The Connector

Word spread of how Dedi could light up a room, and soon he was invited to sing at simchahs and other events in venues in Israel and beyond. Those appearances gave Dedi the opportunity to rub shoulders with many influential people, and with his warmth and wit, many of those meetings evolved into lifelong friendships with people who rose to prominence. Early on in his career, Dedi visited with the Aleksander Rebbe, who dubbed him “Oded hameoded — Oded the encouraging one.” The Rebbe blessed Dedi with success in his singing, telling him that making other people happy would be the key to his personal hatzlachah.

Meanwhile, Dedi was also forging his own relationships in the Jewish music world. A visit to Mordechai Ben David’s home paved the way for an introduction to another well-known Seagate resident — Yossi Green — who would go on to write many a song for the talented singer and to produce several of his albums. When Avraham Fried or Mordechai Ben David visited Israel, Dedi would volunteer to take them around, and he was never shy about asking for an opportunity to join them on stage. Years later at a HASC concert, Dedi shared the story of the day he finally got a long-awaited yes from MBD, who agreed to let him sing a song at a concert in Jerusalem’s Binyanei Ha’umah. Racing home to get dressed, Dedi realized that the only suit he owned was the one from his bar mitzvah, which had been more than a few years earlier. With no other option, Dedi managed to squeeze into the suit, only to find himself barely able to move as he performed. While others might have cringed at the memory, Dedi owned it, gleefully and publicly sharing the story of his introduction to the live stage in a too-small suit.

That self-deprecating humor was typical of Dedi, who loved to joke when he shared the stage with Fried that, together, they looked like “before” and “after” results of dieting.

Chicago concert producer Miriam Schreiber described Dedi as a “singular sensation” who had an infectious love of people and was able to continuously reinvent himself.

“He wasn’t just a singer, he was an entertainer,” explains Schreiber, who had Dedi headlining several 1990s-era concerts in the Windy City. “One time he found a Little Tikes basketball hoop and he brought it on stage and ran a basketball contest in the middle of a concert. He always filled the hall and it never got boring because he had the ability to come up with something on the spur of the moment — he didn’t just get up there and sing his songs.”

Dedi — who would go on to release 12 solo albums and collaborate on close to 20 more — had no trouble living up to a description accorded him in one publication at the time, describing him as “having an amount of energy that would put the Energizer Bunny to shame.” Ding recalls the night Dedi was performing for an organization in Baltimore, and was advised shortly before the curtain went up that audience participation might be less enthusiastic than what he might have experienced in some of the bigger cities. While Dedi insisted confidently that he would be rocking the house, the head of the organization kept telling the singer to keep his expectations low, explaining that he was playing to an out-of-town audience with a low-key vibe.

“Dedi turned to me and said, ‘Just watch this,’ pulling several $10 bills out of his pockets,” says Ding. “He walked over to a bunch of kids in the front row, handed each one a $10 bill and said, ‘I want you to scream and make believe that I am The Beatles.’ Those kids started screaming, and the whole audience went wild.”

Gifts of Millions

Of course, concerts for Dedi weren’t only about the music — many were held to benefit particular organizations. One of Dedi’s earlier concerts was for SINAI, an organization that helps children with a wide range of learning and developmental disabilities. The show was a hit and at the end of the night, Charlie Kushner, Jared Kushner’s father and the founder of the Joseph Kushner Hebrew Academy which houses a SINAI program, handed Dedi a sealed envelope that held a check with his payment. Dedi ripped the envelope in half without even opening it, saying that he didn’t want to take money that could be benefitting children with special needs, much to Kushner’s astonishment.

“They became friendly after that,” remarks Ding. “Charlie ended up giving money to a lot of tzedakahs because of Dedi.”

Using his charm and his considerable networking skills to help out organizations was a signature Dedi move, one that translated into gifts of millions of dollars for causes that touched his heart, including Ezer Mitzion, NCSY, and HASC, to name just a few.

“He would call himself the ambassador of HASC and got his friends involved,” observes Ding. “You can’t imagine how much money he raised. He built a brand new dining room for HASC and a handicapped-accessible swimming pool. You just can’t give him enough credit for doing that.”

Dedi truly believed that using his talents to benefit others was the key to his success as a singer, advice he passed on to others in the business.

