De-cluttering my computer this morning I came across the eulogy I wrote for my friend Paul following his death in April last year. I felt a surge of grief, not an uncommon emotion at the moment as the conflict in Israel and Palestine has rekindled memories of my work following the Bali Bombings of October 2002. Blast injuries are most familiar and television news reports along with social media coverage have invoked a great sadness.

Paul’s perspective at the moment would have been most valuable.

In memory of my friend, Paul Rubner

Since I first met Paul in 1966, or thereabouts, there were periods when we’ve been in contact and large stretches of time when we were not. This was a structural problem as between 1983 and 2021 I’ve spent the best part of 26 years outside the country, so I can only offer snap shots of my relationship with Paul.

Preparing this brief eulogy I spoke with Sol Salbe. Some of you might remember Sol from the 60s in the anti-war movement. He asked me if I thought Paul was culturally Jewish. This was a difficult question to answer because there are various expressions of Judaic culture. I learned this early in life because my eastern suburbs high school had a student population that was more than 20% Jewish background. So I had a very clear sense of cultural variations, but there seemed to be one unifying factor. 

Rabbi Naftali Tzvi Yehuda Berlin, wrote in his Torah commentary, referencing Exodus 3:11, that the Israelites more than other peoples tend to challenge their forerunners’ ways of thinking. 

It’s apparent on reading the passage that this went even to the point of questioning God, the creator of the cosmos.

“But Moses said to God, “Who am I that I should go to Pharaoh and free the Israelites from Egypt?””

Paul certainly had this questioning characteristic, as did many of my school friends. So at university I fell easily into a casual group that often gathered in the old Union building. Nothing formal, just a rough gathering involving Paul, Myron Kofman, Peter Deli, Clive Kessler, and Michael Stevenson. The debate and discourse was both familiar and welcomed.

Paul, Michael and I formed a sub-group and eventually, in 1969 I moved into a Balmain house that Michael and Paul occupied. 

Triads are always dynamic. Michael and I tended to joke a lot. Michael had done field work in New Guinea, I was drawn to the region and to its cultural diversities. Paul was the more philosophical of the three and not as interested in these realms. So we had our ups and downs, and after a short while Paul insisted that I leave. He seemed fed up with my style, and as the last one in it seemed a fair call for me to move out.

Paul and I remained friends, I valued the debate. In fact I regarded him as my closest friend, enjoying our conversations and his critical sceptical mind. 

I married the following year, someone from a well-established bourgeois family. They ran their own inter-generational export business. My background was working class.  Paul was my best man. We were that close.

Of course Paul always challenged the boundaries. I still remember his speech at the wedding. He described the marriage as one between two classes. His analysis was correct, though I winced a bit.

With a grandfather who represented the seat of Balmain in 1891, my father was unimpressed. I think Dad saw himself as Labor Aristocracy.  No one else seemed all that concerned. Inwardly I had to laugh at Paul’s directness and his honesty, even if it wasn’t the most diplomatic thing to say, but that’s how Paul was, in my experience. 

We often gathered at pubs. While it still operated the Forth and Clyde was a popular watering hole. I think it was here that Paul met Lorraine Osborn, in 1969. They lived together from 1970 to 1973. Lorraine, who was a RN, told me recently that the political discussions with Paul at the time, had a big influence on her life.

Paul influenced many people apart from me. He helped me to learn to be sceptical, particularly around some of the Leninist notions that were about, in the student left. I respected his libertarian socialist views and agreed with most yet he still regarded me as a ‘true believer’. In other words, I assume he thought I lacked scepticism.

In 1973 I worked in Lithgow, and along with Gillian Leahy, Paul visited my house in Upper Hassan’s Walls. This is where I photographed him reading Paul Goodman’s book, Growing up Absurd. Paul had a long standing interest in photography, an interest we shared.

As years passed raising children, and then working in Indonesia, meant that I tended to see less of Paul than in those early days, though most times when I returned to Sydney I called him and arranged to meet. I valued his ideas and his individualism.

Arriving home, after seven and a half years in Singapore and surrounding countries, one of my first acts was to ring Paul. He was in hospital. I assumed it was the bronchiectasis that had hospitalised in the past.  Pandemic management meant it wasn’t possible to visit. Eventually Paul rang me. I was pleased to receive the call. When I asked how he was he replied, “I’m fucked.”

I finally got to visit him on Monday 4 April. Having seen a lot of death and dying, I thought he wouldn’t be with us for more than a few hours. Next day he was more conscious. We had a form of conversation. I was able to tell him that when he decided to leave I would miss him. Not long after that he left.

Paul made a major contribution to the intellectual development of people he met. I miss him, and I can only say, may his memory be eternal.

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Though Paul and I had different philosophical understandings, his an enduring sceptcism and mine one that embraces Orthodox Christianity, we respected one another.