We are saddened to announce the passing of Jerry Daniel, founding member and first president of Beth David, on Friday, August 22, 2025. He is survived by his daughter, Audrey Daniel.
In 2020, Jerry participated in the Building Bridges Initiative that connected teens and college students at Beth David with long time members. Read his story HERE
In Memory of Jerry Daniel
Rabbi Daniel Pressman
Rabbi Emeritus, Congregation Beth David
Download or Print PDF HERE
Dear friends,
Helen and I regret that we can’t be with you in person. We send greetings to all of those present, and in particular to Audrey and Natalie, who have cared for Jerry so attentively and lovingly. Thank you, Rabbi Roller, for the opportunity to share a few thoughts about Jerry. Simply put, Jerry was one of the finest people I have ever known. When I think of him, one of the teachings in Pirkei Avot comes to mind: “הֱוֵי מְקַבֵּל אֶת כָּל הָאָדָם בְּסֵבֶר פָּנִים יָפוֹת. “Receive everyone with a pleasant countenance” is the usual translation, but it doesn’t do the Hebrew justice. סֵבֶר פָּנִים יָפוֹת denotes greeting people warmly, kindly, and hospitably. That was Jerry. When I visualize him, it’s always with a smile.
He loved people and it showed.
Jerry was Beth David’s founding president, and as one of the four original families, he merits credit for what was really a great act of faith. It sometimes happens in synagogues that founders resist changes and new ideas — “It’s not like the good old days.” Not Jerry. He was thrilled with Beth David’s growth and remained an active and enthusiastic participant. In recent years, he kvelled over Beth David’s beautiful new building. I once asked him, “Could you have imagined that we would have such a lovely space?” He said, no, but it’s great. Jerry loved Beth David like a proud father loves his child as they grow and develop,
Jerry attended my Talmud class for many years. One of my memories of his smile is him sitting at the other end of the long table from me, happily learning and participating in the discussion. One thing I remember from that class was the time some of the people were talking about their participation in the Jewish Genealogical Society. Guessing the answer, I asked them how far back they had been able to discover, and I think the furthest was about five or six generations. Then I asked Jerry, “How about you?” And Jerry could trace back to the fifteenth century!
Sephardic Jews address their Rabbis as kavod ha-rav, honored Rabbi. Jerry didn’t use that honorific, but he embodied that value, and I always appreciated his friendship and support.
Finally, there is a Yiddish expression that describes Jerry: a zisseh neshomah — a sweet soul. His lovely soul has left us, to add his light to the world to come. He had a life well-lived. He was loving and loved, kind and loyal. He leaves a legacy and an example for us all to follow. Jerry taught us to greet others with a smile, and he showed us how to be kind and loving, and so we can say that his memory will truly be a blessing.
Eulogy Jerry Daniel
Rabbi Nathan Roller
RAbbi Educator, Congregation Beth DAvid
Download or Print PDF HERE
Funerals are invitations to pause and reflect on transitions. To be present in the now, filled with ache and loss, as we look back to the past and think about the uncertain future. And memory is the bridge that spans it all. This is true of funerals generally, but this seems especially true today.
With the passing of Jerry Daniel, we are saying goodbye to one of the last founding members of our community. This loss comes at a time in the Jewish calendar when we read the book of Deuteronomy, Moses’ final words to a new generation of Israelites. They are not the generation born into slavery, but the generation born into freedom. Moses, the lawgiver, the founder, gives his wisdom to a people who are about to step into a future he himself will not see.
We are now moving into a future that Jerry will not see, but his life provides us with wisdom to carry on.
The Talmud (Menachot 29b) tells a remarkable story about Moses at Sinai. When he saw God adding crowns to certain Hebrew letters, Moses asked why. God explained: in the future, a man named Akiva would draw out countless teachings from those crowns. Moses asked to see this man and was transported forward in time into Rabbi Akiva’s study hall. The Judaism he saw was so different, so unrecognizable that Moses was unsettled, upset. But when a student asked Akiva the source of his teachings, Akiva answered: all of this comes from the Torah of Moses. Only then was Moses at peace.
The lesson is traditions evolve. Practices change. Sometimes they look unrecognizable at first. But if the heart, the values, the core remain intact, then the chain is unbroken.
Moses had to learn that lesson. Jerry knew it instinctively. He understood that communities must grow, adapt, and transform—not despite their values, but because of them. As Rabbi Pressman wrote in his remarks, Jerry was not like many founders of synagogues who resist change, rather he celebrated it, confident that what mattered most would endure.