“You’re going to start to think you’re going to have a career and you’re a star and you’re this… it’s not. It’s not happening,” explained Dedi in a 2010 backstage HASC concert interview with Yossi Zweig of the Jewish Insights music website. “Baruch Hashem, HaKadosh Baruch Hu helped me that I always felt my shlichus is to be mesameach people with a good joke, with a good word, and  good music.”

Yet Dedi didn’t limit his efforts to spread simchah to the stage. Jewish music’s Nachum Segal recounts how Dedi couldn’t see a sick child without feeling inspired to find a way to bring a smile to their face, making hundreds of hospital visits over the course of his lifetime and building real relationships with young patients. Segal remembers one time that Dedi was coming in from Israel and wanted to visit a teenage girl who was going to be undergoing brain tumor surgery several days later. Segal picked Dedi up at the airport and the two headed for the now-closed Doctors Hospital on Manhattan’s Upper East Side, without even a keyboard for accompaniment.

“I was wishing there was someone we could call, but it was Sunday morning Chol Hamoed and nothing was open,” says Segal. “We got there and looked across the street and there was a PC Richards store open at 9:20 in the morning. Dedi’s eyes lit up, and sure enough, there was a keyboard. I wasn’t sure they would let us into the hospital carrying the keyboard, but when we got to her floor and the elevator opened,  a nurse starts screaming, ‘Dedi! Dedi!’ ”

As the two of them left the teenage girl’s room after their impromptu concert, Dedi said, “Do me a favor, invite me to your wedding.” Several years later, the girl did exactly that. Dedi felt terrible that he couldn’t attend because he had a prior commitment, but he found out that they were making sheva brachos the next night so he surprised them and came to sing.

Good as Gold

Over the course of his career, Dedi’s magnetic personality enabled him to connect to the entire spectrum of the Jewish world. The father of nine was close with Israeli Chief Rabbi Yisrael Meir Lau, who had a close relationship with Dedi’s parents and grandparents, and after dedicating his rendition of Avraham Fried’s “Levinyomin” in honor of Prime Minister Binyanim Netanyahu at a 1996 youth concert in Yerushalayim, a lifelong friendship ensued between the Graucher and Netanyahu families. Dedi was also good friends with former New York City Mayor Rudy Giuliani, and the two often attended baseball games together. Segal recalls how he and his brother watched the New York Yankees beat the Seattle Mariners in a pivotal game in 2001, the two of them lingering after the game as fans celebrated the big win.

“We were standing in the first row of the second level after the game and we see a guy on the field wearing a yarmulke walking toward the pitcher’s mound,” recalls Segal. “My brother asked me who I thought it could have been — and it was Dedi, walking with Giuliani, who loved him and took him to all the games.”

Dedi shared close relationships with many rabbanim, as Ding discovered when his third daughter was born prematurely weighing in at just under two pounds. Not long after his newborn was whisked away to the NICU and placed in an incubator, Ding went downstairs to get a drink and, as he did, his phone rang — it was Dedi calling to say hello. Ding shared that he had a new baby, and Dedi picked up right away from the tone of his voice that something was wrong and asked for Mrs. Ding’s phone number.

“I told him that now wasn’t the greatest time, but he asked me again for my wife’s number so I gave it to him,” says Ding. “I came up to my wife’s room a few minutes later and she told me I wasn’t going to believe who called. Naturally, I assumed it was Dedi, but actually it was Rav David Abuchatzeira. Dedi was close with him, and Dedi called Rav Abuchatzeira, who called my wife himself to tell her not to worry, that everything was going to be fine, and baruch Hashem, it was.”

Yet while he rubbed shoulders effortlessly with Jewish society’s elite and prominent rabbanim, Dedi was comfortable with everyone and had the unique ability to make every person feel like he considered them part of his inner circle — most probably because he really did. That was a reality that close friend Murray Huberfeld encountered on his way to the wedding of Michali Graucher, Dedi and Malca’s second daughter. Dedi had arranged a driver to bring Huberfeld and several of his family members to the wedding, but their car got into a major fender bender on the Jerusalem-Tel Aviv highway. Huberfeld somehow managed to get a taxi, and as they set off to Ramat Gan, the driver asked him where he was heading.

“I told him we were going to a wedding and when I told him whose wedding it was, he said ‘Dedi? Ani hachaver shelo! — I am his friend,’ ” says Huberfeld. “We got there and we pulled in and the taxi driver came with us to the wedding. That was Dedi — a friend of the prime minister and a friend of the taxi driver.”

