Posts from — August 2008

A year ago, when Facebook dominated much of the digital news, I created a profile out of curiosity and used it to contact people from India and Dubai with whom I had collaborated yet never met. Back then it seemed Facebook was little more than a touchy-feely application that offered pictures of previously faceless people at work and play. Subsequently, I used it sparingly.

In recent weeks however my usage has skyrocketed. When I moved to Louisville from Charlotte four years ago, arguably the biggest loss in the transition was connections to past students. As we moved on to new places, college, new jobs and new relationships, I struggled to maintain loose ties with them via email, the occasional phone call or visits of convenience. Facebook makes it incredibly easy to reconnect and keep up with each other in near-real time. What started with trading messages and photos with three students soon reached fifty. As I peered in on their lives and shared elements of my own, old and welcome feelings were rekindled.

So it was this past Monday one of my students replied to a post I’d made the day before. Jon was excited to hear from me. He’d graduated college last year and has a job that provides the challenges and rewards he needs. He thought that it was ‘awesome’ that I was going to grad school and was quick to philosophize ‘What else do we really have besides knowledge?’. I spent the next twenty minutes looking in on his life through the photos that he and friends had posted.

Early Wednesday morning, as I often do after work, I spent time replying to emails, checking voice mails and monitoring selected blogs. To keep the conversation rolling between me and Jon, I thought to post something funny and thought-provoking. However, as soon as I reached his page, it was evident that something was wrong.

“…my thoughts and prayers go out to you and your family”
“I’m sorry for your loss…”
“baruch dayan haemes…”

Not a single post included details, suggesting the worst. So I googled his unique family name together with Charlotte and found the headline no one wants to read. “Man accused of killing landlord during eviction”. Jon’s father was dead, the victim of senseless violence.

I’d met Jacob Massachi on several occasions. As I prepared for my weekly class, he’d come by to see how Jon was doing. It was his voice I remember most clearly, not the words but their tenderness when speaking of Jon. Jacob smiled broadly when told that not only did Jon contribute to the discussions, but that he defended his opinions and often stayed after class to ask more questions.

Jon and Jacob Massachi, East Carolina Univ., May 2007

The tenderness Jacob expressed in my classroom was echoed by residents of Charlotte’s Grier Heights neighborhood. Known as ‘Mr. Jacob, the rent man’ to tenants, he often worked deals and gave breaks on rent if they couldn’t pay. They along with neighbors, friends and family erected a small memorial on the spot where Jacob died.

At home, I said prayers and lit two candles: one for Jacob’s memory and one in hopes of keeping the light of Jacob in Jon. I wished I had known Jacob Massachi better. I’d ask him about his odyssey from Iran to Israel to America. But I’d listen best to his secrets to raising good children. He must have been a master.