Diana Rosenberg Engel
November 2, 1937 – January 13, 2015
It looks like my mother touched one or two other people as well.
We all remember from Stanley Milgram’s classic “Six Degrees of Separation” experiment that
each of us is related to one another by a small number of connections – six degrees of separation
– that follow the interconnected web of humanity, proving that it is indeed a small world. Often
forgotten, however, is that most paths of six degrees pass through a very small number of people
known as connectors. In Malcom Gladwell’s description, connectors are people who "link us up
with the world...people with a special gift for bringing the world together". They are "a handful of
people with a truly extraordinary knack [... for] making friends and acquaintances".
My mother was a connector.
I want to talk to you about the way my mother connected each one of us – family, friends,
colleagues, classmates – to each other and to a larger community. And I want to explain how my
mother connected two generations of America: the conservative, World War II society she grew
up in almost 80 years ago, to the tolerant fusion of today’s world, where we are on good days
accepting of difference almost to a fault, and on others, like this past week, galvanized in critical
response to the remaining prejudice among us.
Malcom Gladwell must have studied my mother. He attributes the social success of connectors
to "their ability to span many different worlds.” This ability, he says, “is a function of something
intrinsic to their personality, some combination of curiosity, self-confidence, sociability, and
energy".
Diana Rosenberg was born to middle class immigrants in New York, neither peasants nor gentry.
Her mother Eva came to the US from the Polish-Ukrainian shtetl of Ostropol; her father David a
city man from the Jewish area of Warsaw, but himself only one generation removed from the
village. This was a generation that identified ardently as American, yet socialized almost
exclusively among Jews. It was in this world, among fellow Jews in Washington Heights, that
Diana was born in 1937. When Michael was born eight years later, the family moved to 81st and
Broadway on the recommendation of Lilly Zabar, a fellow Ostropolian, whose family lived in the
building and ran a small grocery across the street. Connections.
Mom’s early childhood connections were family – her relationship with the three Marions: her first
cousin Micki Reingold Chase, her mother’s cousin, Marion Yablon Silberman, and visiting cousin
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Diana Rosenberg Engel
November 2, 1937 – January 13, 2015
Marion Lazar Usher from Montreal. All the same age and with few siblings, the girls connected
like sisters. It was from Marion Silberman that Mom adopted the philosophy, “if you weren’t there,
you weren’t there.” She applied it to every gathering of family, near or far, and most gatherings
of friends as well, including not one but two new year’s parties just two weeks ago.
If some immigrants prove their status in American society by wealth, the marks of cultured
success for the Rosenbergs were classical music and education. Mom attended Julliard prep from
an early age, taking the bus alone up to 123rd street for piano and music theory lessons. She
continued her piano studies at Music and Art High School where she also learned some violin
and made some of her closest life friends. For my mother, classical music became a language
and a common interest that allowed her to forge relationships with so many from so many walks
of life.
Having skipped at least one grade, Mom entered Barnard at age 16, majoring in Government.
There was no question that she would live with her parents, but she established her independence
quickly. In the summer between high school and college, she took the train to Madison to spend
the summer, ostensibly taking classes. The following year, she and her friend Nicole Milner rented
a house in the Berkshires for the summer where they hitchhiked to classes and concerts at
Tanglewood. I can imagine worse forms of rebellion.
It was Nicole who introduced my mother to Milton, shortly after Mom had broken off an
engagement with her college boyfriend. Milton and Diana married in 1959 after a short courtship
– she was still living at home, after all -- and moved to the Bronx while my father finished up
medical school.
He was by nature, and subsequently by psychiatric training, the ultimate listener. She was, well,
a talker. By my mother’s honest admission (did she have any other kind?), it was a good
partnership. My mother’s dynamism was a little like a subatomic particle, vibrating continuously
between multiple activities and capable of awesome power. He was there to absorb her energy
when she most needed it.
While the relationship was rooted in shared values and kindness, they held each other in
admiration. For him, my mother was the sophisticated urbanite who represented his transition
out of Cleveland’s Hungarian shtetl. For her, my father was a scholar who shared her passion for
music, literature and history, as well as their shared commitment to building Jewish family and
community.
