My beloved uncle, Raphael Seelig, passed away unexpectedly in his home in Tel Aviv one month ago, on February 10. Tomorrow marks his shloshim—the end of the first thirty days of mourning in Jewish tradition. Following the intensive seven-day shiva, this is a secondary period of mourning, counted from the day of burial.
Today, though a departure from my usual format, I want to honor this painful and meaningful milestone for my family.
Raphael was eulogized beautifully by all three of his children, his wife, his friends, and both his siblings. I’ll share my dad’s eulogy below because it’s very moving. But first, my own reflections….
During our second week in Freiburg, my cousin Amnon—cantor and spiritual leader of the Jewish community in Mannheim—came to town to perform a concert of jazz standards written by Jewish composers: Irving Berlin, George Gershwin, and the like. Showtime was a little late for Leo, so Erol put him to bed while Rafi and I ventured out together.
Partway through the concert, Amnon introduced the performers and mentioned that he and the accompanist had arranged all the songs—except for one. “My Funny Valentine,” he said, had been arranged by Rafi Seelig, who happened to be sitting in the front row. Then, with an impish smile, he pointed to the youngest audience member—my Rafi—who stifled a grin and squirmed awkwardly in his seat. The joke, of course, was that there was another Rafi Seelig, though he wasn’t in the room: Amnon’s father, my uncle.
To his wife, Varda, his three children, Keren, Amnon, and Uri, and an unimaginably vast circle of friends, he was Rafi. But to me, my dad, Michael, my aunt, Tamara, and their parents, Heinz and Fanny, he was always Raphael.
Jewish tradition discourages naming babies after living relatives. When Erol and I settled on a name for our firstborn, we opted for the spelling Rafael to distinguish him from my uncle. The name means "God heals,” which felt fitting for a preemie born eight weeks ahead of schedule—a fragile creature who needed resuscitation, intubation, and constant monitoring to stay alive. And then, of course, there is the celestial Raphael, the angel of healing. What parent doesn’t look upon their newborn and see an angel? But I always loved that my son shares a name with my uncle because he, too, was a healer and an angel, and I loved him dearly.
Raphael was born the year my dad celebrated his Bar Mitzvah—the year he became an adult, according to Jewish tradition. They were half a generation apart; one entered the world as the other came of age. The death of a baby brother defies the natural order. It makes no sense, which is why my dad is still struggling to process it.
Like so many boys born in the early years of Israeli statehood, Raphael served in the Yom Kippur War. He enlisted in the elite Intelligence Unit 8200 (which went by a different name back then) and was nearly taken captive with his platoon. He returned from war a committed pacifist—but he never stopped being a fighter. A fighter for peace and democracy. He knew which battles were worth fighting and shied away from all the others.
For years, Raphael volunteered with Road to Recovery, an Israeli nonprofit that transports Palestinian patients—mostly children—from the West Bank and Gaza to hospitals in Israel. It’s the same organization for which Oded Lifshitz (z”l) volunteered—the 84-year-old resident of Kibbutz Nir Oz who was taken hostage by Hamas on October 7, 2023, and returned to Israel in a body bag on February 20 alongside two other angels, those gorgeous red-haired babies, Ariel and Kfir Bibas.
Raphael’s heart broke for all children affected by endless war. There is a Palestinian boy in the West Bank who survived his entire family when their home was set ablaze by extremist settlers. My uncle drove him daily to the burn unit in an Israeli hospital. After Raphael’s passing, the boy’s grandfather—now his guardian—sent a voice message to our family, lamenting that he could not cross the border to pay his respects to the special soul who had cared for his grandson. As I listened, I felt every layer of grief—personal, familial, national—converge.
Raphael’s fluent Arabic, which he picked up during his military service, surely helped him connect with people. But I believe he would have found a way even without a common language. He was simply a good, loving, generous person with the highest moral standards—someone who brought joy and comfort wherever he went.
