For Charlotte - as we both shared and loved poetry.

SANTIAGO
by David Whyte

The road seen, then not seen, the hillside hiding
then revealing the way you should take,
the road dropping away from you
as if leaving you to walk
on thin air, then catching you,
holding you up,
when you thought you would fall,

And the way forward always in the end
the way that you followed,
the way that you came, the way that carried you
into your future, that brought you to this place,

no matter that it sometimes took your promise from you,
no matter that it always had to break
your heart along the way: the sense of having walked
from far inside yourself, out into the revelation,

to have risked yourself for something that seemed
to stand both inside you and far beyond you,
and that called you back in the end to the only road
you could follow, walking as you did, in your rags
of love and speaking in the voice that by night
became a prayer for safe arrival.

So that one day you realized
that what you wanted had already happened,
and long ago and in the dwelling place
in which you lived in before you began,

and that every step along the way, you had carried
the heart and the mind and the promise
that first set you off and then drew you on

and that, you were more marvelous in your
simple wish to find a way than the gilded roofs
of any destination you could reach:

as if, all along, you had thought the end point
might be a city with golden towers, and cheering crowds,
and turning the corner at what you thought
was the end of the road, you found just
a simple reflection, and a clear revelation
beneath the face looking back and beneath it
another invitation, all in one glimpse:

like a person or a place you had sought forever,
like a broad field of freedom that beckoned you beyond;
like another life, and the road still stretching on.

Dear all,

I thought of Charlotte today. I was talking to a friend going through some deep pain here in Boston. She asked me if I knew a therapist to recommend. I thought of Charlotte. I told her how Charlotte's friendship with me WAS therapy. Charlotte's memory truly is a blessing.

Love,
Charleen

One year. God, I miss you.

I’m so saddened I missed the memorial of Charlotte. Charlotte was my supervisor and friend. I connected with her so powerfully, the difference of our ages was irrelevant. She took me seriously, as a therapist, while we laughed and ate together. The last time I saw Charlotte we had lunch and I was pregnant, and she told me how awful it was to be pregnant, she recalled lying on the cold floor in “dark London,” because her back hurt so much. She gave me confidence, that I could be a therapist in my own way, just as she had done. I want to send all my love to her family. I miss you, Charlotte. Thank you for knowing me.

Just thinking of Charlotte now. I got a pair of green contacts (my eyes are brown). I thought of her purple bangs and the comment, "Old women are invisible."

I feel the same about brown eyes.

Enjoying the colored contacts and the memories of Charlotte. I miss her.

Charlotte made life more interesting and meaningful through her wisdom, awareness and humor. She was so present in everything she undertook. I learned to teach from her. Being with her gave one a sense of freedom and possibility. So special, so unique, such a loss.

I just drove up Fuller on an errand, and continued to your house. I thought maybe if I saw it, I would believe you were gone. It looked different. The car in the driveway. The locked gate. The lowered blinds. But despite the queasiness that immediately overpowered me, I still didn't believe it. Surely the house looked like that because you were away on one of your adventures. I got talking to one of your neighbors, and my first thought was to send you a text to let you know. I guess this is what they call the denial phase of grief. I miss you Charlotte.

Charlotte was my supervisor for an internship at Didi Hirsch during my first year of MSW school in 2003. I can still remember what it felt like to be in her presence and can say that her guidance and supervision absolutely shaped my commitment to the profession, helping me through a challenging first year placement. As others have said, her combination of wisdom, strength and kindness were very powerful. I am grateful for the impact Charlotte had on me and wish all who loved her comfort and peace.

Terence Ford wrote: Charlotte was a rock, an unusual metaphor to use for someone so gentle. When I referred families to her, I knew she could handle them however difficult the cases could be. I am very sad to lose Charlotte, and all the clients who would have seen her in the future are sad, too.

Richard Dowaliby wrote: Charlotte always made a point to stop by the front desk , say hi, and always a conversation about family, the Center, and health.
I can’t remember when we first met. Maybe, when she started supervising at the Center in 2005 or earlier? She was one of many
who inspired me to stick around!
I miss you Charlotte!

Tony Davis wrote: I cannot help but think of how my brief exposure to Charlotte strongly influenced my style as a couples therapist. There was something bracing and reassuring in the approach she demonstrated during workshops when I was an intern at SCCC. Her style was so opposite to what I thought would make an effective therapist–she was direct, challenging, even confrontive. But I realized that she did it this way for at least a couple of important reasons: because it worked; and because she cared.

Family and couples therapy is a different monster from individual work. It has to be directive and directed, otherwise the therapist will be run over by the clients. Charlotte clearly let people know who was in charge, but her confidence was more like a weighted blanket than a vice grip, because it was delivered with eyes sparkling and mouth corners upturned. She loved the work, and when you love the work your clients feel loved. It was one of the best lessons I could have received. I decided to share about it because I wanted to show that her impact was felt even if it was brief and indirect.

What is a life well-lived? Who gets to decide? I suspect that it is the people who are left behind, the ones who will be remembering. If these testimonies are any indication, then Charlotte’s life was well-lived indeed, and will continue on in the work of the many students and clients whose lives she not only touched, but influenced and changed. She lived a life of purpose regardless of what else was going on, indicating that she was always clear on what direction she was headed: towards Love.

Jorie Schuetz wrote: Charlotte, thank you for all of your support, guidance, and humor over this past year. I am so grateful to have been a part of your and Laura’s supervision group. When I think of all of the people you helped over your lifetime, I become overwhelmed. And now, every colleague, trainee, and associate you came into contact with has some Charlotte in their therapy bones, so you will continue to have an impact for decades to come. I admire you very much, and hope I approach life the way you did, Charlotte, with humor, pragmatism, and vivacity. I’ll miss you very much. Wishing you, your family, and your loved ones peace.