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Diana Rosenberg Engel
November 2, 1937 – January 13, 2015
Like many successful marriages, this one was renegotiated at least once. They entered the
contract with an expectation of traditional 1950s roles, and my mother dutifully stayed home with
children for many years. But over time, as she engaged her other interests, she and Dad reached
a new accommodation about the division of labor. In this, she had picked a good mate. My father
was always proud of his wife’s intellect and encouraged her to achieve, even when it meant taking
on new responsibilities.
It wasn’t until they moved to Washington for my father’s training in psychoanalysis that my parents
began building the community that would be one of Diana’s greatest accomplishments. While still
living in New Haven, Mom called ahead for an introduction to the neighborhood of Shepherd Park
in Upper Northwest. The neighborhood was a microcosm of the changes taking place in 1960s
America, and Mom and Dad’s choice to live there represented a commitment to one vision of an
integrated America. At the time, a neighborhood that had historically included a mix of African
Americans and Jews was facing increasing white flight. Mom’s new connection, Ruth Cogen,
was part of an organized effort to stem blockbusting tactics and recruit young, white families to
retain the neighborhood’s integrated character. Mom joined the team.
Similarly, Shepherd Park’s Conservative synagogue, Tifereth Israel, was losing its members, who
were moving to the suburbs. When some members’ downtown shops were burned in the 1968
riots, there was additional pressure for the synagogue to move out of town as well. My parents,
together with a group of friends who would come to be very close, led a Board takeover to redefine
the future of the shul. They hired a young rabbi who gave sermons protesting the war in Vietnam
and supported allowing women on the bimah and bat mitzvah for girls.
Through these battles, my mother developed friendships in the neighborhood and the shul that
would sustain her for the rest of her life. Although my mother continued making very close new
friends to the end, the relationships that she formed during this time established a net of support
that, even as the members of the group evolved, has been her sustenance.
After completing her Masters degree in religion and philosophy, volunteering in other non-profit
organizations, such as the National Coalition to Ban Handguns, and the synagogue board, my
mother was looking for a new challenge. Apparently, taking me to play groups wasn’t doing it for
her. As Ruth Cogen tells it, my mother called her one day in late 1975 and said in her usual tone
that always implied, “let’s go, what are you waiting for?”, ““Hey, Ruth” she said. “What this city
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Diana Rosenberg Engel
November 2, 1937 – January 13, 2015
needs is a good music school…. Let’s start one.” Retold many times, the anecdote encapsulates
my mother’s identity:

Did she have any idea how to start or run a music school? No.

Did she think for a moment that she couldn’t do it? No.

Did she enlist her friends and her friends’s friends to make it happen? Yes.
The institution Ruth and my mother founded with Jackie Marlin, the only one of the three who had
any experience running a school, grew first from 36 students in a church basement on
Massachusetts avenue to become a cornerstone of Washington’s classical music society that
today has 3,700 students, 150 professional faculty and four campuses.
Once the Levine School had gained momentum, Diana was ready for her next challenge. She
worried to her college friend Phyllis, “but if I got to law school, I’ll be 45 when I get out.” “Diana,”
her friend said to her, “you’ll be 45 whether you go to law school or not.” She received her JD
from Georgetown Law School in 1983.
It took my mother a few years to bend the legal profession to her strengths and interests, but she
ultimately found her sweet spot by championing the family part of what is delicately called “family
law,” though it is more often about divorce. A lawyer who didn’t really care for lawyering and
despised the confrontation of litigation, she proved effective at bringing her clients to pragmatic
solutions that put the needs of children above immature spouses. Mom and I talked once about
the difference between making an impact on individual lives versus making a broader impact
through organizations. She needed to do both, and the law took advantage of her warmth and
cajoling power to lead individuals through a rough time.
With the forbearance of very patient business partners, the law also gave my mother the flexibility
as she got older to spend time with friends and family. Although she retired just one year ago,
during the previous ten it seems work did not get in the way of her travel to the Caribbean, Cape
Cod, Chicago, Toronto (for piano camp), Italy and of course, to see her grandchildren.
