How odd to be speaking in the past tense about someone whose vitality dazzled, whose energy, wit, curiosity, artistry, knowledge and passion inspired, informed, challenged, and amazed. That he lived for 90 years was a great surprise to Zalman; that he accomplished as much as he did in that time surprised no one who really knew him. Zalman exerted a human gravitational force that elevated the trajectories of many lives, including mine. I knew him for close to 60 years, variously as acolyte, student, academic colleague, research collaborator, and most importantly, his friend.
Zalman was born in 1934, in Givatayim, then a working-class suburb of Tel Aviv. Particularly in that milieu, children were encouraged strongly to join a pioneering youth movement, an organization that exerted a powerful influence on their education and outlook. The counselors were on the lookout for exceptional talent, youngsters who were to be groomed for leadership roles. A story Zalman told me reveals how his promise and precociousness were regarded.
Zalman belonged to the socialist Dror movement. In 1949, before he had reached his 15th birthday, he was selected to join a small group that would represent the movement at a Soviet-sponsored peace conference in Paris attended by over 2000 delegates from 72 countries. It was a life- changing experience, barely a month after the cessation of fighting in the first Arab-Israeli war. What a contrast between Tel Aviv, still a new and rather poor city of a quarter million and Paris, with a metropolitan population some 25 times larger, two millenia of storied history, and a patina of unrivalled sophistication. There, at the Salle Pleyel, some 500 meters from the Champs-Élysées, he met and shook hands with a hero, Paul Robeson, the American actor, singer, athlete, lawyer and activist.
Zalman was supposed to return to school that fall, but I understand from Vered that he never really did. His dreams were now projected on a much broader screen, and I am guessing that he committed himself entirely to movement activism. Central to those activities were his membership in a group that would move together to a kibbutz, undergo combined agricultural and military training, and then join as members. Kibbutz Hakuk (Hukok), near the Sea of Gallilee, was their destination. Zalman and Bracha would marry at Hakuk, and their daughters, Vered and Rotem, would be born there.
This new phase of his life would include cattle ranching and dairy farming. That is hard work, but Zalman was a man of uncommon energy and resourcefulness. He was able to meet his obligations to the collective while pursuing his interests in archeology, photography, and much else. Zalman was an amazingly quick study: in any area that captured his interest, he would progress from neophyte to master in an improbably short time. A case in point is his extensive knowledge about the ancient inhabitants of the Negev desert, which he applied as co-author of a field guide for hikers.
Zalman was a fair-skinned redhead, and his activities on the kibbutz and as an occasional desert scout kept him outdoors in intense sunshine at a time when sunscreen was not yet “a thing.” Alas, he developed melanoma but survived against long odds. He was told to move to higher latitudes to avoid a recurrence. The Dror movement helped him comply by sending him off to Canada as an emissary.
Here are summaries of some additional chapters in the saga of a rich and varied life.
Blocked from entry to McGill University due to his lack of a high-school-leaving
certificate, Zalman is accepted to the University of Wales on the basis of his co-
authored field guide.
After he completes a year of undergraduate study, the door to McGill swings open,
and Zalman walks through to study Psychology, archeology no longer a feasible
specialization due to his need to minimize exposure to the sun.
Zalman always followed his own compass. In graduate school, he concocts an unprecedented combination of clinical training and laboratory research in behavioural neurobiology. He nonetheless finishes in the record time of three years despite serving concurrently as the national director of the Student Zionist Organization, competing in car rallies, and making ends meet by fashioning jewelry for sale.
His PhD in hand, Zalman does a brief stint on the faculty of Tel Aviv University. The fit for his research and teaching interests is poor, and he readily accepts a position in Montreal at what was to become Concordia University.
He and Ann Sutherland establish a behaviour-therapy clinic that quickly attains prominence in the Montreal community.
Within a year of his return to Montreal, Zalman lands a large charitable donation which he and a colleague use to found a center for research on drug dependence.
Zalman quickly establishes himself as an extraordinarily productive and internationally renowned researcher. He goes on to publish well over 200 scientific papers, mostly on the neurochemical and behavioural mechanisms underlying drug intake.
Zalman maintains a punishing pace. He starts seeing patients early in the morning, zooms over to his university lab where he meets with his team, does his teaching, and when his colleagues are already heading home, Zalman returns to the clinic to see patients into the evening hours. His friends and colleagues wonder: How can he possibly keep this up? How can he do all that while also learning how to sail, scuba dive, take beautiful underwater photos, agitate for justice and peace in the Middle East, and remain remarkably well informed about world affairs?
Zalman and Ann co-author four books on behavioural strategies for dealing with phobias, body-weight control, problem drinking, and smoking.
Zalman’s adventurous spirit persists. Invited to participate in a scientific conference somewhere in southeast Asia, he and Ann decide to visit Mt. Everest, while they are “in the neighborhood.” Without acclimation to the altitude, and with a little help from Sherpas and yaks, they make it to the South Base Camp at 17,598 feet. There, Zalman is somehow able to take gorgeous photos. When they finally make it back to their hotel, Zalman has so little left in the tank that he is able to ascend the few stairs to their room only by crawling on his hands and knees.
Zalman and Ann build perhaps the preeminent private collection of folk art in Canada. The collection eventually outstrips their capacity to house it, so they sell at auction, an event sufficiently notable to merit a story in the front section of the Globe and Mail.
Their love of folk art brings them to Nova Scotia, where they buy a former fisherman’s house in Upper Kingsburg, later retiring there.
Zalman learns wood turning and then takes that craft in original directions, as we can see in the work displayed around us.
Before I pass the microphone, let me just say this:
Zalman was the most courageous person I ever met, and the most profoundly and effectively loyal to those in his circle.
Zalman could turn the page on the major chapters in his life more decisively and less regretfully than anyone I have ever known.
He kept going in the face of terribly painful losses, outliving his younger daughter, Rotem, and both Bracha and Ann.
Zalman was, shall we say, “tenacious” in argument, never taking a step back, but he was willing to confront evidence contradicting his beliefs and to change his mind accordingly. He did not avert his gaze from painful realities, and he moved from traditional labor-Zionism into the far reaches of the Israeli peace movement.
Zalman cared, he really cared, about his family, his patients, his students, his friends, and all the people “between the river and the sea.”
Thank you, Lori, for making it possible for Zalman to stay in his beloved home during his last years.
Thank you, Vered, Catherine, and Sally for making it possible for us to celebrate Zalman’s life surrounded by the fruits of his artistry, in the company of family and friends, and in a community he cherished.