We think of you often.

The celestial supergroup has added a member. Now that Joe Strummer has joined Jonathan, Joey and Dee Dee Ramone, Keith Moon, and Buddy Holly, their shows must be smokin'! I'm glad Jonathan is in good company, 'cause I sure do miss him down here.

Jonathan was my first friend at Tufts, and I think it's safe to say I was his. We, along with seven other matriculating freshmen and two group leaders, spent a week sequestered in hostels and homeless shelters throughout Boston, participating in a pre-orientation community service trip. With only one other male in the group of eleven, it was natural that Jonathan and I clung to each other; but there was more than that. We were two pale and slight Jewish boys, raised watching professional wrestling in suburbs whose greatest attractions were their sizable malls. It was kismet. No one on the trip knew quite what to make of Jonathan, including me. We had plenty in common: we talked about our high school experiences and what we expected from college, discussed music and movies at length, and, of course, laughed about plotlines and pay-per-views that were part of our collective professional wrestling memory. Nevertheless, he often acted a little socially awkward, and was prone to getting fitfully excited about unusual topics or events. He was hard to read. His sense of humor and comic timing were odd. In fact, our group played a trip-length game of "Assassin", in which one person (in this case me) was dubbed assassin by the group leaders (unbeknownst to the other freshmen) and had to eliminate each competitor by telling them they were assassinated while alone. Once caught, a victim would later act out his demise in front of the group, surprising and entertaining them. When it came Jonathan's turn to perform, he walked directly into an open freezer door and landed a perfect pratfall, right in the middle of dinner. The rest of the group was startled and concerned. I laughed instantly, but then I was privvy to the situation. After milking the shock for a moment, Jonathan rebounded, laughing sharply and earnestly. That was only the first time I experienced his humor and flair for drama, but anyone who befriended Jonathan is sure to have seen them in action. He certainly brought that spirit to the ping-pong table, where he played like a World Cup goalie, diving for saves with relentless, imperturbable concentration. And he brought it even more strongly to his music. Admittedly, our tastes diverged greatly, as I had trouble seeing beauty in the simplicity of punk music. By our junior year, I had learned to appreciate what was so beautiful about the music Jonathan listened to and created: disarming honesty. If there is one compliment I've heard repeatedly stated about him since the funeral, it's that he was sincere in all his endeavors and behavior. I was fortunate - and unfortunate - enough to see Jonathan one last time, a few days before he passed away. It had been over a year since I had seen him in person, and I was not at all prepared for the meeting. I'll forgo any description, but without any experience to inform my judgment, I was sure that his body would give out within days or weeks, at best. To not have seen him in so long and to see him in that state, I was left with a haunting image, one I will never fully shake. But I have found solace in sharing stories about Jonathan with friends and family - and now, in reading the thoughts and seeing the pictures on this website. They help me to recall some of my own distant memories; they help to keep his energy with me. It's hard not to think about what we've all lost when remembering Jonathan, but then it's even harder not to smile. -David Raskin 11/01/02

I'm not really good with words, but there are no words that can describe just how special of a person Jonathan was, and how much he meant to me. He will always be in my heart, as just thinking of him puts a smile to my face. This is a great web site which I will defintely be visiting very frequently. Thank you so much for putting it together, its great!

Yo conosÌ super poquito a este niÒo hermoso, pero por lo poco que alcancÈ a estar con Èl persibÌ miles de cosas maravillosas,su energÌa, su aura, su mirada dulce y profunda que podias viajar por horas sin hacer falta ni una palabra. Quiero dar gracias a la vida por haberme dado la oportunidad de conoserte y haber compartido contigo aunque sea algunos instanates, espero verte pronto.

