I had a prayer answered yesterday, at Sherwood Oaks of all places (Sherwood Oaks is our local nursing home, for those who don't know it). I go there every month or two or three to lead a service. I must say, I've always really liked the time I spend there. For a long time now there has been one Jewish resident, but a nice handful of people have come each time to the service. They seem to be at various levels of capacity to understand and participate. But their souls are very much there. Something feels very real in their company. I find it a little hard to articulate it more clearly than that. Some of the people who come have kind countenances, and I like being in their presence.
Yesterday lunch had been late, the schedule was a bit awry, and when I got there only one person was in the room. I sat down with her. She doesn't talk much, and after awhile I guess I don't either, so we mostly just sat and smiled at each other, saying a sentence now and then. At some point a staff person stuck her head in the room apologetically. I said it was fine, that I was happy to visit with this one person. I could come back another day soon to do a service. She mentioned that this year's virulent flu had struck hard at Sherwood Oaks. A number of residents had died recently, and others were ill. She smiled ruefully as she said this and allowed as it wasn't necessarily a bad thing, that sometimes the flu is "the old person's friend." She left, and I went back to visiting with the person I was with.
A little while later two more people were wheeled in to the room, so I figured maybe we should actually do a service. I recognized both women, but I had to be prompted on their names (and they both remembered mine -- how embarrassing!) After awhile another person wheeled in and sat at some distance away. prayers of the afternoon service. I started singing Ashrei (which means "happy," always a poignant prayer to me in that context) then Hallelujah. I talked a bit about Jacob's vision of the ladder, from this week's Torah portion. I said that Jacob was in desperate straits and that he laid his head on a rock and had a dream of a ladder. The ladder went from his head to heaven, and angels went up and down, bringing his cares up to the sky and the blessings of heaven back down to him. I said that in Hebrew the word "shamayim" means both heaven and sky, and that I am not totally clear about what is at that end of the ladder. But I completely believe that it is available to us at any time, that we can just put our head down, and the ladder and the angels will come to us.
Before praying for healing I asked, as I always do in a service, for people to mention or think about people they know who could use a blessing of healing, whether for their body, their mind or their spirit. One of the women spoke up and said that her best friend W has the flu and isn't doing well. When she said her friend's name, I recognized her as one of the women who had come quite regularly to our services in the past. Another person mentioned someone who had died recently. I said the names of a few of my own loved ones who could use some healing, and I said it never hurts to pray for ourselves either. As I began to sing "ana el-na refana la/nu," ("Please, God, heal her/us please!" the prayer Moses recited when Miriam had leprosy) I began to sense the voice of my friend and teacher Rabbi Dayle Friedman, as clearly as if she were standing next to me. Dayle's entire rabbinate has been as a spiritual presence and advocate for elders. I the chaplain of a huge geriatric center, she said that the drive to be of service is as fundamental in the human personality as any other drive. Everyone needs to be of service. And no one, she said, is ever too old, too ill or too incapacitated to do a mitzvah. I remembered that some of her congregants, residents of the most intensive nursing part of the geriatric center, used to raise money for Ethiopian Jews from their beds. Yesterday while we prayed, I could hear Dayle saying, "No one is ever too incapacitated to do a mitzvah." So, when we finished praying for healing, I said that visiting the sick is a basic Jewish practice, as important as prayer. "I wonder if they would let us go to W's room and sing to her?" I said aloud. "Would you like to do that?" Two of the women nodded. We finished the service, singing "Shalom." I should say, we finished the service with me singing "Shalom" They sat quietly. It was a little hard to tell what was registering.
I went out to the desk to see about visiting W. As always, in my experience at Sherwood Oaks, the staff folks were maximally kind and supportive. One of the nurses nodded affirmatively right away when I told her what we had planned. She came with me to ask W if she would like us to come in. W was awake, but it was hard to understand her. I could well imagine a nurse discouraging me at this point, but this kind woman was completely helpful. Then I went back and wheeled each person from our service separately to W's room, which took awhile. As I was wheeling various folks down the hall, staff people stopped me and asked me protectively what I was doing. As soon as I told them, they said, "Great." W's small room. The last person stuck out a bit into the hall. The lights were low in the room, as if in preparation for death. I said hello to W and told her who was there in the room. When she heard her friend's name, she seemed to light up and said her name several times. I said we were here to sing for her and to bring her some love and healing energy. I suggested we sing "Shalom," which means "wholeness" and "peace" besides. As I began the one-word song, the others' voices sounded loud and clear along with mine, as they hadn't before. W's friend was crying, and pretty soon I think we all were. When we finished singing, I asked if anyone had a blessing for W. Her friend said, "My blessing for W is that she will see that ladder with the angels going up and down bringing her blessings." One of the other women spoke up and said, "I bless W that she will go to a good place." We were in W's room just a few minutes, I suppose, and then I wheeled the back person out into the hall and the regular life of Sherwood Oaks.
I tell this story here not only to reflect on the loveliness of the folks who live and work at Sherwood Oaks, and not only because of Dayle's powerful teaching that no one is ever too frail to do a mitzvah, but also because yesterday's experience answered a question and a prayer for me (questions and prayers are often the same for me). As you all know, for the past couple of months I have been asking everyone I know, and the Universe besides, what are the reasons for a spiritual community such as we are trying to be together. Many of you have offered beautiful and uplifting answers to that question, and this was another.We can be agents of blessing for each other. W. will live or die whether or not we visited her yesterday. She and her friend are both quite frail, and one will lose the other whenever the time comes. But I do believe that when we all pushed into W's room, we brought that ladder and its angels along with us. Life and death happen either way, but it makes a difference while they are happening if we are able to be in connection with the Shamayim and feel its angels traveling to and from us and our situations. Jacob was alone when he saw the ladder, and maybe W was already in the company of those angels when we came in the door. But if not, we brought them to her, and she to us. We can do this for each other. We do all the time. And we probably can even more.
Acts of loving kindness, words of Torah, hospitality, prayer -- none of these stop the wheel of life and death (as far as I know, anyhow). But they make the whole path much more beautiful. And that's a lot. Happy deep winter, my dear community.
© 2004 Rabbi Margaret Holub
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Updated 09/09/2004 (rge)