Good morning.

My name is Peleg, and I am Reuven’s firstborn son.

I’m going to share a few words about my dad and his life,

followed by a short video tribute that I’ve put together

celebrating and honoring his life.

Before I begin, I’d like to invite us to take one minute of

silence together and tune into the love that is present in this

room right now—all thanks to our beloved Reuven. Let’s bring

him into our hearts and connect to the gratitude we feel for

the way he touched our lives.

♥️

The very first thing my dad said to me the day we checked him

into hospice care— a mere 47 days ago, 47 days that now feel

like 47 months—was:

“You’ll see, I’ll get over this and live to be 90!”

I firmly believe that he was convinced he was stronger than

cancer.

This was Reuven the fighter talking.

A man who survived the Holocaust, a heart attack, a triple

bypass surgery, a stroke, blood cancer, and Covid. He wasn’t

going to go out without a fight.

He was used to fighting. He was used to overcoming. He was

used to surviving. And to understand that strength, I want to

share a bit of his story.

Reuven was born in 1940 in a town called Gomel, in Russia, to

Franka and Felek Top.

Three years later, his Felek was killed fighting the Nazis in

the Russian army.

Franka—who was the sole survivor of twelve brothers and

sisters taken to the gas chambers—fled Hitler for four years

with little Reuven by her side. Eventually, fate brought her

to Warsaw, where she reunited with and later married Felek’s

older brother, Sasha. He was a widower with two children and

fifteen years older than her.

That’s what you did back then. For the sake of family.

Franka was a woman of great strength, resilience, and strong

opinions—qualities that shaped my dad, who turned out very

much like her.

In 1947, Franka reunited with a long-lost uncle who gifted her

$10,000—roughly $150,000 in today’s value—to start a new life

in Israel. That was enough to move the entire family there,

buy an apartment in Ramat Gan, and open a books and stationery

store for their livelihood.

Reuven worked at that store, delivering books and supplies on

his bicycle every day. He once told me, “This was the job that taught me how to be responsible—and not take any bullshit from anyone.”

That attitude served him well.

He entered the Israeli Air Force and began a career as an airplane mechanic. At 22, he joined El Al Airlines. At 30, he became certified as a Boeing 747 maintenance mechanic—an accomplishment that brought him great professional pride and

success.

His passion, loyalty, integrity, and work ethic helped him climb the leadership ladder at El Al, where he earned the title of Chief Ground Mechanics for the airline.

Along the way, he met a young artist named Ahuva, whom he

fell madly in love with. He married her at 26 and became a father to me at 27. My brother Mor arrived two years later, and then Nativ ten years after that.

For 43 years, he built a life in Israel—until opportunity came knocking with a chance to pursue the American dream.

In 1983, he accepted early retirement from El Al and moved us all to Los Angeles to begin a new life.

Living in America wasn’t easy. But he was a fighter.

He pushed through and worked his ass off. It didn’t take long for him to go from airline boss to car wash boss, running one of the busiest car washes in West Hollywood.

My dad gave me the gift of two lives— once when I was born, and once when he brought me to America.

He believed this was a place where I’d have a better future.

And you know something? He was right.

I am eternally grateful for the risk he took bringing us here.

Despite financial hardships, a failed marriage, and many health crises along the way, he always said: “It was all worth it to see how you boys turned out.”

He did it all for the sake of family.

In 2003, at the age of 63, my dad became our Pops.

With the arrival of his grandchildren, Maya and Adam, and later on Andra, he stepped into the role of Pops like a champ.

And he loved being Pops.

His grandkids brought him so much joy. He would come alive whenever he talked about them. He loved being part of their

lives—and they loved him back, big time.

In 2015, at the age of 75, he met his next big love of his life—our beloved Yoli. Oh how much we love Yoli.

She brought him so much joy, companionship, and adoring love, and she also brought out the romantic in him.

What I find remarkable is that at 75, after everything he had lived through, my dad was still open to love, open to

companionship, open to joy. Many people close their hearts as they age. He didn’t. He chose to open his again. That takes

courage.

What my dad reminded me of is that love doesn’t belong just to young, it belongs to those who stay open.

My dad grew up without a dad, and with a stepfather who gave him very little attention or guidance.

And yet, somehow, he still knew how to be a father to us. He did the best he could with what he knew. And when I look at us today, well, I think he did something right.

Seven years ago, I left Los Angeles to start a new life in Santa Fe, New Mexico. During those years, I mostly saw my dad through FaceTime calls, and in person about once a year when I came back to LA to visit.

Last year, after one of those visits, Pops and I took a two-day road trip together to Santa Fe. I wanted him to see my life there, to meet my beloved Paul, and to get a sense of who I am now.

Over the course of those two days of driving, we had some of the deepest conversations we’d ever had. What stayed with me most from that trip was his undefeated love for life.

He didn’t need much to be happy. He loved a simple life. In his eyes, all you needed was a roof over your head, a good car, and a partner—and you were set.

I didn’t know then how much that road trip would mean to me.

But I carry it now as one of the great blessings of my relationship with him.