Fridays with Moshe
Community member Dennis Kaplan remembers his friend Moshe Kruger
I remember it as the day the Earth stood still.
I fell in my apartment and crushed a section of my spine. In a blink of an eye, I went from being a perfectly healthy 69-year-old man to a quadriplegic. Confined to a nursing home after the accident, time took on a different form. Days were longer. Evenings were quieter. The rhythm of life I once knew—meetings, deadlines, spending time with friends—was replaced by stillness.
And then there were Fridays.
Every Friday afternoon, without fail, my best friend would walk through those doors. He came from a full life—work responsibilities, family obligations, the constant demands that pull at all of us. Yet he carved out that time, week after week, to sit beside me.
We would talk about business. We would dissect world politics. We would laugh about family stories. Sometimes we debated; sometimes we solved imaginary problems; sometimes we simply reflected. The topics mattered—but what mattered more was that he showed up.
Reading Tuesdays with Morrie by Mitch Albom years ago, I was moved by the ritual of weekly visits between Albom and his former professor, Morrie Schwartz. Their Tuesdays became sacred space—structured time devoted not to productivity, but to meaning. Not to achievement, but to connection.
In a different setting, our Fridays became something similar.
Unlike Morrie, I was not facing a terminal diagnosis. Unlike Mitch, my friend was not returning to a former teacher. But the essence was the same: intentional presence. In a season when I could not move freely in the world, someone chose to enter my world.
There is something profoundly humbling about being visited. It strips away pride. It reminds you that independence is not the only measure of dignity. When someone comes simply because you matter to them, it reorders your understanding of success, loyalty, and love.
Those Fridays gave structure to my week. They gave me anticipation. They reminded me that my mind was still active, that my opinions still had value, that my friendships were not contingent on mobility or status.
In Tuesdays with Morrie, one of the central lessons is that love and human connection are what endure. Achievement fades. Busyness dissolves. What remains is who sat with you when you needed sitting with.
My friend may not have realized it, but those visits carried me. They preserved my sense of identity. They strengthened my resolve to heal. They reminded me that even in confinement, life was still expansive when shared.
Then, not too long ago, the Earth stood still again. My dear friend Moshe passed away while visiting his family in Israel. I am still in shock but determined to use the strength he imparted on me because that is the way he would have wanted it.
We all have the opportunity to create our own “Tuesdays” or “Fridays.” They don’t require grand gestures. Just consistency. Just presence. Just the willingness to say: You matter enough for me to be here.
For that gift, I am forever grateful.
Dennis Kaplan
Community Contributor