A friend and neighbor mentioned to us that she had a piece that would be airing on Susan Stamberg's show "Hanukkah Lights." We tuned in, and there was Ehud! With a wonderful piece about a Holiday Season in NYC when he was a young adult. Touching, moving and funny, he was all there. And things I didn't know, so appreciated. Here is a link if you want to listen: https://www.npr.org/series/hanukkah-lights/ Ehud is in the segment for 2022. New Year's Best to all --- Amey

We shared our singing voices and the love of choral music. It's complexity and joy and ability to uplift. I bring you with me each time I listen or join. And that's pretty much daily.
Always my big brother.

Last night, in Corvallis, after a two-year Covid-19 hiatus, The Magic Barrel: A Reading to Fight Hunger returned to the 100-year-old Whiteside Theater.  The Magic Barrel is an event featuring live music and readings by local writers to raise money for Linn-Benton Food Share. Ehud was one of the event's co-founders, over a quarter of a century ago now. We invoked his name last night, as part of our celebration of the Barrel's history of community generosity. I told the story of how one day Ehud came into my home study and saw a book called A Dictionary of Angels on my bookshelf. He asked why I had it. I had just picked it up one day out of curiosity. "Let me show you something," he said. He turned to the book's acknowledgments page and pointed out the name Meir Havazelet, one of the scholars who'd helped the book's author track down obscure winged creatures for his compendium. "My father," Ehud said to me, with the mix of loving pride, perplexity, irony, and exasperation he often expressed when speaking of his dad. It did not then, and does not now, surprise me to know that, somehow, Ehud had angels in his background, even if that background sometimes burdened him. He remains one of the Angels of the Magic Barrel, an ongoing legacy of giving to the homeless and needy in the Willamette Valley which Ehud loved and where he now rests. In this season of remembrance, we were honored to say his name.  
  

Working hard to continue to make you proud.
Love you infinitely
Rutie (forever the baby sister)

Ehud—I miss you in a big way through all the big things.

Right now, our younger daughter, Zo, age 10 (you know, you met her at day 7) is at sleepaway camp (Camp Tamarack—do I remember that Coby went there? maybe not). The Grandview Fire raging 12 miles east. It shouldn’t, but it could get to her faster than we could, in under two hours. So, I didn’t sleep last night and we’re probably heading to be closer to her shortly.

This present worry I share is a drop in the bucket compared with what’s been going on for anyone and everyone. You’d be impressed by the level of universal catastrophe—to put it lightly. And of course, some people are suffering more than others.

An invitation to say we want you back?

Many years ago, when leaving Boston after visiting Ehud there, he placed a set of headphones on me and introduced me to the music of Pat Metheny. For the past few years, on Ehud’s birthday, I sit down and listen to Pat Metheny’s “Last Train Home” . It is a yearning and lyrical melody that allows me to pay tribute to a special person who was my friend .

Re-reading What is it Then Between Us. Feeling reconnected to his voice and our shared life experiences. Forever Missed.
Leora (forever younger sister).

I reviewed "Like Never Before" for the Los Angeles Jewish Journal back in 1999 (https://jewishjournal.com/old_stories/2122/). I thought then, and I still think so 20 years later, that it is the finest set of short stories I have ever read. I just read "Leah" again in honor of Ehud, and it seems to me, like the other stories in the book, close to perfect.

Gone way too soon, but what a literary legacy he left. I wish I could have met him. May his memory be a blessing.

Ehud used to kid me that I was older than he was --by just over a month. This would have been his Medicare year. I just finished the nightmare of enrolling in it.  How I would have relished hashing out with him, over drinks at Squirrel's, how ridiculous the bureaucracy was--especially in this pandemic year, which has exposed what a frail latticework our national health care system is. Still, I recall that most of Ehud's doctors were kind and good and skilled; they helped keep him with us, gracing our lives, longer than we might have expected. In covid-lockdown, we are constantly reminded to thank our heroes. When I recall Ehud's last years with us, I remember that, more than the doctors, it was Molly and Ehud's sisters that kept him going. I nominate THEM as my heroes.
   Happy 65th, E--a little late. You're an old man, old man. 
  

