About Joe Burstein, L.Ac. - Written approximately 2003
When a patient visits a medical practitioner, the practitioner usually asks about the patient. However, the patient may not know much about the practitioner. So, I would like to tell you some things about myself and why I practice acupuncture and Asian wholistic medicine.
When I was around seven years old, I began being ill frequently. At that age I was diagnosed with a congenital (born with) narrow urinary bladder neck. The standard treatment at that time was dilation, or stretching, of the bladder neck while under general anesthesia. (Now I know that simple acupuncture stimulation of a point on the lower abdomen will have the same beneficial effect, without the pain, for many people). In the days following the procedure I always experienced substantial pain. I underwent this treatment more than ten times by the age of twelve. At age eleven or twelve, I began experiencing severe fatigue, painful and weak joints, and bouts of dizziness, headaches, and eye pain. Walking quickly caused my knees to collapse.
Over the next three years I was absent for nine months from school. Although my family’s good friend, Elias Leikind, M.D., was about to explain what was happening to me neurologically,, he was unable to stop it. At fifteen years old, I lost the ability to read or easily see anything small and my eyes were so painfully sensitive to the light that I needed to wear sunglasses even indoors. By age sixteen I had begun learning Braille and I accomplished the last 2 years of high school and the first 2 years of college by recording and memorizing lectures and having people read to me. Initially, I attended college part time because studying for any duration caused me extreme pain and loss of focus of my vision. It was during this time that our friend, Dr. Leikind, suggested that I try a new experimental drug, DMSO, and I traveled to Portland, Oregon, to be treated by the discoverer, Dr. Stanley Jacob, M.D., at the University of Oregon Medical School.
Treatment with DMSO brought an amazing improvement in my condition. I had more energy, my joints were no longer painful and weak, and my eyes were no longer sensitive to light. However, I could not read because my eyes still would not focus. In 1974, when I was 21 years old, my mother suggested that I try acupuncture for my vision and my first response was, “No way!” I had no desire to undergo more medical treatments, especially one involving needles, and I was terrified at the thought. Eventually, though, I said OK.
Dr. D. Young Rhie was my first acupuncturist and he treated me three times per week. At his office I met patients who no longer had pain after years of suffering, people who had been confined for years to wheelchairs and now were walking. Soon I was one of those patients whose life was changed. After six months of treatment, I felt better than I could ever remember feeling at any time in my life and, best of all, I had no more pain and I could read.
In addition to this amazing improvement in my health, something else was happening to me at this time. Beginning during the first few weeks of my treatments, I began dreaming that I was an acupuncturist. I would wake in the middle of the night having seen this vision with perfect clarity. At first I tried to deny the visions, but the dreams and the experience of my own healing led me to ask the question, “Why me?” Why was my vision saved and not someone else’s? Why had I suffered for so long and then been healed? The only answer that made any sense to me was that I was being shown my purpose in life: to alleviate suffering and to help others heal through acupuncture. God had granted me a gift and it was up to me to use that gift wisely. So, I decided that I needed to learn acupuncture to the best of my ability.
Because there were no acupuncture schools in the United States in 1974, I had the great fortune to begin my education as an apprentice to my own acupuncturist, Dr. Rhie. After one year of training with Dr. Rhie, I began studying with the late acupuncturist and master of herbal medicine, Yuet Sun Chan, and with Dr. Wai Tak Cheung. Dr. Cheung still practices in Oregon and it was he who sent me, in 1977, to study with the late acupuncture grandmaster, Dr. James Tin Yau So, at the newly opened New England School of Acupuncture in Watertown, Massachusetts. During my matriculation at NESA I also had the opportunity to begin my study of Chinese herbal medicine and pulse diagnosis with Dr. Ho Yat Bun in Boston’s Chinatown.
The close relationship that I developed with Dr. So continued until his death in 2001. Over the years he shared his vast clinical experience with me and chose me to edit his book of acupuncture points and to compile acupuncture charts to illustrate that and other books that he had written.
Reservoir Acupuncture and Holistic Medicine
464 Hillside Ave. Ste. 302
Needham, MA 02494
718-449-0909
When I was around seven years old, I began being ill frequently. At that age I was diagnosed with a congenital (born with) narrow urinary bladder neck. The standard treatment at that time was dilation, or stretching, of the bladder neck while under general anesthesia. (Now I know that simple acupuncture stimulation of a point on the lower abdomen will have the same beneficial effect, without the pain, for many people). In the days following the procedure I always experienced substantial pain. I underwent this treatment more than ten times by the age of twelve. At age eleven or twelve, I began experiencing severe fatigue, painful and weak joints, and bouts of dizziness, headaches, and eye pain. Walking quickly caused my knees to collapse.