Welcome. Many of you are meeting Jonathan for the first time tonight through his music. What you just heard were songs which he wrote, played all of the instruments, and sang, and then taught the members of his band to play. The band called itself the Physicals. My brother, Johnny Physical. What’s funny is that even those of us who do know Jonathan and have heard his songs hundreds of times, listen to them like it’s the first time. We find ourselves worrying about whether his voice will crack as he pushes it to its limits. Even though in the back of our minds we know that it’s only a recording we’re listening to, it’s a relief every time it doesn’t. Maybe it’s the urgency in his voice, maybe it’s the energy that we sense powering it. It just can’t be a recording! Music sustained and transformed Jonathan’s year and a half battle with leukemia. I remember the conversation, almost immediately after he was diagnosed, when he told me that this would be the perfect time to formally study the piano—something he had always wanted to do. So he started taking piano lessons and six months later gave a recital performing the work of his favorite composer, Schumann. Jonathan played music even when he was in the hospital, even when his health was severely compromised. When his blood counts were perilously low, he gave a concert in the hospital’s patient lounge. Even in the intensive care unit, he was recording music. He did this, not to pass the time, but to enjoy the time. And he wasn’t exactly being brave. He was being himself. When people praised Jonathan for being courageous, he really didn’t have the slightest idea what they were talking about. He really couldn’t imagine any other way to be. I could go on forever about Jonathan but for now I’ll just say that if you want to get to know him better, check out www.johnnyphysical.com, my living memorial to him. Besides covering Neil Diamond, my brother didn’t really make Jewish music. Not anything like the music of Andy Statman. Nevertheless, Jonathan was a big fan of the neo-klez movement and kept a copy of Andy Statman’s album in his cd binder (on the same page with the Bad Brains, the Cramps, and the Kinks’ Village Green Preservation Society). He considered Andy Statman one of the most important musicians of our time so it’s more than fitting that I introduce to you, Andy Statman.

I've just begun to explore this Web site and it already has me crying and laughing at the same time, just as Jonathan so often did during the course of his illness. It's truly a fitting tribute to a rock legend who, like all bright lights, was extinguished far too soon. The world feels darker without Jonathan.

Thank you to those who put this together. It is wonderful that we have this collage of memories and pictures of Jonathan so that whenever we think of him and miss his pure loving sense, we have a readily accessible vehicle available to us. I miss Jonathan's energy, laugh and undiluted nature, however, he remains with me forever. Maxiel Gomez

As I sit here thinking of Jonathan, layers upon layers of thoughts come to mind. I hesitate drawing upon one rather than the other since each is a gem unto itself. I don’t think a day has gone by that one thing or another has not reminded me of Jonathan. What would I say to him if he were here? Perhaps honestly reminiscing is the best approach for me to take. So here goes. My tribute to Jonathan Jonathan, when I began teaching you in January, I intuitively knew our time together would be special, far from typical. I am grateful for so many things: your showing me how important our journeys are, how beautiful the tunnel can be as we go through advancing toward the light, and for showing me first hand the healing power of music; music touching one’s soul communicating heart to heart, defying temporal constraints. You lived each day as fully as you could without any self-pity. Yet you never shied from admitting having your illness. “I have leukemia” flowed from your lips as easily as some of us would say,” I have a cold.” Jonathan, you have an integrity that is stunning in today’s pretentious world. There were many visits, which I can replay in my mind and share now. But the one, which stands out, is our visit to the terrace in Sloan. The image of you walking through the hall, pushing Lola, the nickname we gave your med pole, as I pushed the wheel chair you would not sit in, is etched in my mind. So many moments of that visit are like snap shots in a picture album. The walk up, sitting on the terrace watching you breathe in the air with the poncho around your shoulders, standing by the rail enveloped in your own thought as you looked down at the buildings and the street below. I wondered what you thought but knew it was your thought and yours alone. The deepest impression of that day was hearing you bellow the Schumann songs you loved so much. I cannot hear a Schumann piece today and not think of you. I played and you sang with Pavarotti-like gusto; it was god-awful flat but beautiful beyond words. If I close my eyes I can hear you now as clearly as if you were in the room. Thank you for that gift. That day as our visit drew to a close, I looked from the door at you sitting on the bed, forlorn, feet hanging from the side. I held out my hand to say good-bye. You said it was okay to hug you. So I did, and you leaned your head on my shoulder. At that moment I wanted so much to give you health, to make your sick blood healthy, to cure you of it all, to say let’s get dressed and go but I had to be content to feel your head on my shoulder and give you the love I carried in my heart. Jonathan, you taught me many things, how to love life, how to journey through life to death, how to find deep meaning in Schumann and how people walk together hand in hand, teachers are students and students are teachers and we are all partners in the dance as we travel. Until we meet again, Your piano teacher and dear friend, Fran