Allison Crooks wrote: What to even say. I can’t tell you, Charlotte, how often I have your voice in my head while I’m working. You guide so much of what I do in the room and the confidence I have in myself as a therapist. You were always so authentic and funny and honest in that special way that was just the right amount of hard and soft at the same time. I feel so lucky to have ever had the chance to learn from you. You were an incredible supervisor and a truly special human being. You were so smart and so damn good at what you did.

I’ve been saying this all week, but man, what a woman for this world to lose. Thank you for helping me become the therapist I am today. Thank you for giving so much of yourself to us all. Thank you for showing up in the world in exactly the ways that you did.

Zikhronah livrakhah. I know it is for me.

Jim Holland wrote: Charlotte was one of a kind. Her wit, humour, and breadth of involvement in the lives of so many, made her such a force for positive change in the world. For nearly 4 years I was incredibly fortunate to benefit from her supervision, both in two of her groups, and individually . I wish I could go back and re-experience the richness of some of those moments again. And while Charlotte’s systemic and family oriented approach was music to my ears, what impacted me the most was her insistence on the primacy of context, and as a result, her commitment to social justice and Outreach work.

Charlotte had so many favorite therapeutic sayings. One that comes to mind is “Ask for what you need, listen carefully to the answer, and celebrate the know!” Another was “You know, there’s a fabulous possibility that they’re not going to change!” It’s difficult to believe that I’ll never hear her say those words again. Her passing comes way too soon and the world is much the poorer for it.

Gail Wilburn wrote: Charlotte was a force and it was my good fortune to experience my sharp-witted, gifted and often hilarious mentor and friend, first when training at the Center (we arrived around the same time) and then when I began as ED 12 years ago. Charlotte was the first person in my new office, saying “you can do this.” and “we are all here to support you.” She stopped in almost every week and we talked about many things, especially as the years went by, our grandchildren. One week, Charlotte stopped by to tell me about her latest trip to San Francisco to see her much beloved granddaughter, saying she had given her new Barbie dolls. When I expressed surprise, Charlotte said, “it’s what she loves, so you do what you do.” Later on, I had to confess to Charlotte that I had bought the Barbie Dream House for my granddaughter and we laughed so hard we were in tears. In conversation with SCCC alum friends over the past few days, we said we thought Charlotte would just live forever. She has left us too soon and she leaves a void for all of us, especially her family who she loved so much.

Leily Labuda wrote: Charlotte and I were to meet at her house on the last day of August to go over the final paperwork as our group supervision was coming to an end.  In the weeks leading up, I would joke that I was experiencing separation anxiety. Our weekly supervision meetings had become something of a safe haven for me (and I think for all of us) during the pandemic. Her warm and smiling face was usually the first one to greet us as we signed onto our Wednesday zooms. She consistently helped ease our anxieties with her wit and wisdom, rooted in decades of experience. Charlotte was compassionate, whip smart, and as real as they come. She was a straight shooter whose no nonsense style helped me better understand my role as a therapist.

We didn’t get to meet on that last day of August, but I feel so fortunate to have gotten to know her this past year and been inspired by her. Sending love to her family and the SCCC family for this heartbreaking loss.

John Rosania wrote: I see Charlotte walking into the Center with her purple streak of hair, sit down in one of the chairs in the group meeting room and wait for supervision to start. I loved her enthusiasm for the work of therapy, for social justice, for making a ruckus in service of others. She is one of people I have met who continually inspired me to do the work that matters, not take myself too seriously, and have a good time while doing it. Charlotte encouraged me to take more risks, to stretch out more and bring myself into the work, and to not worry about ruffling a few feathers in the process. I’ll remember her for her humor, her generosity of spirit and of knowledge and of her time with us at the Center. Charlotte, I will miss and will do my best to help make the changes you wanted to see happen in the world.

The Kolba family remembers Charlotte (and Arthur) well, and Boris and Nick send their condolences to Michael and Adam. We would especially like to thank Michael, who took Boris to Bnai Keshet for the first time—the start of our family’s long and happy relationship with the synagogue.

Charlotte and I first met in 1959, in New York City, where we were classmates at Barnard College. We would see each other at reunions over the years but our real story began in 2016 when I retired and moved from New Haven CT to Pasadena, to be closer to my son and his family in South Pasadena.

I got in touch with Charlotte after I arrived and --and no one will be surprised to learn-- was welcomed by her with enthusiasm and kindness. She introduced me to her friends, brought me into her book group, and invited me to join her at UCLA cultural events. We met for lunch and events on both the West Side and in Pasadena.

She was thoughtful, smart, and funny –-no better attributes than those can be found in a friend. I was so happy to get to know her in these last few years, and I will very much miss her in all the years to come.

Oh Charlotte, I have missed you since you left Montclair, and now I shall miss you forever. I used to say that any time a client made my stomach ache, I would refer them to Charlotte, who could bring her talents and wisdom to the most difficult people. She leaves an empty spot in the world.

Our lives intersected many times and in many places (school in Boston, Barnard in New York City, & in Los Angeles) throughout Charlotte's too brief life. She was a woman of passion and commitment, with a wonderful mind and wit, who made a difference in all she undertook, and will be greatly missed.

