by Judge Lawrence Huerta

My Brother Rubin believed that if you saved one life by helping another you might be saving the entire universe. Not only would the world then be a better place for all of us, but those who lived by this belief would surely gain a special place in the hereafter. He preached this and he practiced this for as long as I was privileged to know him.

While he worked for the federal government in many capacities, in Washington, D. C. and elsewhere, my Brother Rubin extended a helping hand to scores of his fellow employees. I was one of the many. He recruited me, he guided me through the mysterious world of the federal establishment, he showed me how to improve the lives of my Native American people through entrepreneurship ... and he welcomed me into his family. He smiled when I started to call him "Brother Rubin." He gave me the Jewish prayer book he carried during World War II because, he said, I had a Jewish heart ... and I became "Brother Larry."

One day, my Brother Rubin told me the story of how he was assigned by the Pentagon to write a report on the administration of a federal facility on Mt. Lemmon in the Catalina Mountains of Tucson. While staying on. Mt. Lemmon, he would rise early every morning, wrap his shawl and phylacteries, and go out at dawn to say his morning prayers. The silence and majesty of the sweet-scented sunrise and the ever-changing colors painted on the cliffs never failed to fill him with an enormous sense of peace, well-being and exultant faith. He was deeply moved to be one lone man chanting the ancient prayer of millions of Jews since the beginning of time in this magnificent setting. This overwhelmed a Brookly-born boy who then fell in love with the Catalina Mountains ...a love that lasted his whole life long.

My Brother Rubin came back to Tucson almost every summer, either alone or with his family, I would make reservations for him at his favorite desert resort, making sure that his cabin door faced the Catalinas that were almost near enough to touch. When in Tucson, he would visit his favorite mountain range to hike, picnic, pray and enjoy in all seasons of the year.

On one occasion, I took him to a nearby sky-gliding facility. He specifically asked his wife and me not to join him when he climbed into the glider. He wanted to go alone. For half an hour he glided over the Catalinas, as he said ... "with only the rushing wind and God along for the ride." He never stopped talking about this experience. When he was ready to move to Tucson for half of each year, he made sure he could see the Catalinas when he first opened his eyes every morning in the first house he bought. Later, when he bought his beautiful home in the Catalinas themselves on Pusch Ridge, he would walk out on his own land to say his morning prayers with a heart full of joy and thanksgiving for the privilege.

My Brother Rubin told me a long time ago that "remembrance" was a cornerstone of the Jewish faith. I could always understand how remembrance joined the Jewish people one to another through the ages. Still, it was not until my Brother Rubin passed away that remembrance took on a special meaning for me. Why, I thought, couldn't I dedicate the whole of the Catalina Mountains to my Brother Rubin? The federal government claims ownership of the Catalinas. Where did it acquire those rights? The American Indians who lived here long before there was a federal government ... where did they acquire their ownership? I concluded that the true ownership of this great sprawling mountain range still rested solely with our Creator. So, on the first Sabbath after my Brother Rubin passed away, I went out into my own backyard, faced the Catalinas and said a silent prayer. I mentioned how my Brother Rubin lived a dedicated and wonderfully giving life and touched so many of us who knew and loved him. I finished by asking if the Great Spirit had any objection to my dedicating the Catalina Mountains to my Brother Rubin. In my deep sadness and loss, I pointed out that I needed this for my own personal remembrance for the only brother I ever had ... and God did not deny me this favor.

When my people see a rainbow we make a fist clasping the thumb and stretching the arm towards the rainbow as a sign of gratitude to the Great Spirit. Now, whenever I see the Catalinas which are visible all over Tucson, I mentally extend my arm with a clenched thumb and say deep in my heart, "Shalom, Brother Rubin, Shalom."