Over the next three years I was absent for nine months from school. Although my family’s good friend, Elias Leikind, M.D., was about to explain what was happening to me neurologically,, he was unable to stop it. At fifteen years old, I lost the ability to read or easily see anything small and my eyes were so painfully sensitive to the light that I needed to wear sunglasses even indoors. By age sixteen I had begun learning Braille and I accomplished the last 2 years of high school and the first 2 years of college by recording and memorizing lectures and having people read to me. Initially, I attended college part time because studying for any duration caused me extreme pain and loss of focus of my vision. It was during this time that our friend, Dr. Leikind, suggested that I try a new experimental drug, DMSO, and I traveled to Portland, Oregon, to be treated by the discoverer, Dr. Stanley Jacob, M.D., at the University of Oregon Medical School.
Treatment with DMSO brought an amazing improvement in my condition. I had more energy, my joints were no longer painful and weak, and my eyes were no longer sensitive to light. However, I could not read because my eyes still would not focus. In 1974, when I was 21 years old, my mother suggested that I try acupuncture for my vision and my first response was, “No way!” I had no desire to undergo more medical treatments, especially one involving needles, and I was terrified at the thought. Eventually, though, I said OK.
Dr. D. Young Rhie was my first acupuncturist and he treated me three times per week. At his office I met patients who no longer had pain after years of suffering, people who had been confined for years to wheelchairs and now were walking. Soon I was one of those patients whose life was changed. After six months of treatment, I felt better than I could ever remember feeling at any time in my life and, best of all, I had no more pain and I could read.
In addition to this amazing improvement in my health, something else was happening to me at this time. Beginning during the first few weeks of my treatments, I began dreaming that I was an acupuncturist. I would wake in the middle of the night having seen this vision with perfect clarity. At first I tried to deny the visions, but the dreams and the experience of my own healing led me to ask the question, “Why me?” Why was my vision saved and not someone else’s? Why had I suffered for so long and then been healed? The only answer that made any sense to me was that I was being shown my purpose in life: to alleviate suffering and to help others heal through acupuncture. God had granted me a gift and it was up to me to use that gift wisely. So, I decided that I needed to learn acupuncture to the best of my ability.
Because there were no acupuncture schools in the United States in 1974, I had the great fortune to begin my education as an apprentice to my own acupuncturist, Dr. Rhie. After one year of training with Dr. Rhie, I began studying with the late acupuncturist and master of herbal medicine, Yuet Sun Chan, and with Dr. Wai Tak Cheung. Dr. Cheung still practices in Oregon and it was he who sent me, in 1977, to study with the late acupuncture grandmaster, Dr. James Tin Yau So, at the newly opened New England School of Acupuncture in Watertown, Massachusetts. During my matriculation at NESA I also had the opportunity to begin my study of Chinese herbal medicine and pulse diagnosis with Dr. Ho Yat Bun in Boston’s Chinatown.
The close relationship that I developed with Dr. So continued until his death in 2001. Over the years he shared his vast clinical experience with me and chose me to edit his book of acupuncture points and to compile acupuncture charts to illustrate that and other books that he had written.
Reservoir Acupuncture and Holistic Medicine
464 Hillside Ave. Ste. 302
Needham, MA 02494
718-449-0909
Qualifications of Joe Burstein, Lic.Ac.
1. I have given thousands of treatments during more than 25 years of full time practice as an acupuncturist.
2. I began studying acupuncture and Oriental Medicine in 1974. I have studied with the following Master Practitioners, each of whom had 20-40 years of experience at the time I studied with them:
3. Graduated from the New England School of Acupuncture, Class of 1978.
4 Diplomate, American Academy of Pain Management.
5. Licensed to practice acupuncture in the following states:
6. Attended many, many continuing education courses over 25 years, including training in herbal medicine for gynecological problems, pulse diagnosis, scalp acupuncture for neurological disorders, and Korean hand acupuncture.