Most of you don’t know me, but I am probably one of Charlotte’s oldest friends. We met in 1955, Junior High School age, around13 or 14 yrs. old, when Charlotte and her family moved around the corner from me in the Dorchester/Mattapan area of Boston. We became fast friends and did many,many things together during our teenage years. Charlotte, as you know, was very, very smart, even then. Perhaps some of you didn’t know that she scored a perfect score of 800 in the English SAT, and close to that in the Math.

Although she went on to Girls Latin School for high school, and I did not, we still remained friends. And then for college she bravely went all the way to New York City to Barnard, and I went to the University oof Massachusetts, in Amherst. I remember taking the bus one weekend to visit her there.  We were in different worlds- she, in the middle of Manhattan, and I in the farmlands of Massachusetts. 

Charlotte really wanted to escape from Boston. She knew there was more to the world than the Jewish/Irish Catholic ghetto in which we grew up. 

Unfortunately, we lost touch after college.  I remember that my father was shocked and hurt (for me) to hear that she was getting married in a temple near where we lived, and I wasn’t even invited to her wedding. After all, we had been friends for so many years; she spent many summer weekends with my family at Nantasket Beach, and she had been such a big part of my life. 

We’ve discussed this several times over the years. She told me that she really wanted to get away from her hometown, and everyone associated with it. That was some time in the 60s. 

I didn’t hear from Charlotte again until the 1990s, some 30 years later. She was coming to a professional conference in San Francisco, and she knew that I lived there. Luckily, I hadn’t changed my name when I got married, and she easily found my phone number. (This was before the internet.) She came to the conference and stayed with me. And she brought me 2 pieces of jewelry as gifts that I still have and will treasure.  It was as though the 30 years had not passed and we had a great time reconnecting. And luckily for me, she approved of my husband, and they became great friends, too. After that, I visited her in New Jersey, and she and Arthur made several trips visiting us in California. The four of us enjoyed the times we spent together, in San Francisco and in the Sierras.

And then, the best thing happened to me. I was so happy when, in 1998, Charlotte and Arthur moved to Los Angeles. Then our friendship was in full swing. Although we lost out on 30 years, we had another 30 years of close friendship. We visited each other often. She often stayed with me when she came to San Francisco to see her son Michael and his family. And Bill and I visited them in Los Angeles.  And we frequently talked on the phone. And in later years, Charlotte and Lou also came and stayed with me.

And when we both became widows, we had lots to talk about. She was such a good, special friend-compassionate, understanding, encouraging.  

In January 2019, She and Susan Coti and I spent a delightful week together in Palm Springs at the International Film Festival. I spent Rosh Hashanah, 2019, in Los Angeles with Charlotte and her family. Although I knew Adam, it was a joy to spend so much time with him and his family that weekend. During that visit, I attended holiday services at her Temple. On an earlier visit I had joined her at her Torah Study group. During COVID, she invited me to attend the Torah Study Group each Saturday, easy to do on ZOOM. And so, for the past 6 months, we saw each other every Saturday morning, and then spoke on the phone each Saturday after the group ended. 

I texted her after the Saturday morning that she didn’t attend. Unbeknown to me, she was in the hospital, and she told me to call her. I was remiss and didn’t call her right away. But it was too late, as I received that fateful call from Melissa a couple of days later. Oh, how I wished I had called her right back…..

I am so sorry and heartbroken that I was not able to visit her in the hospital. A combination of COVID and my own unexpected recent surgery made it impossible for me to visit. But I thank Michael for putting me on the speaker phone and I was able talk to her that way, and I told her that I loved her.

Her death is a tragedy. Our friendship was very special and I will miss her terribly. 

As a Montclair friend, I missed the LA years, the purple hair, and Arthur's illness. But I still walk past their house on North Fullerton and think of it as the Spiegelmans' house.

We knew each other through Bnai Keshet, and as a fellow journalist, I ran into Art all the time at events in the city.

And since we exercised together at The Total Workout for many years, I particularly remember Charlotte's dry humor. Somehow we were talking about multiple personality disorders, and Charlotte said she had treated people with that illness. 

"That must be just fascinating," I said.

She shrugged. "The wrong personality is always coming out at 2 in the morning," she said.

May her memory be for a blessing.

Charlotte will be missed.

Charlotte and I were (will always be) first cousins. Even though our fathers were brothers, she and my mother were very close. That deep affection possibly stemmed from their mutual love of education. My mother, Auntie Pauline, went to law school in the ‘30’s and always encouraged Charlotte to pursue her dreams. They were the best examples of the concept that you can take the girl out of Boston, but she won’t leave her Boston accent behind. At 6 years old Charlotte was a flower girl at my parents’ wedding.

Shortly after my husband and I moved to Scottsdale with our 5-year-old twins, Charlotte and Arthur moved to LA. It became a tradition that as a family they visited us every year during winter break. After all she had to see my mother as well as Bonnie and her girls. They always brought the best gifts! For over 20 years we celebrated milestone events whether joyous or sad together. We solved the world’s problems sitting for hours at her house or mine or on long distance calls. Beth and Hayley reminded me that their first big trip away from home was to visit LA, Charlotte style.

Charlotte has rejoined her parents and mine, her husband and mine. I would not be surprised if on her way she made friends with another special lady, the giant whose funeral was on the same day, Notorious R.B.G.

Charlotte's life was so rich: with friends, family, grandchildren, husbands. She exuded joy and curiosity wherever she went. We were so lucky to know her at the Smith College School for Social Work. Her humor, her warmth were infectious, and she is sorely missed!

