As many of you know, I've been pretty sick for the past month. (For those that don't, briefly I fell ill during Sukkot with a severe liver inflammation and have been slowly recovering since.) About three days ago I took a noticeable turn towards the side of the living, and in the past couple days I have done some wonderful, exciting things, like washing a few dishes, making breakfast for Mickey and me and even walking outside a block or so (whatever a "block" means on G Road...) I don't know if my path back to good health will be straight or winding, but my heart is full of shehechiyanu right now. And I am deeply aware of what has "kept me and sustained me and brought me to this moment." There have been a lot of angels -- but all of you, whether you know it or not, have been a big piece of my restoration. So this is really a two-part thank you note to all of you for the ways that you have nourished me in body and soul through these past weeks.
Part one: I can't begin to tell you how much I have loved all the delicious meals you have made for Mickey and me! I must confess -- I've been on the organizing, cooking and shlepping side of the equation any number of times over the years as one or another person in our community has been ill or injured or bereaved. And I've always secretly wondered what it feels like to have people do this mitzvah on your behalf. Is it embarrassing? Intrusive? What if you don't like what people cook? What if there's too much food? Not enough? Do people feel like they have to clean their house because someone from the Jewish community is dropping by with dinner?
I'm sure that every person experiences these things differently, but I can now say that for me it has been PERFECT -- an unbelievable blessing, an honor, a mechayah (which means an unbelievable blessing and honor...), to have people feed us so lovingly and attentively. I have loved every single bite. I feel so fundamentally cared-for, so supported. At the animal-level of my being, I feel sustained by all of you.
And equally much, I have been so very moved by the cards and e-mails and calls from so many of you. These are just as delicious as the dinners. It's an amazing feeling, at a fragile time, to be flooded with words of love and affection and goodwill. It's been interesting for me to take all this in -- of course many of you I know well and feel your very personal hopes for my good health. But some people who have been in touch in this way I don't know so well. Or even if I do, I imagine that you have reached out as you have because it is a mitzvah to reach out to people when they are ill. And, you know, it all feels equally sustaining -- the love of people who love me personally and the love of people who are part of our mitzvah-dik community and send their affection and good wishes because it is the right thing to do. It feels knit-together and strong.
Many years ago now I was driving down Highway 101 to someplace or other. It was a beautiful fall afternoon, and I was just idly mulling over this-and-that in my mind. And right as I passed the Geyserville exit I had an experience that was almost like hearing a voice. It said (or not-quite-said, maybe I should say, "I heard...") "You will never free-fall forever. There will always be a hand to catch you." I don't know why that message came to me, why then, why ever, but I've never really argued with it. Still, these past weeks I learned some details about the "hand to catch me." The picture is clearer because of all your kindnesses.
But there is another way that all of you have sustained me apart even from all the cooking and loving messages (and cleaning our fridge and driving me to appointments and leading services and bringing books and DVDs and many other sweet and generous things that I will thank you for more privately.) I fell ill during Sukkot, which means that I had just finished celebrating the High Holy Days with many of you. During the Days I got to hear Hyla Bolsta's and Barbara Brenner's incredible talks about their journeys through very serious illnesses. I got to hear the shofar sounded a hundred and one times. I got to fast with all of you and to recite vidui and to open the ark at the end of neilah and sing shema yisrael. I got to build a sukkah and dwell in several. And you know, I have lived these Days with you for MANY years now -- and the Hannukahs and Purims and Passovers and so on of every year as well. And many hundreds of Shabbats. And we have been studying together and inquiring and arguing and experimenting and singing and celebrating and mourning and all the rest of it -- and, I don't know quite how to say this, but even when I was really, really sick and had no idea where things were going for me health-wise, I just felt full of faith. Not faith that things would turn out one way or another, but some kind of faith that felt very strong nonetheless.
I kept thinking of that law which says that if you see a fire engine rushing down the road, you are not supposed to pray that it isn't going to your house. Because the fire is already burning. It is where it is. And I kept saying to myself that whatever was making me ill had already started its work, and it is what it is. And I don't need to get well quickly, or at all, if that's how the fire is burning. It was really all okay, and I would face whatever came whenever it arrived. Of course I am very happy and relieved to be sitting up at my computer right now without having to lie down every five minutes, and I would like for my recovery to be quick and complete, if that's how the fire burns.
I feel like whatever bit of faith I may feel today is because I have grown up in a Jewish community -- THIS Jewish community -- in which we have been taught by our ancestors but equally much by each other, in which we have teachers like Hyla and Barbara to go far down the road of mortality and come back and report to the rest of us... I feel rich and full and sustained, not only by delicious dinners (like the one which just arrived a minute ago!) and sweet cards and calls, but by what it is we are all doing together in this life, being a community, being a Jewish community -- deeply, eccentrically, passionately, beautifully -- in which we can explore how to be in the world, how to meet life's experiences, how to connect and grow and live meaningful lives. For THIS I thank you more than I can possibly say.
So I've had a brush with the Malach Ha-mavet (the Angel of Death) -- it may be a quick brush or a more sustained one. I've still got some work on the material plane to figure out what's up and hopefully heal completely from it. I hope I'll know more by the time you see this Megillah. And I hope I'll be out in the world seeing all of you, catching up and enjoying December.
© 2011 Rabbi Margaret Holub