Ehud was my teacher in my last semester of my MFA at Warren Wilson College, 1995-1996. I owe him very much for that semester, and remember him so well and fondly! I am just now publishing a volume that uses some of the work we did together. If he were living, I would would be so happy to send him this volume, titled "Snakes," the first volume of a four-part series "Songs of All Other Birds." But I am fortunate to have this way to light a candle, and to feel part of a community of sharers of his life and legacy.

As Chanukah approaches, Ehud is here. Although he always is. No matter what, Ehud, Molly, Michael and Coby would be in New York to celebrate. And inevitably, a very large carton filled with gifts. One gift would never do. 2 or 3 minimum for each person. And always something you never knew you wanted. I miss my big brother. Always and continually looking out for us.

Came across a quote the other day and thought of Ehud. It's from Frederick Douglass: "A man is worked on by what he works on. He may carve out his circumstances, but his circumstances will carve him out as well." Ehud worked hard but he was also flexible, rolling with circumstances and doing what he had to do. And all the while, he kept working. Among the things he worked on was his beautiful family, and, at another year's end, here's to Molly, Coby, Michael, Butch, and Brenda. Ehud also worked on friendship. There was no better friend. He improved all our circumstances. May the new year be good to all those he touched.

Thinking of Ehud, Molly, Michael, Coby, sisters, and all.

"We lose our way in fear and pain...Let Joy Begin" (Dave Matthews). I think Ehud would appreciate the lyric as he remains my big brother and cheerleader.

I'm afraid that I am very late in finding out that Ehud has passed. I'm so sad to hear. It's not surprising that I'm out of touch, considering that 25 years ago I took two summer school classes in creative writing and Chekhov's short stories, both taught by Ehud. Then I never saw him again.
It feels worth noting that those two classes stayed with me like no other before or since. Ehud introduced me to a life-long love of Raymond Carver and, more importantly, showed me that learning could be a true pleasure after a miserable high school experience.
For which I will always be grateful. 
So, thank you Ehud.

Victor, I appreciate what you wrote and empathize with the loss you might feel in recognizing you can't be berated, ever-so-precisely, by Ehud again. If you're experience is anything like mine, though, I imagine you will find yourself at times readily re-creating his voice--along with his tremendous tonal variety (soft and humble to loud and sure). The distinction of his voice, tied as it is to the distinction of his ways of seeing, might lead you to feeling privy even still to the approach of his insight, despite that the exact content to which he might apply himself is new. I stumble on what triggers recreations of him. On the spot now, I hear Ehud saying, "I'm not sure there is much that's new." If I allowed him, he could go on: qualifying, discovering, honing, enriching.

I am just learning this morning of Ehud's being gone--I guess we'd been out of touch for a while; I was going to write to him about Gary Saul Morson's NYRB piece about Isaac Babel, any reference to whom makes me think of Ehud, who, if memory serves me, he greatly admired. Sad as I am to learn that he is not there to correct or coach me, as he would surely have done in response, I take some considerable solace in reading that the happiness he'd come to when I last knew him evidently and reliably persisted: I am not at all surprised that that happiness derived from his children--I remember well when the first was born and how he fretted and doted--and from Molly; I don't know when our last conversation was--I think we ran into each other by accident at some conference--but his happiness in that bond was then all he wanted to talk about. Happiness did not come easily to him, as I recall, and it's wonderful that he found it and held it, heartbreaking that those who loved him (and all the rest of us too) lost such a dedicated teacher and maker of words, and such a good and earnest man, so young.

I suppose it's my appreciation for the fragility of life, that has led me to re-visit the loss, our loss of Ehud.

Brother of my dear childhood friend, his sister Tali, and special friend to my older sister Chedva. Their birthdays were exactly one month apart. His presence was a bright light in our lives. At Camp Massad Gimel, when I was nine, he held me by my ankles and turned me upside down:)

With ongoing prayers and embraces to the Havazelet Family, and to fellow travelers.

Warm hug/breeze/kiss/thought/embrace/tear and a chuckle from me to you my big brother. not necessarily in that order. When the Yankees almost made it to the penant. thought of Ehud, the most ardent Yankee fan I know. When a friend mentioned that  Jerry Garcia's favorite guitarist was Steve Kemoch- thought of Ehd as I always think of Ehud as i enjoy skb.  When reading A Gentleman in Moscow I thought of Ehud  as he introduced me to the Russian classics and thought he might enjoy the parodies. As Costo started displaying their holiday treats including giant toblerones I thought of Ehud. I guess most of my little daily pleasures conjure up the love and appreciation for my big brother.