I met Charlotte through a colleague, whom Charlotte had met on one of her overseas adventures. Coming from outside London, I was new to LA. My colleague (who lives in DC), wanting to ease my transition back to the US, recalled she’d met this vivacious person, with blue and pink in her hair, who was also on the board of a temple in Hollywood. She told me about Charlotte’s “Old women are invisible” (her reason for the blue and pink streaks). I was intrigued: Charlotte’s unique charisma preceded her. Soon Charlotte and I were emailing about Saturday morning Torah study.

I biked from Duarte to Hollywood to come to Torah study, and Charlotte and I went out for brunch afterwards. We discovered many commonalities: we’d both felt lonely and experienced anti-Semitism in England, both once had female bosses who treated us badly, and both loved art. We developed a fast and heartfelt friendship. For the time I was in LA, we spent various holidays together: among them New Year’s, Rosh Hashana, and Thanksgiving. We got together a few times a month for various outings. When more time than that passed, Charlotte would say, “It’s been too long.”

During shiva, I’ve listened to others share their memories of Charlotte. I’m struggling about which ones of mine to share with you. The reason is that, as her friend, I know things that Charlotte wouldn’t readily share with her children, temple, or clinical colleagues. But we all know her candidness. So, I hope it won’t come as too much of a surprise to hear that Charlotte was an atheist, an atheist who deeply loved Torah. She was dating Lou Breger, after all, widely known for his secularism, skepticism, and scathing biographies of Freud. 

Before Charlotte went into the hospital, she told me of Lou’s death. For two years, she had struggled with losing him piece-by-piece to Parkinson’s. By the time he died, Lou was not even able to read or dial on his phone. Charlotte remarked many times over the course of his decline that she couldn’t emotionally invest like she had with Arthur. Charlotte was strong and judicious. She protected herself from the unnecessary anguish of becoming Lou’s primary caretaker, while still being there for him. She kept true to her boundaries on this. She chose life and to continue filling hers with enriching experiences. On more than one occasion, Charlotte would lean over to me during services at Temple Israel and express her pain that Arthur wasn’t there. Lou accepted that and loved Charlotte. The last thing Lou said to me, when I’d visited him in a nursing home, was that Charlotte was the best person he knew.

Charlotte reported that there weren’t many memorials for Lou, unlike how we are having these for Charlotte. But Lou, of course, was intentionally distant from community. Charlotte wrapped herself in it, and, as we know, not just at Temple Israel. Charlotte had recently read Julian Barnes’ The Only Story with a book group of female friends, for instance. She also celebrated birthdays, dined out, and saw films with this group, who were dear to her. Films I saw together with them included BlackKkKClansman by Spike Lee and Amazing Grace about Aretha Franklin.

Charlotte had a wealth of stories about clinical supervision and wisdom. During her own training, she had a supervisor who resented her skills and derided her clothing, claiming Charlotte showed too much skin. This was about a supposedly scandalous collar bone. Charlotte, like Lou, had rejected many aspects of depth psychology, and instead listened with empathy. True, sensible, and unaffected empathy—not pity. It was genuine and spilled over from her practice as a social worker into her interactions with all of us, which I saw at Torah study and experienced first-hand. She had shared the stories of her jealous supervisor in response to painful tales I’d told her about a former boss of mine. Hearing that she had gone through it too was instantly relieving and healing. She got it. She got lots of things about people.

One time, at lunch with Charlotte and Lou, the topic of taking psychedelics came up. Lou told me I absolutely had to try acid at least once in my lifetime. Charlotte wasn’t so sure about that.

About me moving to Boston, Charlotte thought I might meet a nice Jewish man to marry at Temple Israel in Brookline. I now live in Brookline. I told Charlotte it reminded me of her neighborhood in Hollywood, except that the 19th-century-attired men here wear Borsalino hats and not high-rising shtreimels.

The hardest part about leaving LA was leaving Charlotte. The last time we had dinner together, I told her I wished I could see her at least three more times before going; I knew the moments were precious. In some corner of my mind, I fantasied about not moving to Boston at all and moving in with Charlotte! Forget my job in science. Just hang out with Charlotte! Really. I’ve never had any other friend that I’ve wanted in my life so much.

In no particular order, here are things I know about Charlotte: 
• She cherished the sooty chimney sweep in her house (next to the fireplace) and art given to her and made by friends. One drawing is of a little girl whose face looks mature beyond her years. 
• She had a membership at MoMa and went often. She and I went on several occasions.
• She liked David Brooks’ writing.
• She loved Israel and Israeli food.
• She liked good coffee and getting flowers from the Farmers’ markets.
• She spoke often of her grandkids (there may still be some stickers from one of them on her office door, the one leading to the backyard).
• She enjoyed the Berkshires and teaching at Smith College (she had amusing stories about the student culture).
• Though it already seemed clean to me, she had had her beautiful white furniture cleaned to host some friends from Barnard.
• She felt a particular bond with Steve in Torah study, despite also not jiving with his frequent mentions of “HaShem”.
• She had to fight Arthur to buy their house on N. Fuller; she saw its potential, enjoyed sitting in the backyard during COVID, and liked the neighborhood.
• She watched Shtisel on Netflix and was critical of ultra-Orthodox Judaism, especially the aspects related to women.
• She liked sitting outside with friends at the Angelini Osteria on Beverly Blvd.
• She enjoyed going to Catholic cathedrals in other countries and soaking in the architecture and art.
• She usually had a CD of Franz Schubert music in her car or kitchen. But she liked non-classical music too. After we saw the Aretha Franklin movie, we came back to her place for dinner and she played various African American folk music from the 60s-present. She also liked “The Boss”. 
• She enjoyed the atmosphere at Eataly. We ate there once.
• She was very smart and far too classy to throw it in your face. Her intellect was integrated into every part of her.
• This was a tough year: her car was stolen and Lou died. Despite these setbacks and heartaches, Charlotte wasn’t embittered. When her car was stolen, her mind was actually on someone at Temple Israel who had died. She relayed her experiences about their shiva.
• When she taught Torah, she saw the family relationships in the texts.

