Click the picture or the link below to launch a YouTube playlist with 33 stories told by Alec Gelcer.

https://t.ly/HoRvn

Many of us, if we are lucky enough, come across one remarkable person in our lives who has such a positive influence on us—and their light abides as a gift with us until the end of our days.

For me, one of those people was Alec Gelcer, of blessed memory.

I remember first encountering Alec at one of his many storytelling gatherings in the early 1990s. Each sentence—spoken with his soft voice and distinct Cape Town accent—was like TRUTH, flashing in front of me in capital letters, like neon lights.

One didn't need philosophical arguments, theological discussions,  or rational talking points. Alec was able to persuade his audience through his simple, beautiful, tiny gems of stories, shining and beautiful pebbles of wisdom he shaped and polished, week after week after week.

It was 1988, and I was just beginning my vocation as a Holocaust educator and religious leader of a congregation in Toronto. I was often called upon to speak, and many times, I could feel my audience slipping away. After my encounter with Alec, I started weaving in more and more stories into my presentations.

 And I quickly realized this. As soon as my remarks ventured into the storytelling realm, there was a visible shift in the audience’s attention. You could see them moving forward in the seats, straining their ears and listening intently.

 Why? Because all of our lives are made up of stories, are made up of interconnected moments, moments of challenge and change, love and pain, joy and defeat, understanding and misunderstandings, of being unfairly judged or of judging others unfairly.

We see each other and ourselves in these stories, and we cannot help but be captured by their immediacy and familiarity. In each story, we identify with the characters—whether they be the victim, the hero, the perpetrator, or the bystander. We have all been there. We have all been one of them. And when we hear the stories, we wonder, what would I have done in that situation? In fact, what did I do in that very same situation?

 So we crook our heads forward to gain closer attention—because these are not stories about others; these are the stories of our own lives.

As I mentioned in my eulogy for him, I would often call Alec with a new story I had just composed or come across. I would wait to hear Alec¹s response. And, sometimes after a long and thoughtful pause, I would hear the words I was waiting for. “Eli”,

Alec would say, his voice earnest and full of gravity, “That is an important story. It must be told.”

 So thank you, Alec, for opening up the world of storytelling to me and so many other people and being one of our life's most important stories.