7. Speaker/lecturer at various schools, hospitals, nursing associations and the New England School of Acupuncture.
8. Frequent guest on the David Brudnoy Show, WBZ Radio.
9. Past Adjunct Clinical Instructor at NESA.
10. Past President of Oregonians for Acupuncture.
11. Past President of the Massachusetts Acupuncture Society.
12. Assisted in the creation of the Point Location Exam used for National Certification and by the licensure boards in most states.
13. Qualified and registered to practice both acupuncture and Oriental Herbology.
14. And, most importantly, I have suffered through and recovered from a chronic disease. I know what is it like and I am totally dedicated to helping my patients regain their health.
www.reservoiracupuncture.com
2. I began studying acupuncture and Oriental Medicine in 1974. I have studied with the following Master Practitioners, each of whom had 20-40 years of experience at the time I studied with them:
- D. Young Rhie, O.M.D., L.Ac.
- Chan Yuet Sun, O.M.D., L.Ac.
- Wai Tak Chueng, O.M.D., L.Ac.
- James Tin Yau So, N.D., L.Ac.
- Ho Yat Bun, O.M.D.
- Sung Baek (Jiang Jing), O.M.D.
3. Graduated from the New England School of Acupuncture, Class of 1978.
4 Diplomate, American Academy of Pain Management.
5. Licensed to practice acupuncture in the following states:
- Oregon (1978, License #36)
- Florida (1982, License #2)
- Massachusetts (1988, License #3)
- New York (1989, License #167)
- Rhode Island (1989, License #13)
6. Attended many, many continuing education courses over 25 years, including training in herbal medicine for gynecological problems, pulse diagnosis, scalp acupuncture for neurological disorders, and Korean hand acupuncture.
7. Speaker/lecturer at various schools, hospitals, nursing associations and the New England School of Acupuncture.
8. Frequent guest on the David Brudnoy Show, WBZ Radio.
9. Past Adjunct Clinical Instructor at NESA.
10. Past President of Oregonians for Acupuncture.
11. Past President of the Massachusetts Acupuncture Society.
12. Assisted in the creation of the Point Location Exam used for National Certification and by the licensure boards in most states.
13. Qualified and registered to practice both acupuncture and Oriental Herbology.
14. And, most importantly, I have suffered through and recovered from a chronic disease. I know what is it like and I am totally dedicated to helping my patients regain their health.
www.reservoiracupuncture.com
Poem by Rachel Burstein
From 5000 miles for DMSO – 1973, Portland, Oregon
Three years ago, a teen age boy came to our city, ill;
His burden heavy for his frail body;
Years of illness had sapped his strength;
The energy of youth gone. Yet he had hope – some;
Tho darkness brought despair
Sunlight drove arrows into his eyes –
He could no longer read.
Pain nagged at his joints, daring him to laugh again;
Months spent fighting colds;
Years in and out of bed,
School a struggle;
Yet he had hope – some –
Courage, a great deal.
Today a young man tall and straight, laughs
And reads, and goes to school, practices Karate;
And writes a term paper on DMSO.
Rosalyn (Rachel) Burstein
Three years ago, a teen age boy came to our city, ill;
His burden heavy for his frail body;
Years of illness had sapped his strength;
The energy of youth gone. Yet he had hope – some;
Tho darkness brought despair
Sunlight drove arrows into his eyes –
He could no longer read.
Pain nagged at his joints, daring him to laugh again;
Months spent fighting colds;
Years in and out of bed,
School a struggle;
Yet he had hope – some –
Courage, a great deal.
Today a young man tall and straight, laughs
And reads, and goes to school, practices Karate;
And writes a term paper on DMSO.
Rosalyn (Rachel) Burstein
Letter from Aaron Burstein
Dear Joe,
Thank you for playing fighting games with me at arcade.
Thank you for playing X-Men at arcade in Watertown.
Thank you for buying Super Nintendo.
What is your favorite fighting game of all time?
What is your favorite old school arcade game of all time?
What is your favorite Tekken game of all time?
Thank you for getting Snowball.
Thank you for taking me to dog shelters.
Thank you for watching me graduate.
What is your beat up games from old school?
What is your favorite Mighty Duck movie of all time?
What is your favorite Street Fighter game of all time?
What is your favorite Gauntlet game of all time?
What is your favorite Ninja Turtles game of all time?
What is your favorite Virtual Fighter game of all time?
What is your favorite Capcom game not street fighter?
