan Brown, Yoni Beoni (Jonathan Becker), and I played every week at Mike’s Place. I can’t think of too many gigs where Andy didn’t show up, sit down and hold court, all the while singing along, and asking us if we knew ‘Sugar, Sugar” by the Archies. We did know it, but I can’t remember ever playing it. It was the way we would greet one another. He’d ask, and we’d politely decline. Andy had a way. A way of provoking a conversation, and instigating a reaction, but he was also a good listener. If you were in a jam, there was no better person to call than Andy. If he couldn’t help you, he knew someone who could and would.

I last ran into Andy in Jerusalem, purely by chance. It was two years ago, and he was already fighting the terrible disease that would ultimately take him much too soon. It was midnight, and I was making my way out of a bar in Jerusalem. Who should appear? Drew. We said hi, we caught up a bit. In classic fashion, Andy was just starting his night, as mine was winding down. It was a fleeting moment but in hindsight, it makes me smile that Andy never stopped being Andy.

“Aseh Lech Rav, Aseh Lecha Haver, Find yourself a Rabbi, find yourself a friend” so the saying from Pirkei Avot goes. For me, Andy was both.

Baruch Dayan HaEmet, may Rabbi Andy Sacks’ name be only for a blessing. And may the bar band in Heaven play “Sugar, Sugar” by the Archies every time Andy requests it.