I have a cousin whose first name is Shlomo who has lived in what is now Israel his whole life. (He was born there in 1929 when it was the British Mandate of Palestine.) He is a distant cousin, my second cousin once removed. In particular, Shlomo's paternal grandmother was a sister to one of my great-grandmothers (my father's maternal grandmother).
This explanation of my relationship with him is here in my blog because it is highly personal.
I met him only once, but for an extended period of time. In 1957, when he was 28 and I was 7, he and his first wife came to stay in my parents' house in New Jersey. It was their first visit to the United States and they went into New York City several times per week to see the sights here. My father, his second cousin, was nice enough to essentially supply a free hotel (with home cooking by my mother) to a relative who couldn't have afforded the trip without such help.
Shlomo's wife spoke no English at all, only Hebrew and Ladino. He spoke four languages, Hebrew, Ladino, French, and English. His English was fluent and he had what sounded like a British accent when he spoke it.
As an aeronautical engineer, he obviously knew quite a lot of math. He was intrigued to find me reading my older brother's textbook in that subject, my brother being four years ahead of me in school, in the sixth grade. He asked me why I was reading a book four years ahead of my own grade level and I told him that the math taught in my grade was too easy and was therefore boring.
Shlomo questioned me about the last chapter of that textbook and saw that I could solve all of the problems easily. He began to teach me algebra. I had no idea where he was going with it at the time; with hindsight I can see that he was giving me a course in precalculus. After supper each day, he and I spent about an hour with him tutoring me.
Two days before he and his wife went home to Israel, I overheard him talking with my father. (They were in the kitchen and I was in the living room nearby reading quietly.) He asked my father what my career ambitions were. My father told him that I had expressed the desire to become an architect. I will never forget what I heard next.
"If your son does anything short of getting Ph.D. in pure mathematics, it will be a waste of a great talent. He fully understands now, at his age, what most students struggle with at 16 or 17."
That gave me enormous confidence. From then on, when anybody asked what I wanted to do when I grew up, I told them that I wanted to be a math professor.
Thank you, Cousin Shlomo.
At 88, Shlomo is in reasonably good health. He has been twice a widower, his first wife dying in 1970 and his second wife dying in 2004. He has one daughter and two grandchildren from his second marriage.
Added, January 19, 2024:
I am sad to report that cousin Shlomo has died.
On the 7th day of Shevat, in the year 5784, (corresponding to January 17th, 2024), he died peacefully in his sleep, aged 94.
Rest In Peace, Shlomo.
This explanation of my relationship with him is here in my blog because it is highly personal.
I met him only once, but for an extended period of time. In 1957, when he was 28 and I was 7, he and his first wife came to stay in my parents' house in New Jersey. It was their first visit to the United States and they went into New York City several times per week to see the sights here. My father, his second cousin, was nice enough to essentially supply a free hotel (with home cooking by my mother) to a relative who couldn't have afforded the trip without such help.
Shlomo's wife spoke no English at all, only Hebrew and Ladino. He spoke four languages, Hebrew, Ladino, French, and English. His English was fluent and he had what sounded like a British accent when he spoke it.
As an aeronautical engineer, he obviously knew quite a lot of math. He was intrigued to find me reading my older brother's textbook in that subject, my brother being four years ahead of me in school, in the sixth grade. He asked me why I was reading a book four years ahead of my own grade level and I told him that the math taught in my grade was too easy and was therefore boring.
Shlomo questioned me about the last chapter of that textbook and saw that I could solve all of the problems easily. He began to teach me algebra. I had no idea where he was going with it at the time; with hindsight I can see that he was giving me a course in precalculus. After supper each day, he and I spent about an hour with him tutoring me.
Two days before he and his wife went home to Israel, I overheard him talking with my father. (They were in the kitchen and I was in the living room nearby reading quietly.) He asked my father what my career ambitions were. My father told him that I had expressed the desire to become an architect. I will never forget what I heard next.
"If your son does anything short of getting Ph.D. in pure mathematics, it will be a waste of a great talent. He fully understands now, at his age, what most students struggle with at 16 or 17."
That gave me enormous confidence. From then on, when anybody asked what I wanted to do when I grew up, I told them that I wanted to be a math professor.
Thank you, Cousin Shlomo.
At 88, Shlomo is in reasonably good health. He has been twice a widower, his first wife dying in 1970 and his second wife dying in 2004. He has one daughter and two grandchildren from his second marriage.
Added, January 19, 2024:
I am sad to report that cousin Shlomo has died.
On the 7th day of Shevat, in the year 5784, (corresponding to January 17th, 2024), he died peacefully in his sleep, aged 94.
Rest In Peace, Shlomo.
I hope that there is some pizza at the party which I...