About the time Ronald Gilbert became a parent 20 years ago,
his Jewish faith deepened and slowly he became Orthodox.
The Orange County urologist and his family eventually moved
from their home in Tustin to Huntington Harbour so they could more easily
observe Shabbat, or the Sabbath, by walking to their synagogue, Chabad of West
Orange County. Gilbert was known to freely dispense advice — medical and
otherwise — and rabbis referred to him as a tzaddik, or righteous man.
"I think we should come up with a new term and put it
in the Yiddish dictionary with his picture by it, and we should call it a
'super-mensch' or a 'Ronald Gilbert mensch' or something and distinguish it
from all the other mensches," his brother Glenn Gilbert recalled, using
the Yiddish word for a person of integrity and honor. "Because to lump him
in the category with all the other mensches is not accurate.'"
So the community was stunned when the respected physician
and father of two was fatally shot in an exam room Jan. 28. Stanwood Elkus, 75,
of Lake Elsinore was arrested at the scene and later pleaded not guilty to
charges of murder. He remains in jail, awaiting trial.
A source familiar with the investigation said Gilbert, 52,
may have been a victim of mistaken identity — Elkus may have confused him with
someone with a similar name who had treated him years earlier. An attorney
representing the Gilbert family in civil court said the victim never treated
Elkus.
Elkus' trial is probably months away. Meanwhile, Gilbert's
family clings to the memory of a dedicated husband and father.
"As busy as he was, he still made time to be with
us," Gilbert's widow, Elizabeth, said. "When he got home, after a
long, hard day at work, he would shut the outside world out and all his
problems off and invest fully into his relationship with the children as a
dedicated father and to me as my husband and friend."
After Gilbert died, his wife came across a note Gilbert had
written his sons shortly after 9/11. The letter was read at his funeral,
attended by 1,000 mourners on the day that would have been his 53rd birthday.
"Try not to be bitter about the many unfortunate things
that may happen to you in your life," he wrote. "Your response to
difficult situations will in large part define you as a person."
When the couple's eldest son, Stephan, 21, got into sports,
Gilbert took him golfing. After his youngest son, Jakey, 16, showed an interest
in music, the living room was transformed into a makeshift studio, routinely
hosting jam sessions.
Gilbert's brother Glenn now observes Shabbat with his
youngest nephew and sister-in-law, wearing his brother's black-rimmed hat
"like a crown," in order to spend time with and support his nephews
and sisters-in-law. The synagogue has been more than welcoming.
"It's to help them, and it's to feel connected to my
brother and to honor and show my respect for him," Glenn said.
"People are very warm, and we've gone through the same loss."
While the Gilbert family was sitting shiva (observing a
Jewish mourning period), visitors told stories that spoke of Gilbert's
character: When neighbor Eli Benzaken was repairing his rabbi's dryer and cut
his arm, he went straight to Gilbert. When Benzaken's wife, Carol Adams, was
diagnosed with a large tumor, she too turned to Gilbert, who made sure she had
a skillful oncologist, flowers and a daily visit from him after her release
from the hospital.
"He didn't ever leave that role of being a physician or
a healer," Adams said.
As a young man, Gilbert trained partly at the Department of
Veterans Affairs in Long Beach, playing piano for patients on weekends.
"That's the kind of person he was," said Dr.
Elliot Lander, who trained with him at the VA. "He just thought it was
cool. He didn't leave to play piano, he played it there."
In his spare time, Gilbert developed a topical medical spray
to help treat male sexual dysfunction and started a company, Absorption Pharmaceuticals.
His partners said he focused more on patients and quality than on business.
The day before Gilbert was killed in his medical office, he
and business partner Jeff Abraham celebrated. They had a $30-million offer to
sell the company they'd built up from an earlier valuation of $1 million.
"I will never understand how cruel that is,"
Abraham said. "To have that moment followed 12 hours later, 14 hours
later, by something like that. In a million years you couldn't script
that."
Most difficult for his family to comprehend is the loss of a
man who lived to serve others.
"You know, some people do good things to promote
themselves and for their ego gratification, and that was not him," Glenn
said of his brother. "He did it because he was a great person."
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