He was the first in my family to make Erol feel completely welcome. While my dad initially looked askance at this questionable half-Turkish German suitor, fourteen years my senior, Raphael immediately embraced him. He spoke to Erol in flawless German, laughed with him, and decided simply to love him. The feeling was mutual. And when I say he embraced Erol, I mean it in every sense—Raphael hugged like no one else. He was tall and burly, and I remember being scooped up off the ground by him as a child. Even when I reached adulthood, his hugs remained engulfing. His laughter, too, was enormous. He’d listen intently, eyes narrowed, almost scowling—and then, suddenly, a big booming laugh would erupt as if from the depths of his being.
Raphael was a professional musician, a gifted linguist, and a lover of culture in all its forms. Every time I saw him, he had a film, dance, or theatre recommendation—the weirder, the better.
He and my aunt Varda serenaded me and Erol in both Hebrew and German at our engagement party in Tel Aviv in 2016. I remember sitting next to Erol, feeling like a little girl again, remembering concerts with my Savta when Raphael and Varda performed with Vocal, the pioneering a cappella octet they co-founded in 1985. Their repertoire spanned everything from Ravel’s Bolero to Rubber Ducky, a contrast that encapsulates Raphael’s character—the learned, cultured component never eclipsed his down-to-earth, silly side.
He loved art and culture, and he loved people even more. The heavenly and earthly combined. Raphael the angel floating above and Raphael the healer firmly rooted in the world below.
I think the best way to honor a loved one is to carry forward the qualities you most admire in them. So please, hold me to this promise: to live a life full of art, long walks with friends, big family dinners, and enormous hugs.
For my dear uncle Raphael, who has left a massive hole in our hearts. May his memory be a blessing. יהי זכרו ברוך
***
EULOGY FOR RAPHAEL BY MY FATHER, MICHAEL (MISHI);
Translated from Hebrew, original below
My Brother, Raphael Seelig (08.10.1951 - 10.02.2025)
My brother, Raphael Seelig, was a good man. “Good” is such a common word, but it says everything about him. He was a model family man, warm-hearted, helpful to others, a person who gave those around him a good feeling. Everyone loved him.
Raphael was the name given to him by our parents, and that’s how he was called by the family. Rafi is the name he chose for himself, and that's how he was known by his wife, children, and friends. Both names suited him very well. He was both the serious, loving Raphael, the angel, and the fun, singing, laughing, and funny Rafi.
Raphael was born right after my Bar Mitzvah. There was an age difference of half a generation between us. This didn’t stop us from understanding each other and feeling like brothers. I loved him, and I know he loved me too. The only time Raphael embarrassed me was at my Bar Mitzvah, before he was born. My mother was pregnant with Raphael, and I was a bit embarrassed. But from the moment he was born, I loved him with an intense love that only grew over the years.
Despite the geographic distance between us, we always kept in very close contact. We had the opportunity to travel together in England, Europe, the United States, and live together in Canada for three years. Since yesterday, I’ve received over 50 condolence letters from people who knew him in Canada.
The music and laughter that were so typical of Raphael started at an early age. In his youth, he played the guitar. He also composed music and founded a band. He continued his music and conducting studies in Jerusalem and later in Munich.
Raphael was an individualist. He didn’t follow conventions. Already in first grade, he refused to wear khaki shirts to school, and instead wore a red shirt that he got from his cousin in the United States. When you met him, he would almost jump on you to give you a kiss and a strong hug, no matter where, no matter when.
In the last few weeks, I’ve been going through several documents I found at my parents' house. Among them, there are letters Raphael wrote to me when I was a student in England. He sent me letters signed under the name HEXE, which means witch. This was the name he gave himself. He wasn’t afraid to be different; in fact, he loved it.
With everything he did in his life – manager of the music department at the Histadrut, conductor and performer in his octet Vocal, travel agent, café entrepreneur, work in high-tech, a mission in Vancouver, and more recently his volunteering with the organization Derech LeHahlamah (Road to Recovery), he was a modest man, a person who loved his family and his dozens, perhaps even hundreds of friends. A person who touched everyone who knew him.
For the past 25 years, since we've been in the country for about six months a year, I’ve been meeting with Raphael for lunch regularly once a week. We don't always talk about current affairs; we simply enjoy being together. Last Friday, Raphael organized a family dinner at his home. When we left, we planned to talk and decide when to meet for lunch – unfortunately, we didn’t set a date..
Raphael, we will miss you more than we ever imagined. We loved you and will continue to love you always.
