Nietzsche once quipped that all of the interesting people are missing from heaven. Nietzsche had clearly never met Norman Adler. Adler was a true tzadik, talmid chacham, exuberant humanist, master of email haikus, lover of Indian dance music and Japanese flower arrangements. And to me, he was the closest teacher I ever had, a mentor and friend who guided me through every step of life, ever since I met him ten years ago.
I first came to know Adler when I was sixteen, during my first semester at YU. Adler taught a seminar in Psychology and Religion. He was the first role model I encountered who showed me that I could love Judaism and at the same time explore science, philosophy, literature, art, music, and the Big Questions with an open mind. If that sounds trivial to you, you were probably never an impressionable first-year in the Beit Midrash at YU.
Adler set me off on the path that has been my life for the past ten years. He helped me develop a love for neuroscience and philosophy, passions I would continue throughout college and in graduate school. Together we started the Yeshiva College Neuroscience Society. At a time when hardly anyone was talking about neuroscience at YU, Adler had a vision for where YU needed to be to more toward the future. Through YCNS, I became very close with Norman Adler during my time at YU. Hardly a day would go by when we wouldn’t exchange emails, texts, memes.
Norman Adler was a fighter. Almost any time I would speak with him, he would tell me about the battles he was waging with the Powers that Be. We need to hire more neuroscience professors. More funding for the Honors program events and arts and the drama program. How can we get students more involved in science research? Please, please don’t cut the drama program. Adler’s vision for YU was by no means one that he shared with all of his colleagues. He showed us, though, not to be afraid to fight for what we believed in. Yet while Adler fought and fought, he loved and was beloved by all. In a university rife with polarization, he was the one who could talk with Rav Schachter in the morning and the art history professor in the afternoon and bring them together over dinner.
Adler fought most of all for his students. He would sign off his emails to me “GF” - Godfather. He would do anything for us. He once emailed me about a close student of his who he was trying to get into grad school. At the bottom of the email he pasted a horse head. He would do whatever it took. Adler wanted us all to know that when push came to shove, he believed in us and would be there for us.
And he was there for me. Adler fought for me countless times. When I wanted to take neuroscience classes that YU didn’t offer, Adler helped arrange for me to take them elsewhere. When I began to feel that YU was not the right college for me, Adler spent countless hours speaking with me and connecting me with his long-time friends to help me find a college I was a better fit for. After I graduated, I had an important interview coming up, and Adler did round after round of practice interviews with me. I once had to prepare for a panel interview, and Adler moved mountains to get five professors in a room to practice with me. He always gave me honest criticism with his left hand and unwavering friendship with his right.
I wanted to share with others the love for interdisciplinary conversation between the sciences and the humanities that Adler had instilled in me. In my junior year, I started a journal, Flourish, bringing together fifteen articles from psychology, literature, philosophy, neuroscience, and the arts into dialogue about questions of human flourishing. I dedicated the first issue of Flourish to Adler four years ago, and the journal still continues publishing issues and running events today.
I will never forget the time we spent in his favorite cafe in Emek Refaim, when he seemed far more concerned about the future of the YU Honors program and whether neuroethics could ever be a science than his increasingly dire medical problems. There was always one question he never bored of discussing: If one neuron can make the difference between action and inaction, could the firing of one neuron save a life? Determine the fate of Modern Orthodoxy? The Jewish people?
Adler knew that even if his body passed away, his ethos and his vision would live on through the countless students he influenced. Chazal say that Tzadikim do not die. Long after his final zany email, his legacy lasts eternal, passed on through ever-continuing influences of students and students of students. Like waves of neurons, inspired by their energetic predecessors, firing and flowing and cascading on and on, influencing many neurons down the line, far after the first neuron beats silent. Yehi Zichro Baruch.