The smartest man I’ve ever worked with, my best friend, died unexpectedly this week. I’m en route to Tel Aviv for his funeral. He’d been having significant swings in his health, and this time, just as it seemed there was a breakthrough, time ran out.
His name was Dorron Levy, and my daughter describes him to friends as the Israeli version of me. He taught me how to think about complex problems. He taught me to be very picky about coffee. His family and I fell in love. And he taught me how to construct a speech in a way that it opens a big question in an audience’s mind and then fills it, leaving them with a new view of how the world works.
He loved books, he loved solving impossible problems, he loved learning, and he loved teaching. (He once said the biggest compliment was to hear “You really taught me something.”) He loved digging down into the deep underlying causes. And when that led to solving an impossible problem, the glee on his face was a wonder to see. And as a dual citizen – born in Denver to Israeli parents – he was extremely astute about differences in culture.
I worked with Dorron at Indigo America in the 1990s, when the digital printing industry was very new. (Today, Indigo presses do the print-on-demand for Let Patients Help.) The family moved back to Israel years ago – but in 2007 when they learned of my cancer, the entire family came to visit me, on short notice (see photo). That’s expensive. That’s dedication.
Years later I said “You must have felt you were coming to say goodbye.” He said “Nothing could be further from the truth. We came to give you hope.” That’s amazing to hear from a strict, rational scientist. I wrote about it in my first little self-published book Facing Death – With Hope, and mentioned his words again just last month in my post from the World Parkinson Congress.
Well, they did give me hope, and I survived. And now it’s my turn, but this time I am going to say goodbye … and to reaffirm my connection with his family. I’d visited them a year ago, and boy am I glad I did.
Now it’s my turn to say “Hug someone you care about, today, or even right now. You never know how much time we have together.”
Shalom, Dorron. You made a lasting mark in my heart and mind. And you taught me.
Update 12/5/2021: On this anniversary of his death, I’ll paste in this Facebook photo from his funeral. As I said in that post, this didn’t include the many people off the picture to the left, who had already turned the corner. Imagine touching so many lives so deeply.
I have tears in my eyes. You said it all.
I’m so sorry for your loss. Beautiful post. Safe travels.
Shalom and farewell to an individual I wish I had known. Hugs to you and your family.
When you told me your best friend had died and you were scrambling to get to Tel Aviv, your story about Dorron & family’s visit while you were so sick came immediately to mind. Dorron will live on in his beautiful family, and in the way you (and others he taught) bring him to life when you talk about him. A man who earns such profound love and appreciation must feel his time on earth was well-spent.
I am so sorry. My thoughts and prayers are with you and Dorron’s family. A big hug to you and I’ll make sure to hug those around me today.
I remember you speaking fondly of Dorron years ago, Dave. This was a lovely tribute in which you could almost hear him breathe. I am so sorry to hear of your loss! May the trip to Tel Aviv be comforting to all.
Hugs,
Carla
Nicely said, Carla. Thanks.
This is a loss, and I object.
I’m sorry for your loss, Dave, and for the loss of Dorron to his family and to our world. He was that kind of man. Thank you for giving us a glimpse of the brilliance he shared with you, especially his actions as a loyal friend. And thanks for posting a picture that says so much about him, too. Heartfelt condolences to you and to his family.
Dave, my regrets. Your friend lives on in what he helped you grow into.
That is a beautiful tribute, Dave. Very touching story. I’m sure you are a great comfort that his family as they grieve.
David, May his memory be for a blessing. So sorry for your loss.
Hi Susan – yes, his memory is already a blessing… work has already begun to extend the life of all his ideas and his work.
He had a remarkable array of family, friends, and colleagues. See the picture of the line walking to his grave today, after the service, on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10202228482051304&set=a.1270071829720.2041596.1167572670&type=1
This hits me right in what my dad always called “the old shark-chaser” (translation: deepest part of the heart). Friends like Dorron are rare jewels, and we only get a couple over a lifetime. It’s a tearing, searing loss. So very sorry it’s happening to you …
I miss him so much. He was the most remarkable human being I’ve ever met.
Hi, Natalie. I don’t know if we ever met, but yeah, remarkable.
A lot is changing in healthcare, some real paradigm changes. As I’ve thought recently about the future work of the patient awakening, day after day I find myself wondering how Dorron would sharply critique (with praise or correction) our thinking.
But he’s no longer here to ask, and now it’s up to us to carry on with what we took away from our time learning from him. Just this month I finally started reading The Structure of Scientific Revolutions, which he told me about many years ago. At the time it was hard for me to comprehend that too often science truly resembles a fashion industry, in that new thinkers are ostracized as severely as if they were wearing totally wrong clothes during Fashion Week in NY. Lister and Semmelweiss in the 1800s … that might seem like stone age, but even recently, the bacterium that often causes ulcers was denied and disparaged for decades – until the discoverers got a Nobel Prize 23 years later.
Do you have any Dorron stories to share?