It has been 2 years. Can it be? It seems my love for you grows as the time passes. I hope you don't mind my constant communications!
I continue to be grateful for a brother like you as you continue to guide me in living this life with fullness.

Two years gone, my friend. How swiftly go the days. The Series was something this year, and I always think of you when it comes to baseball! Sending love to Molly and the boys from sunny San Diego where I now live, teach writing and paint. I introduced a group of students to Raymond Carver's poetry this past spring and again, thought of you and your love of Carver. Great classes you taught, Ehud. We remember you well.

Visited Ehud today in his resting place. He has a gorgeous view of the blue Cascades, and the distant snowy peaks. Molly found him the serenest spot in the entire Northwest. Thought of those lines from Dante: "The hour had fallen when the traveler bends / his yearning and his softened heart toward home, / the day he's bid farewell to his sweet friends; / the hour that wrings the pilgrim just away / should he hear home's beloved bells afar, / that seem to mourn the dying of the day." Peace, my friend.

It was rare that I heard Ehud tell a story that went nowhere. There is one though that he told more than once. It is the story of how Coby was almost born on Ehud's own birthday. "It was pretty cool because we had a sense...and then Molly found out the due date...and I had high hopes that..." His face energized, lit, same as when he told his "I got to play with..." jazz story. But unlike the other, this story goes nowhere, as we know. Coby, you were not born on your dad's birthday. Ehud--as far as I know--wasn't one for symbolism, but apparently cool with even prospective symbolism if an underscore of connection with his sons.

I'm not sure what Ehud liked better- celebrating his birthday or celebrating everyone else's. I have never known a more joyful gift giver. Several years ago the adults decided maybe it was time to discontinue Hanuka gifts to the adults and just focus on the kids. Ehud's response "You can do what you want, but I'm buying you guys gifts." Needless to say he is the gift that keeps on giving.. and yes, we still buy gifts for everyone- including the adults.

Dear Molly, Michael, and Coby--Ehud told us in seminar that one of Malamud's best, most tender lines is buried in one of his lesser stories.  Maybe the line is famous in your home. If not, I want to offer it, a self-consciously farfetched encouragement, something I hear as if direct from your husband and father: "Be uphearted, not down." I remember Ehud saying something like, "That's love from someone who knows suffering is not just possible, it's inevitable. This is there even in the syntax. What the character knows, then, is what sustains us. Love, connection, encouragement." I send love to each of you.

I knew Ehud as one of my writing tutors during my time in Oregon, 1993-95, and remember him as a man of generosity, insight and precision in his work (and who demanded precision from me, for which I thank him). I have thought of him from time to time over the years, wondered how he was getting on, and was again reminded of him recently by a friend from those years who considered him the best of the fiction teachers at U of O. Just a few weeks ago, his book "Bearing the Body" arrived in the mail. Hearing of his passing just now was a coincidence and a shock; the world has lost a good man.

My Uncle Ehud was a very loving and interesting man. I appreciated and admired his love for literature and films. Uncle Ehud and I shared an interest in the human condition. Almost every time I got to see the Brown/Havazelet family, regardless of the occasion, I'd always end up at a movie theater. Uncle Ehud and Coby would always rate the trailers by giving them a thumbs up, down, or in the middle. I thought this was very cute considering I'm very quick to judge things and sometimes trailers don't really encapsulate the essence of a movie because they're too short. I read The Great Gatsby this year for school and loved it. I told Uncle Ehud that I loved "The Great American Novel" and he brought up an interesting point about how the reader doesn't know much about Nick Carraway, the narrator. That was definitely something for me to think about... I think there's a good quote from the Buddhist belief called Ponga that truly described Ehud Havazelet: "Don't forget to shed your illusions about how the world works and your self-imposed limitations." Thanks Uncle Ehud for showing me and everyone in YOUR life that resilience is an essential weapon for combating illness and life challenges in general. Gratitude reciprocates and I'm always grateful to have been your niece.