I will greatly miss Charlotte for her kindness and many fine qualities. She modelled how to live well, with the importance of community, Torah, good company, family, empathy, and honesty. About honesty, during our last phone call, she quipped: “We’ve been talking about an hour. That’s probably enough.”

I loved that clarity and candor and her.

I met my friend Charlotte about four years ago on a weekend retreat. I heard her speak on a panel and immediately recognized she had a spark - something I wanted to experience closer up. I found her later that evening, introduced myself, and felt an instant connection. We discovered we both went to Barnard (although she was a few decades older than I am so sadly we never crossed paths on campus). I learned she was a therapist and we had a mutual interest in the Hollywood farmers' market. She had a patch of dyed blue and purple hair, the kind my 12 year old wants, but less commonly found on women in their 70s. There was really something different and special about Charlotte.

I left the weekend wanting to see more of this woman I had just met. There was something about her that was just so appealing. I wanted to pursue her in the way one might pursue a love interest but it wasn't romantic: I just knew I wanted to be friends with someone as smart and interesting and comforting as Charlotte. As luck would have it, I spotted her a few weeks later on a Sunday morning at the farmers' market. I re-introduced myself but it wasn't necessary - she too remembered our weekend together and I got up the nerve to "ask her out." She was into it and we made a date to meet for coffee. Our friendship blossomed from there.

Charlotte was older than I am but she felt timeless. I loved how rebellious she was. I loved how we disliked the same people but because she had years of experience as a social worker, she was able to explain to me why people were acting the way they were which always made me feel better (even if they still drove me crazy). We always seemed to end up on the same committees with volunteer activities we were involved with and we were board members of the same organization which meant I always had someone to sit next to and gossip with at meetings, something I was grateful for when topics got heated and we were able to exchange knowing glances at one another.

I spoke to Charlotte throughout the pandemic. As a widow, but more importantly, as an extremely social person, I worried about how she was faring living alone. Of course she was doing just fine - she had created a book club with Barnard alums from her year and was busy with so many Zoom meetings as a volunteer throughout the day. She had plans to repaint her office (I told her it was a mistake to get rid of the signature pink walls in her office she was growing tired of). She told me about the international crime dramas she was watching. I told her where I was getting really great lettuce through a little-known box delivery service and my husband left one on her doorstep with some homemade salad dressing. She was getting into making soups and promised me some.

A few weeks ago Charlotte missed a meeting we were supposed to be on together and I learned she was in the hospital. I knew she'd be fine; she was in great health - only a few months before we went into quarantine she traveled to Egypt with a big group. But as it turns out, she wasn't fine and before I had a chance to have a real conversation with her about what had happened, we lost her last Friday night. It's been almost a week and I'm still in shock. She was so vibrant. She felt so young. She had so much more left to accomplish. We had so many things to look forward to laughing about together. I still can't believe it.

As is customary for Jews, Charlotte's family planned a funeral and has been "sitting shiva" for her this week. In the before times, that meant whomever was in town would come over to her son's house with food and everyone would sit around and tell stories about Charlotte. In the new now times, friends and family from all over the country and world can join in via Zoom to share their memories.

As a dear friend of Charlotte's, I joined both the funeral and the first two Zoom shivas. I felt it was a duty to honor our relationship and I knew I needed a place to grieve with other people who cared about her the way I did. What I did not expect to feel was a reminder of my insignificance in this world but that's what I got. And it was actually wonderful. Let me explain:

As expected, Charlotte's children, brother, and cousins had lovely things to say about her remarkable brilliance and character. What I wasn't expecting to hear was how many other people seemed to have the same kind of friendship with her that I had - one where we thought we were one of the most important people in her life. She really made me feel that way. Only I learned she made dozens of other people feel that way too, people I'd never even heard of. I realized pretty quickly I wasn't one of the most important people in her life; there were just so many of us. It was like showing up to a family reunion and learning your grandparents had dozens of other children and grandchildren you'd never met or knew about. Suddenly you didn't feel so special. You realize with all this competition, you're probably not the "favorite." The funny thing was, other people started to acknowledge this same exact feeling at the shiva. We all had the same reaction. Lots of people were also "victims" of Charlotte's spotlight and the feeling that it was only shining on you. The shiva was a bit of a support group for learning you're not so special - the kind of group Charlotte probably would have run in her days as a therapist.

There is a Jewish practice to keep two slips of paper on you at all times, one in each pocket. On the first piece of paper the following is written: "the world was created for me." The second reads, "I am but a speck of dust in this vast universe." In short, you are supposed to remind yourself both of how special you are, and of how insignificant you are every day. The tradition is to take out the appropriate slip of paper when you need it (easier said than done).

Knowing Charlotte had an impact on so many people was humbling - that's where I come in as a speck of dust among her vast universe of friends. But I also know that when I was in our friendship, I felt like the center of the universe. I felt like I was the only one to have that connection with her. I marvel that she was able to give that certainty and share that spark with so many people individually, without any of us realizing she was giving it away elsewhere too. And I wonder what that must have felt like for her. Was it a burden to hold so many people close, or was that her secret sauce? Is that how she derived her energy and her love and her specialness?