Thanks.
Aaron
June, 2010
Thank you for playing fighting games with me at arcade.
Thank you for playing X-Men at arcade in Watertown.
Thank you for buying Super Nintendo.
What is your favorite fighting game of all time?
What is your favorite old school arcade game of all time?
What is your favorite Tekken game of all time?
Thank you for getting Snowball.
Thank you for taking me to dog shelters.
Thank you for watching me graduate.
What is your beat up games from old school?
What is your favorite Mighty Duck movie of all time?
What is your favorite Street Fighter game of all time?
What is your favorite Gauntlet game of all time?
What is your favorite Ninja Turtles game of all time?
What is your favorite Virtual Fighter game of all time?
What is your favorite Capcom game not street fighter?
Thanks.
Aaron
June, 2010
Eulogy by Rick Leskowitz
I want to start by thanking Ray and Rachel for giving me the honor of speaking at the funeral of a man I admired so much. To be honest, it never really hit me that Joe Burstein was in fact a larger-than-life figure until these past months, a time when he reaped the kindnesses he had sowed in a community he had been so connected to. In particular I want to mention the wonderful open-heartedness of the Friend of Joe Burstein Committee, led by Rob Puchniak, Sarah, Skye, Jeremy Serwer and Stephanie Ross, and the selfless attention of Rachel and Michelle in his last weeks. Joe carried himself with such quiet humility that it was easy to overlook his accomplishments, and they were great. In the 20 years I knew Joe, I never once saw him draw the limelight to himself, even though the stories he told would have, and should have, filled a book.
I’d like to share a few memories that help me to remember how accomplished he was, and yet how modest he was, because that combination was one of his most remarkable features. Of course, his greatest accomplishment was in sustaining his family through so many ups and downs over 20 years, any one of which would have been the challenge of a lifetime for a lesser man.
Of course the medical odyssey that Joe and Billie traveled together would have defeated most of us. And to see Aaron texting away like mad now, after the doctors grim prognosis when he was born, is a testament to Joe’s (and Billie’s) incredible initiative and persistence. And Ray – well, not many of those Waldorf School creative artsy types went on to play football and throw the hammer, let alone make hand-crafted fishing rods, sell insurance, do gourmet cooking and marry lovely New Hampshire lass.
We all know about Joe the healer – I bet half the people here have been treated by Joe. Many know that Rachel planted the seeds of his interest in alternative medicine with her quest to find effective treatment for the childhood autoimmune disorder that left Joe almost blind. They traveled back and forth across the country seeking alternative treatments that helped him to recover his eyesight and find his life’s Vision at the same time, through acupuncture. He was one of the first graduates of the New England School of Acupuncture, and served as the President of the Acupuncture and Oriental Medicine Society of Massachusetts. His practice was legendary in its scope, effectiveness, integrity and generosity.
As a self-styled holistic doctor myself, I used to think that I had a pretty good feel for what was possible in alternative treatments. Yet every medical conversation I ever had with Joe expanded the boundaries of what I thought was possible. And he influenced the field of mainstream medicine, too.
I once invited Joe to give a talk on acupuncture to the staff of the pain management program at my hospital. During the Q&A, one doctor – a macho hockey-playing skeptic – asked Joe what he would do about this soreness in his right jaw. Joe took the fellow’s left wrist and asked, with just the hint of an impish grin, “What happens when I press here?” as he not so gently squeezed. The burly doc’s knees buckled with pain and surprise, as Joe explained the reflex point he had identified – one that wasn’t predicted by the medical model, but one which proved to everyone present that acupuncturists knew some things that MDs didn’t.
That moment marked a turning point at Spaulding – it was our first exposure to acupuncture. Fast-forward 15 years, and we now have three physician acupuncturists on staff, and we host the Harvard Medical School training course on medical acupuncture. Joe was the thin end of that wedge of medical transformation.
His range of non-clinical skills was just as vast. I was delighted to find that we both enjoyed playing pool, and though our plans to bring a family-style billiard parlor to Needham never materialized, we did manage to play a few racks at Avery Crossing’s Assisted Living Center. Our cover story was that we were visiting my mother-in-law Susan, but after our visit with her we scooted down the hallway like two schoolboys playing hockey, and played away on their pool table.
