יוזף וולפסון 1936-2021

I want to tell the story of my father’s life — a man whose life began in the most difficult years of the twentieth century, yet who managed to overcome all hardships, obtain an education, build a career, raise a family, and leave behind the memory of an exceptionally talented, kind, and deeply sensitive person.

He was born in Belarus in 1936, and was still a small child when, in 1941, Nazi Germany invaded the Soviet Union. He was only five years old at the time.

There were four children in his family: him, two twin brothers, and a sister. The war took all three of his siblings, as well as his mother and father — all of them perished.

There was still a possibility to evacuate by train, and distant relatives gathered in order to save the child. The person who took him with her was Ida Borisovna, the wife of his paternal uncle.

She became the closest person to him. In fact, she raised him, giving him love, care, and warmth, and above all — the opportunity to receive an education and build his life. For me, Ida Borisovna was my beloved and devoted grandmother.

Despite everything my father went through in childhood, he grew up to be a person of immense inner strength, kindness, and a strong desire to learn — a cheerful man, full of optimism and joy for life.

He graduated from school with a gold medal.

Teachers in subjects such as mathematics, physics, and chemistry made use of my father’s exceptional talent. They allowed him to study the material and prepare two or three lessons ahead of the class.

My father would prepare, and when he arrived at the lesson, the teachers would begin with the words:
“And now Yozef Wolfson will tell us about the new topic…”

My father told me about this, and later also told my sons, as an example of effective learning.

It was truly a method that produced excellent results — both for the student, who in effect also became a “teacher,” and for the rest of the class. It was something special and very interesting.

After school, he was admitted to the Ural Polytechnic Institute. He graduated with honors and received a red diploma in electrical engineering.

It was in the Urals, in the Sverdlovsk region, in the city of Krasnoturinsk, that he met my mother. They fell in love and got married.

I remember how, during the coldest winters, my father would say to me:
“Where did your father bring you!”
He always dreamed of living in a warm climate, near the sea.

He began searching for new opportunities, including in Belarus, without giving up hope of perhaps finding someone from his family.

He even traveled to Grodno, where he was invited to take the position of chief engineer at a new dairy plant.

But his route passed through the Middle Volga region, and my father was simply captivated by the beauty of nature: the Volga River, mixed forests, and coniferous woods…

In addition, my father was an avid mushroom enthusiast, with a large library on the subject in Russian and German — a language he mastered very well.

And he decided to stay.

Shortly afterward, a new chapter of his life began in Tolyatti, where my father moved a year before us — before my mother, my grandmother, and I arrived there.

In 1971, we also moved.

The entire city was connected to the construction of the Volga automobile plant — VAZ. About 120,000 people worked there.

My mother immediately began working as a nurse.

My father worked as a chief specialist in the design department of VAZ.

He excelled in his knowledge, his humane and sensitive attitude toward workers, and in writing numerous patents.

Tolyatti became his professional home for decades.

He worked at the Volga automobile plant until his retirement.

It was work to which he devoted a large part of his life.

He took part in major projects, achieved many professional accomplishments, and earned great respect from his colleagues. He was not someone who merely did his job — he always strove to do it in the best possible way, with responsibility and dedication.

But his life was never limited to work alone.

He loved chess very much and  was a Master of Sports in Chess. .

He played within the factory and within his design department, participated in competitions, and won honorable places. His love for chess was so deep that he became a correspondence chess champion.

In addition to chess, he also played table tennis and held a first-category rank. Sport was another way for him to develop, compete, and always strive to improve.

He was a talented person, but he never sought to highlight his abilities.

Those who knew him remembered above all his kindness and willingness to help.

He knew how to assist, support, advise, and find solutions. People turned to him for guidance and help because they knew he would never refuse.

His life was full of work, knowledge, professional achievements, sports, chess, and family love.

In 1996, my parents immigrated to Israel.

At that time, we had already been living here for two years — since 1994.

In 1997, we all moved together from Kibbutz Ramat HaKovesh, near Kfar Saba, to Hadera.

My father very much wanted to continue his chess activities, and in 1998 he opened a chess club for school students at the engineering center in Hadera.

There were many students who wanted to join — real enthusiasm.

For three years he traveled with his students to championships, and his students achieved honorable results.

One day, the director of the “Children’s University” in Hadera called me with a special request.

The story was about a soldier who had taken part in the Second Lebanon War.

While serving as a driver, he hit an explosive device and was seriously injured. He became disabled and bedridden, but retained a tremendous will to live and learn — including learning chess.

They suggested that my father teach him chess by correspondence, since he could work only with his mind: he recorded all the games using a pencil held in his teeth.