Thirty years ago, when cell phones were far less common and you couldn’t get international service on an American phone, Dedi would lend Huberfeld his phone when he visited Israel, often for weeks at a time.

“Imagine giving your phone to someone for even ten minutes today — you’d go nuts,” posits Huberfeld. “But that was Dedi. He wanted his friends and the people around him to be happy.”

First Class

Traveling with Dedi was always an adventure, as Ding discovered on one fateful visit to JFK Airport, where it seemed that the singer knew everybody. The two were waiting to board a flight when Dedi ran over to a janitor with a wheeled garbage can who was cleaning the floors and began speaking with him. When Dedi returned, Ding asked him in disbelief if he actually knew the janitor.

“He laughed and told me that he was the head of security at JFK and that you don’t realize that the case he has his broom in is actually an Uzi,” says Ding. “He could walk on a plane anytime and tell you right away which guy on the plane was actually an air marshal.”

But perhaps the most memorable Dedi travel adventure was the time he boarded a plane with his wife and his youngest daughter Renana, who was a baby at the time. As the Grauchers settled down into their first-class seats, Dedi could see clearly that Leah Rabin, who was also on their flight, was anything but pleased to see a newborn seated nearby and Dedi felt the need to do something to smooth over what was clearly an uncomfortable situation. Thinking quickly, he took the baby and headed straight over to the widowed wife of the former prime minister.

“Mrs. Rabin,” said Dedi grinning broadly, “I want to introduce you to my son Yitzchak. I named him for your husband.”

Mrs. Rabin’s frown was instantly replaced by a wide smile.

“Thankfully, she wasn’t around for any of the diaper changes,” notes Huberfeld, sharing the story. “But that was Dedi — always making people feel good under the most unusual circumstances.”

Huberfeld had a personal flight story as well. Having spent four days in Qatar on business, he decided to stop in Eretz Yisrael for Shabbos to visit his daughter, but the only flight he could find included a nine-hour stopover in Turkey. A quick phone call to Dedi had him learning that there was a flight that went from Qatar to Aman, Jordan, which was just a 12-minute flight to Tel Aviv.

Having eaten nothing but chocolate bars during his time in Qatar, Huberfeld was famished by the time he landed in Aman. Not only was Dedi waiting for him on the tarmac in Aman, but he brought shawarma sandwiches with him, knowing that his friend was hungry.

Make Them Happy

Dedi was headlining a concert in October 1996 on the night that the Yankees were up three to two over the Atlanta Braves in the World Series. Knowing that there were many in the audience who wanted to know what was going on in the game, emcee Nachum Segal made sure to provide an update during the concert, sharing that the game was still scoreless after four innings.

Approaching Segal, Dedi asked to provide the next update, assuring the emcee that he knows all about baseball and that he has all the lingo down pat. A short time later, Dedi went out on stage, telling the audience the live score “right now, in the seventh yinning.”

“Well, he didn’t exactly have the lingo down pat,” says Segal, “but he knew it was important to the crowd so he wanted to announce it himself.”

Devoted friend that he was, Dedi was once spending time in a hotel with two close friends who were visiting Eretz Yisrael with their wives. When the women decided to go out and do some shopping, the men, all of whom were supposed to be on diets, decided to throw caution to the wind and order some serious snacks.

But then, one of the women decided to return to her room to retrieve a forgotten credit card. Seeing his wife approaching, one of the men went to meet her and stall for time, telling Dedi as he left to destroy the evidence of their little party. Thinking quickly, Dedi tossed the food over the balcony, not realizing that the room overlooked the pool, where confused swimmers and sunbathers unexpectedly found that it was raining chicken at the hotel.

Ordering food for friends was one thing, but Dedi would stop at nothing if another Yid was in distress. He was once visiting New York when he got word that a concert in Eretz Yisrael was about to be cancelled because of poor ticket sales. Wanting to spare the concert producer the embarrassment of having to pull the plug on an event that he had worked so hard to put together, Dedi picked up the phone and dialed an Israeli number.

Following Dedi’s instructions, the friend he called went to an address, picked up an envelope filled with cash, and bought all of the remaining concert tickets, which were then distributed for free to anyone who wanted to go to the concert. The hall was full on the designated night thanks to Dedi’s quick thinking and oversized heart that couldn’t bear to see another person feeling hurt.