The point of this story is that Joe brought his own pool cue, which he’d had custom-designed and hand-made in Florida at great expense. He marveled about its balance and its touch, and offered to let me try it. Now I’m a halfway decent player, but I have to admit that I couldn’t really tell the difference. Joe had developed such an exquisite touch that he could feel nuances that just passed me by. It was yet another area where his depth of knowledge left me speechless.
The last story I want to tell is about our shared love of a 60s TV show called The Prisoner. Patrick McGoohan played a British secret agent who was everything the teenaged Joe and I were not – suave, sophisticated, handsome, and at home in the world. He had been kidnapped to a remote village, where his mysterious overlords attempted to extract top-level government secrets from him, using mind games. McGoohan – known only as Number Six - was never able to escape, despite using all his physical and mental wiles.
Joe had a complete boxed set of Prisoner DVDs, and I asked him several times during his long battle with cancer if we could watch some episodes together. Somehow, though, we never got around to it. I was always puzzled by his reluctance, but now I think I know why – the show’s theme of powerlessness hit a bit too close to home. My hope is that Joe now feels what McGoohan felt in that final episode, when he managed to escape and return to London. “I am not a number, I’m a free man!”
Joe Burstein was certainly never just a number, and now that he is free of his diseased body, I know that his soul is soaring. I’ll end by saying to Joe what Number Six always said to his neighbors at the end of their encounters: “Be seeing you”.
I’d like to share a few memories that help me to remember how accomplished he was, and yet how modest he was, because that combination was one of his most remarkable features. Of course, his greatest accomplishment was in sustaining his family through so many ups and downs over 20 years, any one of which would have been the challenge of a lifetime for a lesser man.
Of course the medical odyssey that Joe and Billie traveled together would have defeated most of us. And to see Aaron texting away like mad now, after the doctors grim prognosis when he was born, is a testament to Joe’s (and Billie’s) incredible initiative and persistence. And Ray – well, not many of those Waldorf School creative artsy types went on to play football and throw the hammer, let alone make hand-crafted fishing rods, sell insurance, do gourmet cooking and marry lovely New Hampshire lass.
We all know about Joe the healer – I bet half the people here have been treated by Joe. Many know that Rachel planted the seeds of his interest in alternative medicine with her quest to find effective treatment for the childhood autoimmune disorder that left Joe almost blind. They traveled back and forth across the country seeking alternative treatments that helped him to recover his eyesight and find his life’s Vision at the same time, through acupuncture. He was one of the first graduates of the New England School of Acupuncture, and served as the President of the Acupuncture and Oriental Medicine Society of Massachusetts. His practice was legendary in its scope, effectiveness, integrity and generosity.
As a self-styled holistic doctor myself, I used to think that I had a pretty good feel for what was possible in alternative treatments. Yet every medical conversation I ever had with Joe expanded the boundaries of what I thought was possible. And he influenced the field of mainstream medicine, too.
I once invited Joe to give a talk on acupuncture to the staff of the pain management program at my hospital. During the Q&A, one doctor – a macho hockey-playing skeptic – asked Joe what he would do about this soreness in his right jaw. Joe took the fellow’s left wrist and asked, with just the hint of an impish grin, “What happens when I press here?” as he not so gently squeezed. The burly doc’s knees buckled with pain and surprise, as Joe explained the reflex point he had identified – one that wasn’t predicted by the medical model, but one which proved to everyone present that acupuncturists knew some things that MDs didn’t.
That moment marked a turning point at Spaulding – it was our first exposure to acupuncture. Fast-forward 15 years, and we now have three physician acupuncturists on staff, and we host the Harvard Medical School training course on medical acupuncture. Joe was the thin end of that wedge of medical transformation.
His range of non-clinical skills was just as vast. I was delighted to find that we both enjoyed playing pool, and though our plans to bring a family-style billiard parlor to Needham never materialized, we did manage to play a few racks at Avery Crossing’s Assisted Living Center. Our cover story was that we were visiting my mother-in-law Susan, but after our visit with her we scooted down the hallway like two schoolboys playing hockey, and played away on their pool table.
The point of this story is that Joe brought his own pool cue, which he’d had custom-designed and hand-made in Florida at great expense. He marveled about its balance and its touch, and offered to let me try it. Now I’m a halfway decent player, but I have to admit that I couldn’t really tell the difference. Joe had developed such an exquisite touch that he could feel nuances that just passed me by. It was yet another area where his depth of knowledge left me speechless.
