Page created by: Chris Yachouh

My father, Jacob Yachouh was born in Beirut, Lebanon on April 23rd 1941. One of eight brothers; Jacob had a zest for life especially for traveling and being outdoors. He spent nearly every day at the beach swimming in the Mediterranean, playing soccer, or cycling with his brothers in the mountains of Lebanon. Jacob was an extremely hard working man who learned the craft and business of tile construction at the early age of 12. He then turned his skills into a flourishing business and took the opportunity to move to the US in 1970 to create a better life and start a family, settling down in River Edge, NJ.

Jacob was a Christian man, and belonged to the Assyrian Orthodox Church of the Virgin Mary in Paramus, NJ where he served as a deacon for many years. He was a staple in the church community, and spent countless hours fundraising for the church's orphanages around the world. Some refer to him as a "money making machine" for all his efforts to ensure that less fortunate children could have better lives.

My fondest memories of my father are from when I was a young boy and into early adulthood. My father was my hero, he was indestructible…and he could beat up your dad any day of the week. We used to box, and he always let me win, we would go on epic bike rides for miles, we would run soccer drills together (which was his favorite sport), and even as his knees ached in pain he never showed it, he didn’t care…we were still doing the weave drill and he was still showing me the proper way to take a corner kick. He would wake me up and drag me about of bed at 5am to bring me to the ice hockey rink in Englewood, NJ where I learned to skate and play ice hockey. Even if I played horribly, it was always the other guys on the team who lost us the game, never me…you could say he was a tad biased, but the support was always there well into playing high school and college, and even as his Parkinson’s began, he would be there at the rink banging on the glass with his cane, to get my attention and cheer us on.

My father's hands provided a home, education and opportunity. His hands were constantly covered in cement and scrapes, the hands of a honest hard working man, and it's those hands that gave so much to all of us that gave out on him first due to his Parkinson's. The beauty is that what those hands created live on in me, my family, and the people's lives they touched.