All The World’s a Stage

As much as people enjoy attending concerts, Dedi picked up on something they love even more — being part of the show. With their catchy intros, songs like “Kulanu,” “V’Kovei Hashem,” and “Od Yishama” had audiences singing along with Dedi, making them part of the experience, something Segal saw for himself from his front row seat as a popular emcee at Jewish music events.

“He had the ability to take his popular songs and turn them into fantastic live concert presentations,” says Segal. “He approached his live performances with an attitude of, ‘I’m going to exude happiness and let other people be b’simchah with me,’ and that was always one of the main things behind his live performances.”

And it wasn’t only audiences who were drawn in by Dedi’s inherent warmth. Avraham Fried hailed Dedi as “a lighthouse,” while Sruly Williger says Dedi was the veteran performer who would step in and help him out at rehearsals.

“I performed with him at a few HASC concerts and he would be with me during the sound check, making me feel comfortable and taking care of me,” says Williger.

“When he came in, he always electrified the room,” adds Lipa Schmeltzer. “He was always b’simchah.”

Having experienced so much hardship in his own life clearly drove Dedi to go all out for others, earning him Fried’s praise as a “master genius in doing chesed.”

“Dedi would literally feel pain when he encountered a fellow Yid who was going through tough times and he did everything possible to help that person,” shares Fried. “Even in the last year or two when he wasn’t feeling well, he would reach out to me asking me to record video clips for people who needed chizuk, a refuah, or a birthday wish for a special-needs person. He was always thinking of others.”

“Somehow, whenever he saw someone in pain, not only did he feel bad, but he felt like he had to do something,” adds Ding. “That was just Dedi.”

More than just a singer, Dedi spent his time on this earth improving the lives of others in every way he possibly could. That reality was reflected at his September 12th levayah in Beit Shemesh, where in addition to poignant recollections by family members, Dedi was eulogized by Netanyahu, Rabbi Lau, and Jerusalem mayor Moshe Lion. Paying a final tribute to their father at the end of the levayah, Dedi’s four sons stood arm in arm, singing his “Elokai Neshamah,” the emotion evident in their voices as they bade a final farewell to the man who overcame impossible odds and lived to gladden the hearts of others.

“How does a poshute person have a levayah fit for a melech?” asks Huberfeld. “He touched hundreds, thousands of hearts and proved that your past doesn’t have to define you.”

Several years ago, Dedi told his wife that when he passed away after 120, she would hear many, many stories about him from others, a reality that Malca has seen coming true over the last several weeks. But despite the many words that others have used to describe Dedi, it is his own words that perhaps sum up all that he stood for and how he chose to live his life. On the back cover of his Adon Hashalom album, Dedi penned heartfelt words of gratitude to HaKadosh Baruch Hu that read, “At this time, as I am releasing my fifth album, I feel the need to write to You, Hashem, a few words of thanks. You gave me the talent to sing and the ability to make good Jews happy, those who learn in yeshivah, those who study Torah and uphold it, sick children and more, and there is nothing greater than this in life — Thank You!”

So Much I Never Knew

Dedi Graucher touched many lives, and his infectious good nature wasn’t only reserved for adults. A heartfelt letter to the family from the daughter of veteran singer and orchestra leader Shelly Lang, who back then felt like the luckiest girl in the world

To the dear Graucher family,

When I was a little girl, Dedi came onto the music scene as a rising star and immediately we were taken by his joie de vivre. I felt like the luckiest kid to know Dedi personally through my father and enjoy the perks of backstage at concerts and his joining some of our family simchahs. Though I was young, I knew that Dedi was a special person with a big, caring heart.

Dedi was always energetic and smiling; he possessed a real gift of bringing joy to others. I loved his music, his performances, his genuine ahavas Yisrael and great sense of humor.

While I merited to see Dedi perform at countless concerts and events, two highlights stand out. Dedi accompanied my father and his band Neginah Orchestras to sing for then-Mayor Giuliani. It was an exclusive event and a huge kiddush Hashem. Dedi being Israeli, along with his musical brilliance and personality, helped strengthen the bond between New York and Israel.