The last story I want to tell is about our shared love of a 60s TV show called The Prisoner. Patrick McGoohan played a British secret agent who was everything the teenaged Joe and I were not – suave, sophisticated, handsome, and at home in the world. He had been kidnapped to a remote village, where his mysterious overlords attempted to extract top-level government secrets from him, using mind games. McGoohan – known only as Number Six - was never able to escape, despite using all his physical and mental wiles.
Joe had a complete boxed set of Prisoner DVDs, and I asked him several times during his long battle with cancer if we could watch some episodes together. Somehow, though, we never got around to it. I was always puzzled by his reluctance, but now I think I know why – the show’s theme of powerlessness hit a bit too close to home. My hope is that Joe now feels what McGoohan felt in that final episode, when he managed to escape and return to London. “I am not a number, I’m a free man!”
Joe Burstein was certainly never just a number, and now that he is free of his diseased body, I know that his soul is soaring. I’ll end by saying to Joe what Number Six always said to his neighbors at the end of their encounters: “Be seeing you”.
Eulogy by Jay Burstein
Joe was my first cousin, My father, Richard, and Joe’s mother, Rachel, are siblings. And so Joe and I knew each other for all of our lives. Since we are here today, we have at least one thing in common – the joy and fortune of having known him. Because Joe and I go back, I can tell you little secrets you may not know.
Mine is a tale of competition, Yes, believe it or not, Joe was my competitor, and I will explain it all. It began when we were young –
AND NOW LET’S JUMP AHEAD
AND NEW LET’S ROLL THE CAMERA FORWARD WAY AHEAD
AND HERE WE ARE CELEBRATING HIS LIFE TODAY
And then it most clearly occurred to me that over the rich and moving panorama of time as these boys turned into men, the true dynamic was one of ever-growing respect and admiration. Although there were stretches when we didn’t see each other, our time together nonetheless was a long and single warm conversation. There was never a contest, and I was the lucky one. So in the final moment we shared, I couldn’t help but say, “Thank you, Joe.” I love you. I’ll take what you have given me and try to make you proud so I can give you something back the next time around.
Jay Burstein
Mine is a tale of competition, Yes, believe it or not, Joe was my competitor, and I will explain it all. It began when we were young –
- Youth – When we were kids, you know, 8 to 10 to 12 years old, this is what I faced:
- First of all, he was older, one year six months and 18 days, but who’s counting?
- He was obviously taller; I think about 2.4 inches.
- And then he lived in New Jersey near our revered cousins and grandmother. I would visit a few times a year, but he lived near cousins Bill, Lois, Matt, and Grandma Liz; these were clear advantages.
- We hear much about Joe’s love of fishing. I was there at the inception of this skill and obsession. It’s like having the opportunity to play golf with Tiger Woods when he was 8. He always caught the fish from Uncle Lenny’s aluminum boat on soft, still Meadow Lake. I never caught a single fish, and I hated to touch the worms.
- And we both loved weapons. It was the time of “Man from Uncle” and James Bond. Yes, it was OK to like weapons even if you weren’t from the South or the West. But it was my 2 BB guns vs. his huge hunting bow.
AND NOW LET’S JUMP AHEAD
- Young adults – College years, Acupuncture School
- I think it’s 1977. I’m in college at Brandeis, and I hear that Joe is coming to Boston to attend acupuncture school. I think it was my dad … “Jay, he doesn’t have a place to stay so please pick him up and have him stay until he gets settled.” So we take Pam’s car to Logan. He shows up at the airport with a full-sized acupuncture dummy, three oversized trunks and a massage table. Pam’s car and one unoccupied overloaded taxi were required to make the journey to a too small college suite and two dubious roommates. Here was a longhaired guy about to operate on the periphery of known science with a penchant for filling our fridge with large and unusual smelling food. And it’s only for a short while. (I think it was about a month.) But he’s my big cousin, and he’s going to learn acupuncture, this a noble endeavor, and I was
AND NEW LET’S ROLL THE CAMERA FORWARD WAY AHEAD
- We have been out in the real world for a while with careers and marriage, and much has transpired.
- Ray was born, and I was asked to be a godfather. And I held him at his bris (is Ray blushing?)
- Later my son Nick was not well and was being treated and helped by Joe. I’ll let Nick say more about this.