Gerald Daniel was born in the Bronx on October 29, 1930, the youngest of four children of Annie and Haim Daniel. He grew up surrounded by his large Sephardic family. His father died when Jerry was only eleven. Perhaps that early loss, coupled with the hardships of the Depression, instilled in him a resilience and flexibility that would carry him throughout his life—always holding tight to family, even as he adapted to change.
He could have been a professional tennis player, but there wasn’t money in that, and he wanted to be able to support a family, so he went into mechanical engineering, although physical activities like tennis, skiing and golf were lifelong passions. He met his wife Esther playing ping pong, they were married in 1954. Moving to California in 1959, first to Sunnyvale and then to Saratoga, Jerry saw a need for a synagogue so Audrey could have a proper Jewish education.
In 2020, Jerry participated in the Building Bridges Initiative that connected teens and college students at Beth David with long time members. He shared with Merav Tsori how he became Beth David’s first president. Late in 1962, Jerry and Esther were in a meeting with who were to become the three other founding couples of Beth David: Nat and Edith Kallman, Herb and Ruth Dreifuss, and Monroe and Freddie Postman. They all agree that they needed to pick a president and soon all eyes were on Jerry, and that was that.
Like many things in this valley, Beth David started in a garage, and from 13 families in 1963 we have seen many changes. Jerry said it was night and day, he couldn’t have imagined what it was to become, but unlike Moses he celebrated the growth and the change.
He lived these values in his personal and professional life. He was an early adopter of technology, the first person at Westinghouse to buy an Apple computer and bring it into the office. He would adopt technology before his daughter, learning digital photography and photoshop before Audrey did. He was an avid skier, and would ski in any weather, but when knee surgery made downhill skiing impossible, he took up cross-country skiing, and when that became too difficult, he switched to golf. He lived a life of resilience; it was never too late to grow. He was passionate for all kinds of music and took up taiko drumming, performing for the other residents of the retirement community. Through his life he showed it is never too late to grow.
And after Esther died in 2008, he again showed this resilience, proving with Natalie that it is never too late to fall in love again. He embraced her and her family, loving her grandchildren as his own.
Jerry was a gentleman, he was gentle, he didn’t complain, “you couldn’t ruffle his feathers.” He went with the flow and was always determined to bounce back from any setbacks, always with kind words, gentle eyes, and a smile on his face.
When I think of Jerry, I think of the bridge between past, present, and future. He was proud of his Sephardic heritage, able to trace his family back to the 15th century. He loved Sephardic food — and loved that Audrey learned to cook the traditional dishes. And though he married into an Ashkenazi family, he never complained about their cuisine… except, of course, when it came to gefilte fish. On a trip to Spain, he made sure to visit the old synagogues — not just as a tourist, but as someone deeply connected to his past and the past of our people.
And wherever Jerry went, he was present for his people. He always ended up knowing everyone — not because he wanted attention, but because he cared. He wasn’t one to talk about himself.
The second-to-last time I saw him was just two weeks ago in the hospital. Parkinson’s and COPD were taking their toll, and he was in pain. I asked how he was doing. At first, he struggled to speak, but then he rallied — and began asking me about Michelle, about Lindsay, about the kids, and how we were adjusting to the new baby. His eyes lit up, his smile shone bright. That was Jerry: focused on others, focused on the future.
We are here today in large part because Jerry wanted a place where Audrey could have a Jewish education, so he helped found a synagogue. And to the last he was focused on the young, on the newest members of our community.
And now, he is gone — at least physically.
At a typical Jewish funeral, we begin here in the synagogue. After the words are spoken and the prayers are recited, we conclude at the graveside, tucking our loved ones into their final resting place, where in time a stone is erected in their memory.
But today was different. Jerry’s burial took place this morning, in a small private service with Audrey, Natalie, and family. And from Shalom Gardens, we returned here, to Beth David.
And while this is a bit unconventional for Jerry it feels so fitting. Because this — this synagogue, this sanctuary, this community — is Jerry’s true memorial. Not only the beautiful Jerusalem stone in this room, which those four families could scarcely have imagined 60 + years ago, but the living, breathing community itself.
Every prayer uttered here. Every child who learns here. Every friendship formed here. All of it carries Jerry’s imprint.
Beth David is his legacy. It is his resting place. It is his living memorial. It is us. And it is therefore our job to pick up where he has left off, to continue the work. To follow Jerry’s example and build the connections with quiet grace, that unassuming wisdom, and joyful smiles. To build a future we can scarcely imagine, secure in the knowledge it will be secured by the foundations of our past.