A few nights ago, I was walking down the streets of Portland, Maine, listening to a Buddy Holly CD. Iím sure that many of you know that Buddy Holly was one of Jonathanís favorite musicians. During a song called ìEveryday,î which the music therapist had played for him in the ICU, the phrase ìbeautiful soulî came to my mind. Iím sure that anyone who has spent time with Jonathan, from his parents, brother, and family, to his childhood friends, to the nurses who looked over him at the hospital, has had the impression that Jonathan is a beautiful soul. Then I tried to think about what this might mean exactlyówhat is a beautiful soul? And, rather than vague definitions, a few memories come to my mind, which I would like to share with you. I first met Jonathan on the day of my graduation from Brown in 1994 when Josh and I were roommates; Jonathan was fourteen. I had the flu and had been taking a nap, so I didnít realize that Joshís family (whom I had not yet met) entered our apartment. I came out of my room without my glasses, saw a blurry form in front of me, and said, ìHello, Mrs. Neuman.î After putting on my glasses, I realizedóto my horroróthat I had been addressing Joshís little brother. Instead of rolling his eyes at me and acting like an awkward, exasperated teenager, Jonathan rewarded my mistake with a smile. If you have seen Jonathanís smile, I think youíll understand why I said rewarded. Din had one of the most beautiful, shining smiles I have ever seen, and I was taken with him immediately. Since that morning in May, I have had the pleasure of seeing Jonathanís smile countless times: when he introduced me to a new punk band, when we discussed our mutual love of horror films, or when we played charades and ate Janetís desserts at New Yearís. There was something genuine about his smileóit was not just a conversation filler or an empty gesture, as our own smiles often are. There was nothing shallow about Jonathanówhatever the circumstance, he had to think about what he was hearing, seeing, or experiencing before he could respond with a smile or a word. Even a simple question like, ìDid you enjoy the meal we just had?,î was met with a long pause as Jonathan thought with great focus and energy about whether that had in fact been an enjoyable meal, an interesting movie, or a good song. When he creased his eyebrows and said, ìYes, I liked it,î I knew he really meant it. Thatís why I felt sure that Jonathan enjoyed the time he spent visiting me in Maine a year ago with Josh. That visit will always hold an important place in my memories. Jonathan tried to teach me how to skip stones, comforted me while we watched The Exorcist, and told me that the ice cream of Maine was the best he had ever tasted. After it had been blessed by Jonathanís presence and approval, Maine started to feel like home to me. The last time I saw Jonathan when he was awake was in March, during Passover. We watched some pro-wrestling, listened to the Beatles, and, as always, talked about movies. He asked me to sing him a song, and I told him that the only songs I knew were by Madonna. He said that was okay, encouraged me not to be shy, and sang back-up to my pathetic rendition of ìVogue.î Like the first time I saw him, he didnít roll his eyes at me but made me feel that I was welcome in his world. Iím an only child, so I didnít know what it was like to have a little brother until I met Jonathan. I want to thank him for that experience, while remaining conscious of the fact that Josh is his true beloved big brother. Still, I am touched to have had the pleasure of being an honorary sister to such a beautiful soul. Thank you, Din. I will always hold you in my heart.