I can only hope that when I'm gone, friends of mine who have never heard of each other bond over how special I made them feel. I am a better person for having known Charlotte and I will treasure her spark as I move forward without her. It's comforting to know how many people will be able to do the same.

The first time I met Charlotte, she taught me something. She was talking about an exercise class she'd attended regularly. There was a new guy in the class, and he went right up front, but he didn't know the moves, so Charlotte said, "I don't care. I just pushed him right out of my way." I laughed, but I always remembered that. Now, whenever the new guy who doesn't know as much as I do gets in my way, I push him to the side.
The last time I saw Charlotte, we were at my daughter's and her grandchild's ballet class. I was chatting with Mike, and we started to complain about something. Charlotte's eyes lit up, and she said, "Oh yeah!" And she joined in, and we had a great time complaining about whatever it was. I can't remember. I just remember that smile, that laugh, and that lovely accent that always reminded me of home.  I wish I'd had more and better time with her, but I'm grateful for the time I spent with dear Charlotte.

I first met Charlotte when she joined the ATE9 Dance Company Board of Directors when I was Chair. She had a tremendous influence and was a recognized asset to the Board from the very moment she joined. Charlotte had a way of getting everyone on the same page and in some level of agreement regardless of their individual feelings about any issue. Her disarming manner was a calming influence to every Board meeting and she held the respect of everyone. The meetings at her house were never to miss. Although neither myself or Charlotte are or were current members of the ATE9 Board, I know I speak for all of the Board, the Staff and the Dancers in saying how much Charlotte will be missed.

Marianne Diaz wrote: Charlotte Spiegelman did so much for Outreach Services at the Center. She was ready at a given moment and she would step in and support the things we were doing is pursuit of providing social justice informed services at SCCC.                                                     

She called me the Rock Star and always hugged me and smiled that big joyous way. She would find time to sit with me and care about my life and asked how I was holding up.

This has been a rough year in so many ways. This, out of the blue, shook me. I had just spoken to her about her return after the surgery. She reminded me that this Outreach work is what excites her, what she got into the field to do. She wanted to, as we say in Outreach, chop it up, deconstruct and grind out ways to be more aware of the impact of our services and how they are delivered directly affects the empowerment of communities.

I love Charlotte, we had a special connection. Our spirits spoke to each other. I felt comforted by her presence. She would tell me often that the direction I was moving in was what she will always want to be a part of. We had plans for her to be in Watts when COVID-19 would allow. I didn’t have a back up plan for this. There is no back up plan for this loss, this void.

I can hear her say to me. “You always will find a way and it will be what makes sense in that moment.” Hard to imagine as I write this in this moment that I will find a way. I will miss my friend forever. She is my Rock Star.

Marianne Diaz
Director of Outreach Services
Southern California Counseling Center

Marlene White Lenard wrote: I gasped and shouted, “Oh, no!” when I just read that Charlotte has died. I had just done that when RBG died last week.  The sounds of my own voice mixed with the lonely feelings were so similar in this silence of the isolation: and neither Charlotte or RBG were supposed to die now. They were supposed to wait until their work and fun with us/for us and so many others was done. Nobody else can do it in quite the same gifted way. And it is just not done yet.

Charlotte was so important to my SCCC experience, to my becoming a therapist quite late in my life and my becoming a good therapist. She was my group supervisor and then I was blessed to have her as my personal supervisor, meeting in the comfort of her home, at her dining table. She was so good to me, so wise, so centered and just so much fun. She saw me through the loss of my sister, she saw me through the joys of my children. And saw me through the joys of her own children!  I had not seen her recently enough, but Charlotte was, AND IS, always with me.

I love that the details of others’ experiences with her are being recorded here ….. because I am able to recognize and share them with you. We are so so lucky to have had her touch, aren’t we?!

I am sad today. Her name will be on my lips and in my heart tonight and tomorrow as we make our way through another Yom Kippur. I am just so sorry that “Charlotte Spiegelman” is part of this holy day……way too soon.

Charles Andrews wrote: This is still too much for me to properly say what I have to say. This is just not right. She should have had much more time. We should have had more time with her in this world. After hearing Charlotte give a presentation at the SCCC family trainings, I approached her afterwards and basically begged her to be my individual supervisor. She thought it over, and then did me the great honor of saying yes. She supervised my last year-and-a-half at SCCC and I will be forever grateful for that. Among so many things she helped me understand, two things stand out: she gave me permission to take chances, to take a risk, and to go with my gut when it seemed most appropriate. That was a great gift. The other was something she said in my final supervised group at SCCC (with Laura and Lawrence, hi guys!) I don’t recall the exact context but she remarked “I’ve been doing this a long time and the longer I do it the more uneasy I feel about suggesting that I can help someone solve their problem. I really try not to do that anymore.” As a new therapist I struggled with that kind of thing for awhile, but Charlotte’s thought about it has never left me, and she was right, as she nearly always was. I grieve for you Charlotte. It was too soon.

