Papa,
Nous savons tous que ce moment arrive un jour, mais quand il arrive c’est toujours trop tôt.
Tout le monde ici ne t’a pas connu. Que ceux qui ne t’on pas connu sachent que tu étais un homme profondément responsable et généreux, un homme de bon sens, qui savait toujours approcher la vie avec humour. Je n’aurais jamais pu accomplir ce que j’ai accompli sans ton soutien et ta générosité.
Après le décès de maman –alors que Valérie, Aurore et moi étions encore jeunes– tu as pris sur toi, avec courage et responsabilité, de nous élever seul.
Il y a deux ans, presque jour pour jour, ton meilleur ami Gérard Latortue nous quittait. Vous êtes maintenant réunis, vous racontant vos blagues d’antan. Gérard était un diplomate haïtien qui devint premier ministre de son pays. Vous vous étiez rencontrés à Paris alors que vous étiez tous deux étudiants. Gérard avait posté sur une annonce à la cité universitaire qu’il cherchait un partenaire pour voyager en Scandinavie. Au téléphone, vous vous étiez mis d’accord pour voyager ensemble.
Mais c’était la France de la fin des années 50, et Gérard voulait que tu saches quelque chose que tu ne pouvais pas voir au téléphone. « Voilà » te dit-il « je suis Noir. » Ce à quoi tu répondis du tac-au-tac : « Ça tombe bien, je suis Juif. » Et vous devinrent les meilleurs amis du monde.
C’était ça Papa : le bon sens, l’humour, la fidélité.
Une fidélité à la famille, aux amis, et à la tradition juive.
Un ami d’enfance à toi, Charley Pietri, nous avait écrit à Sima et à moi un poème pour notre mariage, qui disait entre autres : « De Meknès à Jérusalem, en passant par Paris : que de feuilles fanées, et que de chemin parcouru. » Ce chemin s’achève pour toi en Israël, mais il continue à travers tes enfants et petits-enfants. Je sais à quel point tu étais fier d’avoir des petits-enfants israéliens, même si l’un d’entre eux commit l’impair, dans sa tendre enfance, de nommer un croissant « bourekas. »
Et je sais que tu es d’autant plus fier d’eux aujourd’hui qu’ils protègent notre pays et notre peuple.
Nous sommes tous fiers de toi. Fier du père et du grand-père que tu as été. Nous ne serions pas ce que nous sommes sans toi.
Tous les membres de la famille et tous les amis qui m’ont écrit après avoir appris la nouvelle de ton départ se souviennent de ton amour de la vie, de ta générosité, de ton sens de l’humour, de ton attachement à la famille, et de ton affection pour les enfants.
Je veux dire merci à Ruth, pour l’amour et pour l’attention qu’elle t’a donné. Ruth a été une עזר כנגדו, un soutien à tes côtés, et une אשת חיל, une femme de valeur, qui t’a accompagné et soutenu pendant votre mariage et dans tes derniers moments.
Papa, les gens t’appelaient Sam. Ton prénom hébraïque est Shlomo. A la bar-mitzvah d’Ethan, dont le deuxième nom est Shlomo, tu avais cité le Livre de l’Ecclésiaste (Kohelet) attribué au Roi Salomon. La parasha d’Ethan est « Yitro », qui est la parasha de cette semaine.
Le livre de Kohelet a été canonisé bien qu’il soit déroutant par ses contradictions et par ses mots durs sur la vie. Mais c’est un livre qui nous rappelle cette évidence : « Il y a un temps pour tout sous le ciel. Un temps pour naître, et un temps pour mourir … Un temps pour pleurer, et un temps pour rire … Un temps pour la guerre, et un temps pour la paix. » Aujourd’hui nous pleurons, mais nous rirons de nouveau, comme tu nous faisais rire avec tes bonnes blagues –à part celles qui commençaient en Français et qui se terminaient en Arabe, et que nous ne pouvions comprendre.
Le Livre de Kohelet, c’est également la leçon du vieux sage revenu de tout. Shlomo conclut son livre compliqué avec un message simple : « Au bout du compte, et après avoir tout dit, craint Dieu et observe ses commandements, car c’est là tout l’homme. »
Le bon sens de Shlomo. Le bon sens qui était le tien.
Repose en paix, Papa. Ta dernière demeure est en Terre d’Israël, entouré de gens qui t’aiment et qui t’admirent, de petits-enfants qui t’adorent et qui nous remplissent de fierté. C’est l’ultime rétribution de l’homme juste que tu as été.
Emmanuel Navon (Mréjen), 10 février 2025
ENGLISH TRANSLATION:
Papa,
We all know that this moment comes one day, but when it does it’s always too soon.
Not everyone here knew you. They should know that you were a very responsible and generous man, a man of common sense, who always approached life with humor. I could never have accomplished what I accomplished without your support and generosity.
After Mom passed away—when Valérie, Aurore, and I were still young—you took it upon yourself, with courage and responsibility, to raise us alone.