When her own mother died 25 years ago, my mother inherited a small sum of money and it’s
telling how she chose to use it. She allocated half the money to five trips for her family. Her logic
was that if you invite your kids to nice places, they’re more likely to spend time with you. The
other half of the money she wanted to put toward a house on Cape Cod, but only if she could be
certain that going there wouldn’t be an imposition on her children. It wasn’t.
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Diana Rosenberg Engel
November 2, 1937 – January 13, 2015
Having brought us to Wellfleet for summer vacations almost every year since 1968, she now
created a gathering place for the family that grew into a true second home for all of us. For me,
it was a refuge of safety where I could be under my parents’ roof but still alone. For my mother,
it was a refuge of beauty where she could still somehow overfill her days. For Jonathan and
Andrew, it helped set up a Cousins Camp that fostered the genuine friendship those kids have
with each other and with their grandmother.
It’s not a coincidence that my mother enjoyed a friendship with her grandchildren. When her first
grandson, Ezra, was born, she read a book that said you need to see small children at least once
every six weeks for them to remember you. Whether the book said it or not, she also determined
that grandparents are especially welcome when they invite kids to do fun things. So she did.
She took the New Jersey kids into the city to see Wicked and Matilda and the American Girl Doll
store. She had the Washington kids over for sleepovers with unlimited French Toast and attended
every one of their recitals at the Levine School. As each of her grandchildren reached bar or bat
mitzvah age, my mother arranged to take them on a trip to Europe – just one or two kids and
Grandma.
My mother took relationships seriously and believed they require – and merit – work. Let me give
you two examples.
1. My mother’s childhood friend Nicole, the one who introduced her to my father, grew up never
knowing her own mother or even her mother’s side of the family. During a trip to Paris in her 30s,
my mother sought out Nicole’s maternal grandmother, who lived in France. My mom introduced
herself – her French was Okay. Somehow, my mother engaged this woman who had not known
her own grand-daughter, and opened a bridge for her to reconnect with her own family. It opened
the door to a lifetime relationship for the family. “You see,” Nicole told me, “your mother could fit
in anywhere and connect with people deeply.”
2. The hardest situation for my mother was managing her own over-commitment. I watched her
struggle a few years back when she learned that her second cousin’s daughter’s bat mitzvah was
going to take place in White Plains a day before my mom was due to return home from Vietnam.
In the space of two hours, my mom made seven phone calls to her friends to analyze the problem,
in addition to re-examining the situation with me in between each call. I could have told you there
was no question: she wasn’t going to miss that bat mitzvah. After all, there’s only one chance to
go to your second cousin’s daughter’s bat mitzvah, but a 75-year-old can go to Vietnam anytime.
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Diana Rosenberg Engel
November 2, 1937 – January 13, 2015
But the truth was, my mother relished her role. Whereas her early life was circumscribed by a
very traditional Jewish society, in the changing America that she helped change, her circle grew
to include a remarkable variety of friends – and even family – from other backgrounds, and she
treasured being the conduit among them all. When Anne was having a hard time a couple years
ago, my mother mentioned it to a friend from law school (why wouldn’t she?). My mother’s friend
opened the trunk of her car, where she kept bottles of holy water from the shrine at Lourdes (why
wouldn’t she?) and gave it to my mother who happily sent it to my Catholic wife. Why wouldn’t
she.
Ten years ago, when my mother was diagnosed with the return of breast cancer, I took her to
Hopkins for a second opinion with a cancer specialist. “What are your objectives, Mrs. Engel,”
the doctor asked clinically. My mother didn’t hesitate: “I don’t want to die, and I don’t want to lose
my hair, and I’m not sure which comes first.” On the way home, I asked her, if, now that she knew
she had a limited time alive, she would do anything differently, make any changes. She thought
about it for a minute, then offered, “well, there is a Schubert class at Georgetown I was trying to
decide whether to take. I think I’ll sign up for that. But otherwise, no, I’m doing what I want to
do.”
Was it ironic that my mother – who was, call it politely, “efficient”; some might say impatient – did
her graduate work on Abraham Joshua Heschel’s sanctity of time? Perhaps. But there’s no
question she understood the value of time, how little of it we have, and how important it is to use
for the things we care about most: love for our family and friends, support for our community,
time spent together appreciating the richness of human culture and each other.
-- Samuel Engel (with help from Anne)
January 15, 2015
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