On this eve of Thanksgiving, I am thankful that Ehud was a part of my life. For some magical years in the mid- to late seventies we explored Europe--from the caves of Matala to the remote islands of the Hebrides--with our friend Tim, and pioneered loft living in downtown NYC with Tim, Greg, Leora, and Eliza. And I remember many nights at Le Bistro in Edinburgh and Canon's in NYC listening to him play guitar and sing his songs (he was as gifted a songwriter as he was a writer). I am most grateful that he remained a lifelong friend and was in recent years my email correspondent, book guru, and dear friend. I send my deepest condolences to Molly, Coby, Michael, Leora, Tali, Rutie and all who loved him.

Ehud was a life-changing mentor and teacher who taught me more about writing than anyone else before or since. The fact that he believed in me made me believe in myself, and still does. I still can't believe he's gone. I cherish all the time I had with him, and count myself so lucky to have been an advisee of his at the U of O. I will miss his keen insight into the craft of writing, his expert ability to diagnose exactly where a story has gone off track, his invaluable suggestions as to how to make a piece cut deeper and say something authentic and surprising about the human condition. I will also dearly miss his friendship, which was, from the beginning, unwavering.

Molly...I just heard this sad news today and am sending love to you and Coby. Ehud was a wonderful teacher and writer and will be missed by so many. You and Coby brought him to the place Raymond Carver described when asked if he got what he'd wanted...Ehud was certainly a man who could call himself beloved in this world. 

...from San Diego.
Molly Larson Cook

We first met at Camp Massad Gimmel at the age of eleven and Ehud thought that I was older because I was in an older division. This became a life long joke because we were exactly a month apart and he was the older of the two of us. It is hard to believe that at age eleven, he could have had such an enormous impact on my life. We maintained contact through our teens and into our mid-twenties, navigating the angst of youth and adolescence. He played guitar then, his first big song was the Beach Boys' Sloop John b, which made him cringe when reminded of that.. He progressed to far better songs and I loved listening to him play. We started sending each other birthday greetings every July and August for the past several years. We would catch up on our years and it was one of my favorite birthday moments reading his messages. Lately, when I knew he wasn't well, I texted him on October 28th, just checking in to see how he was doing. He thanked me for thinking of him. I am only grateful that we re-established a connection in our adult years and that he knew that I was thinking of him. When I look at the picture that you posted of him standing against the backdrop of nature, I smile. That is how I also see him, alas, years younger, longer hair, against the beauty of nature in a tee shirt and shorts. I am so deeply sorry for your loss. He has always been and will remain in my thoughts and heart,always.

I remember meeting Ehud when we first moved to Corvallis. He invited us to his 50th birthday celebration. He seemed so very happy with friends and family around him, and a beer in his hand. He was such a warm and inviting person, and so kind to us. I am sorry that I did not get to know him better over the years, but I will always think kindly of him. And for sure, the next time I hear a Grateful Dead song, I will think of Ehud with a smile.

So many memories come rushing in...We were closer than brothers once upon a time. Leora, Tali, Rutie & Meir -- how many Shabbatot & weekends did I spend at your house? We were inseparable... until our lives took different paths.
Everyone is memorializing (rightly so) the writer...I remember the laughs most of all...And the long talks through the night about love, lovers and the meaning of life...And yes, there were books, as well as the NY Yankees, Bette Davis vs Katherine Hepburn, terrible foreign films, Blimpie's tuna subs ('cause we were all kosher then!) plus sex, drugs and rock 'n' roll.
I will miss him and always cherish our the time we spent together.

Growing up in Brooklyn and Queens, every Friday afternoon Ehud went to the library and arrived home with a minimum of 5 books he planned to read that Shabbos. He laid them out in front of him on the floor perusing-his newfound riches (like an heiress admiring her jewels). I believe he read all until the Shabbos clock ( timer) turned off the light over the couch or armchair (he always claimed the best spot) in the living room.

Each time I would visit Ehud, we would inevitably spend entire afternoons in used book stores. My joy of this activity came from his pleasure at sharing. He would recommend books for me and I would travel home with a minimum of 10-15 books. I still have the back pack Molly had to lend me to carry back all my "prizes."

truth be told -- he read even later into the night when the timer "accidentally" turned the light back on.

We used to go hear Ehud play guitar at Cannon’s bar on the Upper West Side in college. He did covers and some originals including his biggest hit ”Babe it’s just a matter of time”
Before you got me lovin’ you
You seem to stay on my mind
My Baby you know it
You sure know how to show your love to me….. guitar riff.