Thus began fifteen years of work with Yevgeny Grobshtein — a Hero of Israel, a strong, unbreakable, and determined man, whom my father gently and lovingly guided on his path to achievements and victories in the Israeli correspondence chess championships.

And so it was.

Yevgeny was happy, and my father rejoiced in his success.

My father spoke with him on the phone for the last time on June 25, 2013.

They discussed chess moves, and the next day Yevgeny passed away…

When he saw that my grandfather could not come to terms with the loss of his student, my son Yaakov immediately began looking for a new occupation for him.

And he found it.

Lawyers at the medical center needed German translations of medical test results of patients suffering from serious illnesses who were sent for treatment in Germany.

And my father, without hesitation for even a moment, immersed himself in this difficult work.

And he succeeded greatly!

Many people thanked him and still remember the good he did.

Alongside his translation work, family life continued as usual. I always tried to find opportunities for my parents to travel, rest, and enjoy life.

As early as 2003, they travelled to Russia, met with former colleagues and friends, and went walking in the forest — my father loved nature, especially the forest, and always enjoyed returning there.
Later, they travelled to London to visit relatives. And there, as always, my father became my mother's personal guide. Just as he had done during their honeymoon, when he showed her around St. Petersburg, explaining its architecture and the history behind its buildings, he took her to theatres and cinemas. He knew how to make every journey interesting and enjoyable.
My father was also a great teller of jokes — a bright, cheerful man, full of warmth and humor. I never remember my parents arguing. I cannot remember my father ever raising his voice at me or speaking harshly to my mother. He always treated women, children, and grandchildren with respect.
His grandchildren, Daniel and Yakov, held a very special place in his life.
He was constantly in touch with them, interested in their lives, and happy about every one of their achievements. When he was with his grandchildren, he seemed to become younger himself. He simply immersed himself in them, and his relationship with them was one of the greatest joys of his life.
He even wrote about them in his diary — that is how important those relationships were to him.
Music was also always a special part of my father's life.
He had a beautiful singing voice. On his eightieth birthday, we recorded many songs performed by him, and today those recordings have become a true treasure for our family.
But in his final years, when illness had already greatly limited his life, singing became especially important to him. It became difficult for him to leave the house, and eventually even moving around inside the home became difficult.
And then he found comfort in singing.
I often remember how, years earlier, he and Yashenka used to play their favorite game, "Guess the Melody." Yasha had an excellent musical ear from childhood, and music was one of the special threads that connected grandfather and grandson.
And later, years afterward, we would hear my father's songs coming from his bedroom.
We had our own special sign: if Dad was singing, everything was all right. Dad was still holding on. He was still with us.
We heard his voice — and our hearts felt calmer.
The singing continued to fill the house until his final days.
Beginning in 2014, my parents also travelled on many organized tours around Europe. They visited Italy, Switzerland, France, Austria, Germany, and other countries.
They continued travelling until my father's eightieth birthday. After that, his illness no longer allowed him to travel abroad, but the travelling did not end. We travelled extensively around Israel — sometimes I went with them, and sometimes they travelled on their own.
This continued into the final years, until the pandemic arrived.
The pandemic was a very difficult time for all of us. It was especially hard for my father, who was already dealing with his illnesses.
But even then, he held on.
Until his very last day, he remained a bright, cheerful, and remarkably optimistic person.
Sometimes now I think about how much I would love to hear those songs again.
To hear my father's voice once more coming from his bedroom.
To hear him singing again and think:
"Dad is still with us."
That was my father.

He survived a war, lost his brothers, sister, and parents, was saved in childhood thanks to Ida Borisovna, received an excellent education, and managed to build a life to be proud of.

From a small child who survived the war, he became an engineer, a skilled professional, a chess player, an athlete, a husband, a father, and a grandfather.

For me, he was first and foremost my father.

And this is how I want to remember him, and how I want others to remember him as well: a good, intelligent, talented, hardworking, and sensitive person, who despite everything he went through in childhood, preserved within himself the ability to love people and help them.

Today, a bench dedicated to his memory stands here.

Not far from it is a bench dedicated to his grandson, my son Yaakov.

Two generations of my family are once again side by side.

Two lives, each completely unique, and yet very similar — in their love for people, their sense of humor, their optimism, and their kindness.

And I want to believe that now they are together again — side by side, in this beautiful place where people can stop, sit, and remember those who are no longer with us.

If you stopped here and read this story, it means that his memory continues to live on.

Thank you for getting to know my father’s life story.

May his memory always be a light.

And may he remain alive in our hearts.