The other event was a smaller, less prominent venue, but to me at that age, it meant so much. Dedi came to perform at my parents’ formerly-owned store, Judaica Plus in the Five Towns. Of course, I, his little fan, got front row seats (on the floor of the store) and a few minutes of private schmoozing. It was too many years ago to remember the exact conversation, but the next thing I knew, Dedi took a permanent marker and wrote his name on my forehead. He even included a smiley face inside the D, because that was just Dedi — sharing his contagious smile with all. His name didn’t wash off for a few days but I was certainly okay going to school and showing my friends and teachers the personal autograph I received. Dedi was so kind and effusive, and over the many years he shared himself humbly with whomever he encountered.

As I grew older my connection to Jewish music celebrities subsided. But somewhere deep inside was a soft spot for the sweet melodies of my youth, most notably Dedi’s music. Hence, when I recently heard about his illness and then untimely passing, I am finding myself walking down memory lane. I relistened to Dedi gold, silver, purple, green, etc. (that’s what we used to call his CDs, based on the color of the covers). It’s been a whirlwind digging up pictures and reminiscing back to the Dedi days. Each picture and song evokes such memories and emotions.

Dedi was a Jewish music legend and he will always be remembered as such. To his family I share my thoughts and kos tanchumim. Although it’s been so many years since my Dedi fan club era, I can’t believe the larger-than-life Dedi is no longer here. As a little kid, I didn’t realize he had a last name, and I definitively didn’t realize the large family he left at home every time he came to the States to perform. How you were moser nefesh to give us Americans such joy. Thank you for that, and for sharing your husband and father with all of Klal Yisrael back then. Our childhood memories are richer because of the role your husband and father played in our lives.

Since his passing, I am reading a lot about him and learning so much I never knew. All of the clips going around share his simple greatness. He was so exuberant, so relatable, so much fun. He gave such honor to the Ribbono Shel Olam, and I’m sure he is now singing with the malachim in Shamayim.

He will not be forgotten. His legacy will live on through each of us who will carry forth his simchah and beautiful songs for many years to come.

Rivki Lang

Brooklyn, NY

He Was Ours

By Yosef Zoimen

Chances are if you were playing basketball or walking down our quiet Flatbush street, you heard it; it was that loud.

Blasting out of my AIWA boombox, a beloved bar mitzvah purchase, were the words “Everybody sing together” in a thick Israeli accent. And with the volume up at 75 max, the answering chorus of “Ooooh-Oooh-Ooooh” could be heard from my bedroom on the top floor.

I’d stand for hours and belt out hit after hit into the attached mic, Dedi providing background vocals alongside 14-year-old me on my carpeted stage as I’d record incredible mix tapes of our duos. I’d imitate, gesticulate, do everything I could to try and match the simchah, magic, and sheer power of this singer whose voice rang out through those powerful speakers.

While some friends moved on to other styles of music, I was thrilled with Dedi. Listening to his beat-filled music, blaring it for all to hear, was just enough rebelling for me. His intros, the heavy guitar shaking the 24-second anti-skip portable CD player, was something special for our generation.

Dedi’s songs kept us 90s teenagers deeply connected to Yiddishkeit — and our parents were forced to listen to this music bouncing off the walls of their house.

What Dedi did for us — he was ours! He infused American boys with a love for Eretz Yisrael, connecting us to her beauty, teaching us to yearn. From “Lecho Etain,” describing the incredible land Hashem gifted to us, to “Chevron,” reminding us that “chayalenu nilchamu, shem Shamayim heim kidshu [our soldiers fought and sanctified the Name of Hashem]” and emphasizing that no matter what Arafat or anyone else said, Chevron is “l’netzach netzachim” — the city if Chevron is here, and ours, forever.

His English songs paid homage to his Tatty and Ima, describing his yearning for them as a grown man (both his parents passed away before his musical career took off) — reminding us to appreciate our parents as long as we can, and showcasing Dedi’s own journey from the parents he longed for growing up and his own growth to be the best Tatty for his own children.

Dedi was an inspiration to an entire generation of Klal Yisrael. And it hasn’t changed: even today, I get a huge smile on my face when a Dedi song pops up on my playlist. I hear Dedi, and I just want to put it on at full blast, to sing along at the top of my lungs. What he did for us then, what he continues to do for us now — what a tremendous zechus for Dedi, who goes to the kisei hakovod with a generation of inspired teens in his wake.

Yosef Zoimen is an attorney in private practice in Cincinnati, Ohio, and the president of Mesivta of Cincinnati, contributing to the explosive growth of the city’s Torah community.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 981)