- And I was having some problems of my own and getting treatments from Joe. Some real difficulties all around. My treatments included needles but actually much more. Behind the treatment room door we talked about many things with great openness and love. And he shared with me his insights and his wide ranging, thoughtful view and his composed demeanor. And once again, he led the way for me.
- And then when Billie died and he knew that he was ill, I got to ask him that one question that I needed to ask: How have you and how do you go on, Joe, with all of the challenges you have faced and have still to conquer? How do you not succumb to these difficulties? He replied that all was not so simple and not every moment ideal; yes, he was human; he had taken some time, a short time, to be sad and angry. To go in the other room and cry. And now he could move forward and face things and do what he needed to do for his beloved boys. And that made me think – That boy, who was taller, had better weapons, a humble master of a noble profession and, no, let us not forget some smelly food choices and from smelly New Jersey, had once again earned my respect and proven himself to me.
AND HERE WE ARE CELEBRATING HIS LIFE TODAY
- I spent a good part of the last few days by Joe’s side at the hospice. He said hello so I know he knew that I was there. I held his hand and stroked his head and helped him get as comfortable as he could be.
And then it most clearly occurred to me that over the rich and moving panorama of time as these boys turned into men, the true dynamic was one of ever-growing respect and admiration. Although there were stretches when we didn’t see each other, our time together nonetheless was a long and single warm conversation. There was never a contest, and I was the lucky one. So in the final moment we shared, I couldn’t help but say, “Thank you, Joe.” I love you. I’ll take what you have given me and try to make you proud so I can give you something back the next time around.
Jay Burstein
Eulogy by Nick Burstein
As a young adult I was blessed with the opportunity to get to know Joe on a personal level that I feel was one of the greatest gifts I have ever received.
When I was 14, I fell ill with a stomach condition that left me in nearly constant pain and discomfort. Over the course of 2 years my illness progressed to the point where I was dangerously underweight, incredibly depressed, and forced to drop out of high school. My doctors had no solutions, and I was literally on the edge of giving up on my life.
I told my mother that I wanted to try acupuncture, and she said that the only person she would approve of me seeing was my cousin Joe. On my very first visit to Joe’s office, he instilled hope in me for the first time since I had fallen ill. I continued to see Joe for treatments three times a week for the next three years.
During those three years our relationship transcended the patient/physician relationship. He not only treated my stomach, but he treated my whole person. He treated my mind and my soul with the same attention to detail that he treated my pain.
During my treatments we talked about life, love, pain, and the human comedy. He never spoke to me like a child, but like a peer. He spoke with a crafted honesty and wisdom that was the true mark of a brilliant and beautiful mind. But there was also an unspoken understanding between us that was the making of one of the truest friendships I have ever experienced.
In retrospect, my time with Joe feels like a montage of trial and error, laughs, pain, and eventual healing. My pain gradually got better, and my weaknesses were balanced by Joe’s strengths.
Joe saved my life Because of his talent and knowledge, I was able to earn a college education, be happy, and thrive.
Joe’s life was poetic in the sense that he healed so many, only to be stricken down by such a terrible disease. But all we can do is be thankful that we were touched by such a uniquely amazing person.
I love you, Joe.
Nick Burstein
When I was 14, I fell ill with a stomach condition that left me in nearly constant pain and discomfort. Over the course of 2 years my illness progressed to the point where I was dangerously underweight, incredibly depressed, and forced to drop out of high school. My doctors had no solutions, and I was literally on the edge of giving up on my life.
I told my mother that I wanted to try acupuncture, and she said that the only person she would approve of me seeing was my cousin Joe. On my very first visit to Joe’s office, he instilled hope in me for the first time since I had fallen ill. I continued to see Joe for treatments three times a week for the next three years.
During those three years our relationship transcended the patient/physician relationship. He not only treated my stomach, but he treated my whole person. He treated my mind and my soul with the same attention to detail that he treated my pain.
During my treatments we talked about life, love, pain, and the human comedy. He never spoke to me like a child, but like a peer. He spoke with a crafted honesty and wisdom that was the true mark of a brilliant and beautiful mind. But there was also an unspoken understanding between us that was the making of one of the truest friendships I have ever experienced.
In retrospect, my time with Joe feels like a montage of trial and error, laughs, pain, and eventual healing. My pain gradually got better, and my weaknesses were balanced by Joe’s strengths.