Margo wrote: To Charlotte,
I remember when I met you in 2005. You had signed on to be a supervisor and I was executive director. Each week when you arrived for supervision, you would make a point of popping into my office. I remember those visits fondly, we covered clothes, food, hair (who else but you could get away with the purple streak?), and maybe eventually we’d get around to Center business. Your smile, goodness, spirit, intelligence, humor…really the list goes on…was a gift to us all. The Center advanced in training and supervision because of you. You sent so many therapists out into the world knowing what mattered most, and we will remember and miss you always.

xxoo
Margo

John Rosania wrote: I see Charlotte walking into the Center with her purple streak of hair, sit down in one of the chairs in the group meeting room and wait for supervision to start. I loved her enthusiasm for the work of therapy, for social justice, for making a ruckus in service of others. She is one of people I have met who continually inspired me to do the work that matters, not take myself too seriously, and have a good time while doing it. Charlotte encouraged me to take more risks, to stretch out more and bring myself into the work, and to not worry about ruffling a few feathers in the process. I’ll remember her for her humor, her generosity of spirit and of knowledge and of her time with us at the Center. Charlotte, I will miss and will do my best to help make the changes you wanted to see happen in the world.

Leily Labuda wrote: Charlotte and I were to meet at her house on the last day of August to go over the final paperwork as our group supervision was coming to an end.  In the weeks leading up, I would joke that I was experiencing separation anxiety. Our weekly supervision meetings had become something of a safe haven for me (and I think for all of us) during the pandemic. Her warm and smiling face was usually the first one to greet us as we signed onto our Wednesday zooms. She consistently helped ease our anxieties with her wit and wisdom, rooted in decades of experience. Charlotte was compassionate, whip smart, and as real as they come. She was a straight shooter whose no nonsense style helped me better understand my role as a therapist.

We didn’t get to meet on that last day of August, but I feel so fortunate to have gotten to know her this past year and been inspired by her. Sending love to her family and the SCCC family for this heartbreaking loss.

Gail Wilburn wrote: Charlotte was a force and it was my good fortune to experience my sharp-witted, gifted and often hilarious mentor and friend, first when training at the Center (we arrived around the same time) and then when I began as ED 12 years ago. Charlotte was the first person in my new office, saying “you can do this.” and “we are all here to support you.” She stopped in almost every week and we talked about many things, especially as the years went by, our grandchildren. One week, Charlotte stopped by to tell me about her latest trip to San Francisco to see her much beloved granddaughter, saying she had given her new Barbie dolls. When I expressed surprise, Charlotte said, “it’s what she loves, so you do what you do.” Later on, I had to confess to Charlotte that I had bought the Barbie Dream House for my granddaughter and we laughed so hard we were in tears. In conversation with SCCC alum friends over the past few days, we said we thought Charlotte would just live forever. She has left us too soon and she leaves a void for all of us, especially her family who she loved so much.

Jim Holland wrote: Charlotte was one of a kind. Her wit, humour, and breadth of involvement in the lives of so many, made her such a force for positive change in the world. For nearly 4 years I was incredibly fortunate to benefit from her supervision, both in two of her groups, and individually . I wish I could go back and re-experience the richness of some of those moments again. And while Charlotte’s systemic and family oriented approach was music to my ears, what impacted me the most was her insistence on the primacy of context, and as a result, her commitment to social justice and Outreach work.

Charlotte had so many favorite therapeutic sayings. One that comes to mind is “Ask for what you need, listen carefully to the answer, and celebrate the know!” Another was “You know, there’s a fabulous possibility that they’re not going to change!” It’s difficult to believe that I’ll never hear her say those words again. Her passing comes way too soon and the world is much the poorer for it.

Jorie Schuetz wrote: Charlotte, thank you for all of your support, guidance, and humor over this past year. I am so grateful to have been a part of your and Laura’s supervision group. When I think of all of the people you helped over your lifetime, I become overwhelmed. And now, every colleague, trainee, and associate you came into contact with has some Charlotte in their therapy bones, so you will continue to have an impact for decades to come. I admire you very much, and hope I approach life the way you did, Charlotte, with humor, pragmatism, and vivacity. I’ll miss you very much. Wishing you, your family, and your loved ones peace.

Larry from SCCC wrote: Oh, Charlotte, I’m going to miss you! You left us way too soon, and at a time when we could really use your sparkle. We’re just going to have to keep your spirit alive in us going forward. The frequent twinkle in your eye is how I will most remember you.

You and I go way back. We’ve been together at SCCC since you first showed up, and was I glad to see you. We both go further back than that, as we’d been around the worlds of Family Therapy since very close to the beginnings, when seeing families at all was radical. We both know how fun it was to push those boundaries. When I think of your work with families, and with students of family therapy, I don’t know anyone still living who knows how to push as hard—yet as playfully—as you did. I miss all of our old teachers and mentors, as I know you did, and now I’m going to have to miss you, too. It’s getting lonely.

Charlotte and I sat on the board of Ate9 together. When my husband became sick, she immediately came to my side and helped support me through a very difficult time. She was so vibrant and alive, it's truly hard to believe she is no longer here. I still remember when she added a purple streak in her hair! I'm so shocked at her passing, but cherish that she was in my life for the relatively brief time I knew her.

I had the great joy of getting to know Charlotte at Temple Israel of Hollywood. We did social justice work together, and we joined the TIOH Board at the same time. Charlotte was such a force and a presence. She was thoughtful, and her opinions were strong, wise, and expressed with good humor, or when appropriate, with righteous anger. It was impossible to be in a meeting with Charlotte and not both laugh and think at least once. I had so much fun with her on one occasion when she attended a fundraising event I co-hosted. It was a pop-up street art gallery, with a discussion by some prominent LA street artists. Charlotte "got" the art and the artists, their stories, and what they were expressing, in a way most people, many much younger than her, did not. She was hip, fun, and original--one of the people I most loved running into at TIOH events--and I will so greatly miss her wry wit righteous spirit.

