Slice of Life

Despite all of the challenges of this past year, there have definitely been many positive developments that evolved as a result.  Zoom is one of them. The need for social distancing necessary to combat the devastating effects of corona has resulted in feelings of loneliness and isolation for many.  But in His overflowing generosity, Hashem gave man the necessary components to create Zoom.  That is not to say that Zoom provides the same level of connection as face-to-face interactions, but in so many situations, Zoom saved the day and enabled the formation and maintenance of relationships as well as opportunities for unique and memorable experiences that would have been otherwise impossible.

 When my neighbors Baruch and Yocheved Goldberg made aliyah to Ramat Beit Shemesh sixteen years ago from a small out of town community in the Midwest, they had never in their lives met a meshulach (tzedakah collector). With middle class people holding fundraising dinners and scraping together whatever they could in order to support their shuls and yeshivas, no sensible meshulach would have wasted his precious time collecting there.  It just wouldn’t have been worth his time and effort.  When the Goldbergs moved to Israel, things changed. While they were a bit surprised the first time they opened their door to find a meshulach with an outstretched hand asking for money, they quickly got with the program. Over time they realized that meshulachim come in many shapes and sizes.  It could be a man with a letter of endorsement asking for support for a local kollel.  It could be someone with a medical condition or someone making a wedding who needs help covering expenses.  It could be a woman collecting for food for Shabbos for her family. It could be young and eager children with toothless smiles lugging heavy bags filled with pasta, canned vegetables, and an assortment of groceries earmarked for the poor and needy.  And all of these people could show up at the door within just a few minutes of each other. During the weeks leading up to Purim, one may as well just sit by the door in order to receive the steady stream of yeshiva students collecting for their yeshivas.

I’ll be honest.  Growing up, connecting to Tu BiSh’vat was challenging for me.  I think it was the bokser (carob sticks).  I mean I loved making those trees in school.  There were the ones made out of cotton balls and the ones made out of newspaper that you could actually pull up so they would grow while we sang “Hashkeydia Porachat.”  I even enjoyed some of the fruit that filled the brown paper bags given out on Tu BiSh’vat.  But bokser?  Really now! In all my years at school, I don’t think I recall anyone actually eating the bokser.  And if they did, it was just a response to a dare. But year after year, that same bokser would show up in the bag.  And it really may have been the same bokser every time; nobody would have noticed if it was one week old or ten years old.  Either way, it held the same appeal. 

These are tough times.  While on one hand Israel is making great strides in terms of vaccinating its citizens and thus appears to have one foot out the door of the corona crisis, the number of sick, young and old, continues to climb sharply and speedily.  The hospital wards are bursting at the seams and medical personnel are being stretched in every possible direction. Articles have been written giving an insider’s view of how the current situation is taking a physical and emotional toll on hospital staff, particularly those who work inside the corona ward.  One article I read was about a particular nurse who was described as being unusually caring and giving by nature - the type who upon seeing a homeless man on the street, will go home only to return with warm food for him to eat and a blanket to cover him.  This nurse expressed feelings of helplessness and guilt that she feels due to the fact that she is unable to provide more than the most basic care to her patients when she normally she is happy to go the extra mile, serve them tea, and just sit and listen to them.  These days she doesn’t have an extra minute to provide the emotional support that her isolated and frightened patients so desperately need.  She leaves the hospital crying every day.  Dr. Ronni Gamzu, the CEO of Ichilov Hospital and previous coronavirus czar, choked up during a recent interview when discussing a tragedy that occurred in his hospital on Shabbos. Medical workers were handling a number of emergencies in the ICU and didn’t immediately notice when the ventilator of a 47-year-old patient disconnected.  Tragically, the patient died as a result.  Dr. Gamzu took responsibility for what happened.

I work as a social worker with mentally ill clients, most of whom have been diagnosed with schizophrenia.  They live independently in apartments in the community and are able to come and go as they please.  They work, go to appointments, run errands, and shop in the supermarket just like everyone else. I coordinate their medical and psychiatric care, their employment and leisure activities, and whatever else happens to be going on in their lives.  Our staff often functions as their friends, therapists, and caretakers.  Some of them have no family, so we fill that role for them as well. We try to give them the best care possible, but many things (really all things, as we’ve learned this year) are not in our control. 

Life is busy. Very busy. It’s for this reason that I find myself multitasking on a constant basis. When I do housework, I often wear a knapsack on my back, so that while I am cooking and cleaning, I’m also carrying weights and strengthening my bones. My family used to give me the, “How did you get like that” look, but I never cared.  When I do my daily power walk, I can never just walk; I also have to dispose of my recyclables and run into the makolet for that one little thing. Of course, I walk out with bags of groceries, but that’s okay.  I just put them on my back and hope for even stronger bones. I do all this while coordinating my schedule, planning my articles and menus, and catching up with my friends on the phone. By now, my friends would probably find it strange to have a conversation with me without the noise of buses thundering in the background.  Most of the time, things work out and I accomplish at least most of what I set out to do on my walks. But sometimes I bite off more than I can chew and end up messing myself up.