Joe saved my life Because of his talent and knowledge, I was able to earn a college education, be happy, and thrive.
Joe’s life was poetic in the sense that he healed so many, only to be stricken down by such a terrible disease. But all we can do is be thankful that we were touched by such a uniquely amazing person.
I love you, Joe.
Nick Burstein
Eulogy by Jeremy Serwer
With all the beautiful words spoken in the past few days, I have just a little to add: We must always remember that Joe, and Billie, taught us about character. In one word, that is their legacy – from this, they gave, they healed, they taught, they loved, they sacrificed, they rarely complained, and they did not give up – at least until the requirement to comfort those around them became more paramount.
I have met only two people in life who declared unequivocally that they had no fear of dying. One was Billie, who while in hospice told my wife Nancy and I that she was simply very grateful to have had so many extra years, had said good-byes, and was ready to go.
At that age, “so many extra years” – can you imagine? She spent hours comforting friends and family from her hospice bed at Tippet; an extraordinary soul.
The other was Joe. Getting ready for yet another trip to the hospital district, he looked at me one day, sitting on the steps in the front hall putting his shoes on, and said, “I’m not afraid to die; I simply want to live. For my boys, I want to live.”
All that is character.
As with all of you, I had many conversations with Joe – both as a patient, and a friend. There were times we’d be at Dana for chemo treatments, and we’d spend hours talking, and he’d usually have me in stitches over something: he made me laugh, even going through all that sickening from the treatments.
We had silence too: either directed by him, as only he could do, or just naturally between subject matters. And that was good too: because calm and quiet between friends can be a boon and a bond at the right time.
Joe was the most directly speaking individual I’ve ever known: not one word he spoke was wasted, and all spoke volumes and taught many. There was never a dull moment.
One day, Joe and I were at Dana Farber for his latest scan results. This visit ended up with the greatest highs and the lowest lows. We were waiting for the doc, and really carrying on a bit, because he felt good and the trajectory had generally been OK at that juncture. We, again, were in stitches over something he had said. The doc then came, and we learned of the first spot they found on Joe’s liver.
I mistook Joe’s silent, dejected reaction for sadness, though I’m sure he was plenty down over the news. What I now know, however, is that his silence also stood for resolve, for dedication, for taking it to the next step, for fighting a great fight, and for winning. He did that for his family, for his friends, for his great desire to live.
While he may have accepted in his last days what was happening, he never gave up. To me, there’s a difference.
That, friends, is character. Please take it with you, always.
Amen.
Jeremy Serwer
I have met only two people in life who declared unequivocally that they had no fear of dying. One was Billie, who while in hospice told my wife Nancy and I that she was simply very grateful to have had so many extra years, had said good-byes, and was ready to go.
At that age, “so many extra years” – can you imagine? She spent hours comforting friends and family from her hospice bed at Tippet; an extraordinary soul.
The other was Joe. Getting ready for yet another trip to the hospital district, he looked at me one day, sitting on the steps in the front hall putting his shoes on, and said, “I’m not afraid to die; I simply want to live. For my boys, I want to live.”
All that is character.
As with all of you, I had many conversations with Joe – both as a patient, and a friend. There were times we’d be at Dana for chemo treatments, and we’d spend hours talking, and he’d usually have me in stitches over something: he made me laugh, even going through all that sickening from the treatments.
We had silence too: either directed by him, as only he could do, or just naturally between subject matters. And that was good too: because calm and quiet between friends can be a boon and a bond at the right time.
Joe was the most directly speaking individual I’ve ever known: not one word he spoke was wasted, and all spoke volumes and taught many. There was never a dull moment.
One day, Joe and I were at Dana Farber for his latest scan results. This visit ended up with the greatest highs and the lowest lows. We were waiting for the doc, and really carrying on a bit, because he felt good and the trajectory had generally been OK at that juncture. We, again, were in stitches over something he had said. The doc then came, and we learned of the first spot they found on Joe’s liver.
I mistook Joe’s silent, dejected reaction for sadness, though I’m sure he was plenty down over the news. What I now know, however, is that his silence also stood for resolve, for dedication, for taking it to the next step, for fighting a great fight, and for winning. He did that for his family, for his friends, for his great desire to live.
While he may have accepted in his last days what was happening, he never gave up. To me, there’s a difference.
That, friends, is character. Please take it with you, always.
Amen.
Jeremy Serwer