Max Israël January 21st, 1916 - October 12th, 2001       Simon Blok, fellow director of B.M. Israel B.V., antiquarian booksellers. n a couple of months it will be fifteen years ago that I, just graduated and having fulfilled my national service, went for an interview at the Nieuwezijds Voorburgwal 264, in the centre of Amsterdam. Jaap Nieuwpoort, who was to work for the firm for more than twenty years, opened the door. The doorbell continued to ring like some kind of alarm until the door was closed. The yell "Stay there!" shouted up the stairs implied that everything was under control and that the visitor was seen and approved to continue to the front shop where the art books stood, as they indeed still do. In the back shop, the fine room, Ben Weinreb would call it his "best book room", I first spoke with a man who displayed a fabulous enthusiasm for the books that surrounded him. After the usual questions to and fro and after the ice was broken the first books were taken from the shelves: a tome from the complete works of Rousseau, long grain morocco, large paper, the plates avant la lettre, an extra set of the plates, a very fine copy. Afterwards the folio edition of Rembertus Dodonaeus' Herbal book, and much, much more. 'Nice eh, Jongen!' Max would call me 'Jongen' (lad) for many years to come; I would call him 'mister Israel' until the end of his life. In the period of nearly fifteen years in-between, which has passed in a flash, we have together acquired and examined many thousands of beautiful books. For Max age never came into this, till the last moment there was that passion, his sincere interest and that love for that material. After his wife passed away in May 2000 the bonds with the bookshop became closer, for it was a safe haven where there was a diversion from the sorrow that must have consumed him daily. It was the bookstore that he still lived for. In the personal talks we had in the last months it became more and more evident that the attractions of the social life outside of the shop diminished, he missed his wife very much. In a certain way Max thought that enough was enough. And yet the end still arrived out of the blue, but just the way he would have wished. Thursday afternoon the eleventh of October about five we were nearly finished selecting the titles from one of the many thick foreign auction catalogues. The day after we would make a plan for the auction. We locked up the shop, as always, we walked together to the tram, as always, and said goodbye to each other. On the other side of the road I did not look back. Max never really waved, that would probably give onlookers the wrong impression, too loose, too frivolous. The next morning at nine I learned of his death and after a moment of disbelief reality forced itself upon me: from now on you are on your own. Believe me, that despite the closeness of my dear colleague Wil Walison, it is awfully quiet at the Nieuwe Zijds. What remains is the fantastic learning experience of nearly fifteen years with a warm, gentle, inspiring, modest, sometimes little communicative and difficult to fathom antiquarian bookseller Max Israel: a bookseller who would not immediately sell a recently acquired book because he wanted to keep the copy with him for a while, to cherish it, to let other collectors share his pleasure with that book. An old school antiquarian bookseller, courteous and hospitable, deeply empathic, with an indomitable lust for life, whose favourite device was "gripe as it ripens". Our thoughts accompany him on his final journey, and the thought of Max travels along in the hearts of those who stay behind.   André Swertz, president of the NVVA, the Dutch Antiquarian Booksellers' Association ax Israël is dead. One of the oldest still active members of the NVVA, the Dutch Antiquarian Booksellers' Association. He died in harness, with plans for the morrow that he had been discussing with his fellow director Simon Blok. He died like an antiquarian bookseller. And as such he was still very much in his prime. It has happened to other colleagues too. Those who are inspired, not knowing when to stop. Or who just cannot. For it is in their blood. Max came from an antiquarian booksellers family. There were the four brothers; Salomon, Bob, Nico and Max, of which the last three, each with a good firm to their names, scrambled to their feet again after the Second World War. Max was a good man and I mean this in several ways. Attentive, congenial, erudite. And also modest. And an authority on his specialities; medicine, the sciences, travel, maps and prints. Max always attended the book fairs in the Netherlands, and when he was still somewhat younger, those abroad as well; and naturally the important auctions. I am sure that many of his colleagues bore a warm heart towards him. And for everyone he would have a thoughtful and, particularly if you complained a little, a word of comfort. Sometimes mumbled with a laugh. Yes, you are - and I will not say were, because you will stay forever in our memory, a special kind of person. About his business - antiquarian bookseller and also publisher, the reprinting of important reference books - you could talk with him. He spoke little about his private life. Perhaps that was too difficult for him. Max was a pillar for our good Association, the Dutch Antiquarian Booksellers' Association. Member since 1947. Though he never established himself in a committee. Sometimes comment and support from the sidelines can be more constructive. "I am no executive", he once said. Last year, when his wife Olga, his great love, died, he went through a difficult period. But he remained loyal to his profession with a remarkable warmth and interest. Should there be something that follows this life, then I know for certain, Max, that you and Olga will be there close together again ... that you will be with each other once more. And ... who knows, there will be old books there too... This antiquarian bookseller with his special qualities and great personality will always remain in our memories.