What to even say. I can’t tell you, Charlotte, how often I have your voice in my head while I’m working. You guide so much of what I do in the room and the confidence I have in myself as a therapist. I hope you know how incredibly important and formative you were for so many of us growing therapists.

You were always so authentic and funny and honest in that special way that was just the right amount of hard and soft at the same time. You were always exactly what I needed, exactly when I needed it. I feel so lucky to have ever had the chance to learn from you. You were an incredible supervisor and a truly special human being. You were so smart and so very good at what you did.

I’ve been saying this all week, but man, what a woman for this world to lose. Thank you for helping me become the therapist I am today. Thank you for giving so much of yourself to us all. Thank you for showing up in the world in exactly the ways that you did.

Zikhronah livrakhah. I know it is for me.

I had the honor of meeting Charlotte through the Smith College School for Social Work, where we both taught in the summer. Charlotte's humor, clinical understandings, and take on the world were striking and inspiring. Her ability to hold complex situations with both reverence and silliness were great to be in the presence of. I am so sad to hear of her loss to us all. She is certainly someone I'm glad to have shared some time and space on this earth with.

Charlotte was my Mother’s younger first cousin and they were very close, so Charlotte has always been a fixture in my life. She was the big sister I never had.

When we were growing up in NY, my family always spent the holidays with the Spiegelmans in N.J. And the dinner conversations with Charlotte and Arthur were never dull—they were so smart, so fascinating to me—I admired them so much.

I had a difficult relationship with my Mother, and I often turned to Charlotte to help me deal with it, she was so insightful—so caring, she always made me feel better and helped me process the feelings I had. When she became a therapist, it didn’t surprise me at all—she had been mine for so long.

When Charlotte and Arthur moved to California, frankly it was a shock because no one could imagine this pair of East Coast intellectuals actually liking it on the West Coast. But she surprised herself and everyone, because she loved it there, and thanks to her I discovered LA and learned to love it there too.

When I was married 25 years ago in Paris, Charlotte and Arthur were there. They were among the first to welcome Frederic, my French husband, into the family. When my sons were Bar Mitzah-ed in Paris, of course Charlotte made the trip. And last year when the twins graduated from Columbia, she was there. And for those of us who know Charlotte well, you know she didn’t show up out of obligation—that wasn’t her style—she showed up because she wanted to celebrate with us, wanted to be part of all those special moments in our lives.

Charlotte and I had a little joke because technically we were first cousins once removed—but we hated that term “once removed” because it didn’t describe our relationship at all so we used to laugh and say we were “cousins never removed”—
And that’s I feel now—Charlotte will never be removed from my life and my heart. I’m so grateful to have had her in my life for so long.

September 29 - Adam & Michael, Thank you for such a beautiful and loving funeral/memorial service today. Charlotte was an extraordinary person and it was a joy, an honor and “a treat” to call her my friend. We were soul mates and Christopher and I hold dear to our hearts our meal we shared a few months ago in her lovely backyard with food from her favorite Italian restaurant Angelini Osteria. We cherished the fact that we were neighbors and shared the same “hood.” The loss feels almost too much to bear. But we celebrate her life and know her spirit is watching over us all. I hear her laughing ....❤️

This is so sad. I remember Charlotte as such a vital person whom I would visit whenever I was in Los Angeles, both before and after the death of Arthur, one of my oldest and best friends.

All my condolences, Michael and Adam, from Mike Arkus

It is beyond sad that the World no longer has Charlotte to laugh with and enjoy a glass of wine in her garden. A beautiful and remarkable person. I will miss her deeply. Say hello to Arthur when you see him!

Charlotte was part of my life since she first met Arthur in the 1960s. We laughed together and hunted for apartments in London and celebrated Michael’s birth. She would stay with me in NYC before her summer classes at Smith College. And we organized a memorial service for Art in New York. I will never forget her laughter and her advice on everyone’s life. One memory is a soup kitchen she supported and insisted I help out only a few days after Arthur’s death. A kind, generous and loving woman. She will be missed by everyone who knew her.

We were near neighbors of Charlotte and Arthur in Montclair, New Jersey, from 1984 to 1989. I had joined Reuters in New York in 1974. The Spiegelmans blazed the trail to suburban New Jersey for some of us. They were immensely warm, welcoming, friendly, kind, and funny. It is impossible to imagine how much poorer our lives would have been if we had never met them. Regrettably, even the miracles of social media can't completely break down the inevitable barriers of physical distance: they moved west to California and we moved east to Cyprus: a continent, an ocean and a sea away. But I was in New York again in late 2008 and had an unforgettable long phone call with Arthur before his final illness. Charlotte knew how much we loved them both, because I told her so. My deepest sympathy and love to all of you, from half a world away.

Our last meeting says everything about who Charlotte was. A former student of mine posted that she was holding an art exhibition at a local gallery. Who could I call to accompany me during a pandemic? Charlotte, of course. We met there. No carpooling these days. Charlotte inspected every painting, and asked the artist about her work with that undivided attention of which so many have spoken in recent days. We left, and reconvened in Charlotte's backyard. Because it was wine time, of course. We shared stories. Charlotte repeated her favorite stories often, because they featured the sons, daughters-in-law and grandchildren of whom she was so proud. When it got too dark and chilly, I left, missing the long, hard hug I looked forward to receiving when covid was done. We were to write postcards to voters the following week. We even negotiated the wine. When the day came, it was too hot, but the next weekend would work, right? Wrong. Charlotte was in the hospital, itching to get out and telling me not to worry. And now she's gone, and we must live boldly in her memory. With just the right amount of blue in our hair. I love you, Charlotte.