Senior Moments: Mourning the loss of a rabbi, friend and teacher

It’s no wonder that the heavens opened up and flooded the earth with tears when Rabbi Gilbert Kollin passed away on November 12, 2025, at the age of 91.

He was like a cup of kindness. It was in his handshake, his hug, his greeting.

It was the way his smile came through the phone, which is basically how our friendship began. Although he was my Rabbi at Pasadena Jewish Temple and Center, I did not know him very well when I learned I had breast cancer. Feeling an aching need to talk to my Rabbi, I called and left him a disjointed phone message ending with something like, “I’m not even sure why I called.”

He returned the call several times, and when I did not respond he finally left a message saying he would like to come see me the following afternoon. I was moved and comforted by the kindness in his voice, and even more so when he took my hand in both of his when I opened the door and said how sorry he was about my diagnosis. My husband was home but said a quick hello and left us on our own.

We talked effortlessly, and although he was not old enough to be my father, I felt the warmth of a parent and the safety to voice private thoughts, including that I had had a difficult relationship with my own father, who had passed away many years before.

When he returned a few days later, on the eve of my surgery, I asked him jokingly if he would say a prayer for me since he had special “in.” He assured me that his prayers held no more weight than my own, but of course, he would say one.

Then he said, with that reassuring smile, “I’m going to go out on a limb here, but I just have a feeling that you are going to be OK.” I held onto that thought and reminded him about it as the years passed and I remained cancer-free.

Our lives intertwined after that. He took me to see his wife, the late Yona Kollin, who was a therapist who specialized in helping people going through treatment for serious illness.

Her office was in their home, and during my chemo treatment, I was there often. On Friday afternoons, Rabbi would be in the kitchen making challah for Shabbat, and I could hear him humming as he worked. Yona helped me tremendously, and on those days when I was with the two of them, I felt like I was in a safe cocoon.

Our families became close as the years passed. After George and I took Rabbi’s Introduction to Judaism class, George decided to convert, and we celebrated together. When Yona passed away from cancer, we mourned together, and years later, when he married Cindy Cohen, we rejoiced together. And when George died, we cried together.

Those of us who loved Gil Kollin, and there are so many of us disciples of his kindness, bless his memory.

Email patriciabunin@sbcglobal.net and follow her at PatriciaBunin.com.