Two years ago, your best friend Gérard Latortue left us. You are now reunited, telling each other your old jokes. Gérard was a Haitian diplomat who became prime minister of his country. You had met in Paris, where both of you were students. Gérard had posted an ad on campus that he was looking for a partner to travel to Scandinavia. Over the phone, the two of you had agreed to travel together.
But this was France in the late 1950s, and Gérard wanted you to know something you couldn’t see on the phone. “Well,” he said, “I’m black.” To which you replied immediately: “That’s great: I’m Jewish.” And you became the best of friends.
That was Papa: common sense, humor, loyalty.
A loyalty to family, to friends, and to Jewish tradition.
A childhood friend of yours, Charley Pietri, had written a poem to Sima and I for our wedding, which said among other things: “From Meknes to Jerusalem, via Paris: so many faded leaves, but what a journey.” This journey ends for you in Israel, but it continues through your children and grandchildren. I know how proud you were to have Israeli grandchildren, even if one of them made the faux pas, as a young child, of calling a croissant “bourekas.”
And I know that you are even more proud of them today that they protect our country and our people.
We are all proud of you. Proud of the father and grandfather you were. We would not be who we are without you.
All the family members and friends who wrote to me after hearing the news of your passing remember your love of life, your generosity, your sense of humor, your commitment to family, and your special connection to children.
I want to say thank you to Ruth, for the love and attention she gave you. Ruth was a עזר כנגדו, a support at your side, and a אשת חיל, a woman of valor, who accompanied and supported you during your marriage and in your final moments.
Papa, people called you Sam. Your Hebrew name is Shlomo. At Ethan’s bar mitzvah, whose second name is Shlomo, you quoted the Book of Ecclesiastes (Kohelet) attributed to King Solomon. Ethan’s parsha is “Yitro,” which is this week’s parsha.
The book of Kohelet has been canonized even though it is confusing because of its contradictions and its harsh words about life. But it is a book that reminds us of the obvious: “There is a time for everything under heaven … A time to be born, and a time to die… A time to weep, and a time to laugh… A time for war, and a time for peace.” Today we weep, but we shall laugh again, as you made us laugh with your good jokes – except for the ones that started in French and ended in Arabic, and which we didn’t understand.
Kohelet is also the lesson of the old wise man who has seen it all. Shlomo concludes his complicated book with a simple message: “In the end, and after having said everything, fear God and keep his commandments, for that is what man is all about.”
The common sense of Shlomo. The common sense that was yours.
Rest in peace, Papa. Your final resting place is in the Land of Israel, surrounded by people who love and admire you, by grandchildren who adore you and who fill us with pride. This is the ultimate reward for the righteous man you were.
LETTER FROM MARLENE, GAILLE, STEPHANIE, AND ALEXIA LATORTUE:
Everyone gathered today to celebrate the beautiful life of Sam Mrejen may not know that in addition to family in Morocco, France and Israel, Sam also has a Haitian family that loves him, the Latortues.
At the heart of this family is an epic friendship that began with a long road trip of a Jewish student and a black student from Paris to Scandinavia. What started out as a practical and business arrangement – Sam had a car, Gerard Latortue had gas money, and both wanted an adventure – grew into a loyal, brotherly love.
Sam, or Sammy as Gerard often called him, had a twinkle in his eyes, enjoyed chatting with perfect strangers, showed love by teasing – the more he loved you, the more he would tease you – and had overflowing laughter and joie de vivre to share.
Well into their 80s, whenever they were together, including the last time they saw each other in London, something magical happened with Sam and Gerard. Their step had more spring, they stood taller, any worry lines disappeared from their faces…they were young, handsome, charming students once again. The jokes would flow, the stories would come fast, one after the other. Pure joy. Pure friendship.
But their friendship was not a light one. It was deep and real, and they were there for each other in their hardest moments as well as their happiest moments. Gerard was by Sam’s side when he lost the mother of his three children. Sam flew to Haiti to give Gerard support when he first worked in government there. Gerard donned a kippah and was by Sam’s side here in Israel when Emmanuel got married. Sam flew to Florida to attend the wedding of Gerard’s first daughter to get married, Stephanie, and flew to Washington, DC for the baptism of Gerard’s grandchild, Gaielle’s son, Galen.
The bond between Sam and Gerard extended to their families. Everyone knew that to be in the inner circle of either man, meant accepting and growing to love the brother from another mother.
And it was easy for us, Marlene, Gerard’s wife, and his three daughters, Gaielle, Stephanie, and Alexia to love Sam. Sam is generosity embodied. Sam is abundant love. Sam is the warmth of his native Morocco. Sam is a Papa Poule – his family was his everything. Sam is a mensch. Yes, he was well dressed and had a fine address in Paris, but there was not a drop of show or pretense to Sam. He often delighted in being slightly irreverent to the norms and expectations of society. He treated everyone with respect and love.
Sam, thank you for your love. We miss you and our hearts go out to your three children, and their children that you loved so fiercely, and to your dear Ruth who loved and cared for you until the end.
In this moment of sorrow, we are comforted by the vision of you, Sam, and Gerard, reunited in the heavens causing just a little bit of mischief.
Marlene, Gaielle, Stephanie and Alexia Latortue.