אחי, רפאל זליג (08/10/51 –10/02/25)
אחי, רפאל זליג היה איש טוב. ’ טוב’ מילה כל כך נפוצה, אומרת הכל עליו. הוא היה איש משפחה למופת, לבבי, עוזר לזולת, אדם שנתן לסובבים אותו רגש טוב. כולם אהבו אותו.
רפאל הוא השם שניתן לו על ידי הורינו וכך הוא נקרא על ידי המשפחה. רפי הוא השם שהוא בחר לעצמו וכך הוא ידוע לאשתו, ילדיו, חבריו. שני השמות יחדיו התאימו לו מאוד.
הוא היה גם רפאל הרציני, האוהב, המלאך. וגם רפי הכיפי הזמר הצוחק והמצחיק.
רפאל נולד מייד לאחר הבר מצווה שלי. היה בינינו הבדל שנים של חצי דור. זה לא הפריע לנו להבין אחד את השני ולהרגיש כאחים.אהבתי אותו ואני יודע שגם אהב אותי. הפעם היחידה שרפאל הביך אותי הייתה בבר מצווה שלי לפני שנולד. אימי הייתה בהריון עם רפאל ואני קצת התביישתי. אבל מהרגע שנולד אהבתי אותו אהבה עזה שרק התעצמה עם השנים.
על אף המרחקים הגאוגרפים בינינו תמיד שמרנו על קשר מאוד הדוק. הייתה לנו הזדמנות לטייל ביחד באנגליה אירופה ארצות הברית ולחיות יחד בקנדה שלוש שנים. מאז אתמול קבלתי למעלה מ50 מכתבי ניחומים מאנשים שהכיר בקנדה.
המוזיקה והצחוק שהיו כל כך טיפוסיים לרפאל התחילו בגיל רך. כבר בצעירותו נגן בגיטרה. הלחין ויסד להקה. הוא גם המשיך בלימודי מוזיקה כמנצח בירושלים ובמינכן.
רפאל היה אינדיבידואליסט. הוא לא הלך עם מוסכמות. כבר בכיתה א׳ סרב ללבוש חולצות חאקי לבית הספר ובמקום לבש חולצה בצבע אדום שקיבל מבן דודו בארצות הברית. כשנפגשת אתו היה כמעט מתנפל עליך לתת לך נשיקה וחיבוק חזק לא חשוב איפה לא חשוב מתי.
בשבועות האחרונים אני עובר על מספר מסמכים שמצאתי בבית הוריי. ביניהם מכתבים שרפאל כתב לי כשהייתי סטודנט באנגליה הוא שלח לי מכתבים שחתם בשם HEXE שפירושו מכשפה זה היה השם שנתן לעצמו. הוא לא פחד להיות שונה הוא בעצם אהב את זה.
עם כל מה שעשה בחייו, – מנהל מחלקת מוזיקה בהסתדרות, שמניית ווקל, סוכן נסיעות, יזם של בתי קפה, עבודה בהייטק , שליחות בוונקובר ולאחרונה התנדבותו בארגון בדרך להחלמה, הוא היה אדם צנוע, אדם שאהב את משפחתו ואתעשרות, אולי אפילו מאות חבריו. אדם שנגע בכל מי שהכיר אותו.
במשך 25 השנים האחרונות מאז אנחנו נמצאים בארץ כששה חודשים בשנה אני נפגש עם רפאל לצהרים באופן קבוע פעם בשבוע. אנחנו לא תמיד משוחחים על אקטואליה אלא פשוט נהנים להיות יחד. ביום שישי האחרון רפאל ארגן ארוחת ערב משפחתית בביתו. כשעזבנו קבענו לדבר ולהחליט מתי נפגש לצהרים – לצערי לא קבענו תאריך...
רפאל, אתה תחסר לנו יותר מאשר חלמנו.
אהבנו אותך ונמשיך לאהוב אותך תמיד.
Such a beautiful tribute Rachel. We saw the loving eulogies earlier from your Dad and Mum. Peter and I met Raphael several times and shared a meal with him and Varda at our home on Cartier during their time in Vancouver. We look forward to seeing Julie and Michael for a chat over dinner on their return to Vancouver. Sending hugs...