Bayamim haheim bazman hazeh. We speak of the Chanuka miracle, which happened in at that time, those olden days. I would add bamakom hazeh – it was in this place, here in Baltimore, that I experienced my neis, my miracle. Yes, a flame was lit, and it didn’t only burn for eight days. It continues to burn and sparkle and illuminate the world, bringing light into darkness.
* * *
We hear the diagnosis. We try to digest, to comprehend. Blount’s Disease…tibia surgery…pins…braces…a mumble of words. The loudest is “Baltimore.” How? Where? We live in New York! There really is no choice. If it is best for my son, so be it.
Where do I turn? I need an apartment. Yes, baruch Hashem, there is a Bikur Cholim number. What an understatement: Miracle number would be a better word. I dial. Chaya Monderer answers. “No problem,” she says. (This is the first of many “no problem” responses.) Someone is there. Someone is holding my hand. I can cross the apartment off my list. Had I known what I would encounter at the hands of Baltimore’s Bikur Cholim, I could have crossed off three-quarters of my list.
The day arrives, a rainy day. It matches our mood. Kissing our kids goodbye isn’t easy. Three-and-half-hours of riding and thinking are not pleasurable at all. The GPS says we have arrived at our destination. I frantically call Chaya, the miracle hotline number. We feel a bit lost, but only for a moment. She is in a car right behind us, waiting to welcome us. Right then and there, a new world opens before us, the world of Baltimore Bikur Cholim.
Mrs. Goldsmith, at Hal Circle, welcomes us as if we are her relatives coming for a visit. We get the key to a beautiful apartment, ramp accessible. Originally set up for her elderly parents, it is now offered to Bikur Cholim, as needed. I am aghast: I have a cozy place to call home. As she shows me around, I am even more astonished. Bikur Cholim had filled the fridge with anything you can dream of: milk, juice, yogurt, water, soda, etc. In the pantry we find neatly stacked canned goods, crackers, instant soups, you name it. The counters are full of any paper goods we might ever need.
We unpack in neat closets and drawers that were waiting for us. By the time we’re done, we are emotionally and physically drained. We sit down. Now what? We are interrupted: knock-knock. We are shocked. Has someone mistaken our address? No, they are looking for us, the Rosenbergs. Standing at the door is a sweet young lady, with an even sweeter looking Big Brown Bag. Explanation: Bikur Cholim. Who thought of supper? In our topsy-turvy world, Bikur Cholim reminds us that we are still on this planet; we are still entitled to keep the tradition of eating supper, no matter what is going on in our inner world.
We retire for the night, wrapped in the loving blanket of Bikur Cholim. Welcome envelops us. And this is only the first day….
* * *
We awaken to a bleak day. At least the heavy rain and gray sky are in sync with our emotions. My son is wheeled into the operating room. My husband and I finish Sefer Tehilim and circle the lobby more than once. People come, people go, we hardly notice. Something catches our attention. We see a frum face. A woman is walking toward us. Who knows about me? I have no family here. I don’t know anyone. Yet she knows me, and she knows about me. Who else, if not Chaya from Bikur Cholim?
Yes, that is the first of many times I truly feel – from the depth of my soul, from every fiber of my being – mi ke’amcha Yisrael, who is like Your Jewish people? This person is a total stranger, yet I feel like my sister is with me. She has never seen me; at that point, she had barely spoken with me. Yet here she is, having left the comfort of her home, amid the pouring rain, to show that someone cares, to show us that we are not alone.
I am bathed in her loving gesture. The gloomy weather doesn’t matter. The sterile atmosphere and antiseptic scent are replaced with familiarity. Chaya’s Big Brown Bag is laid before us. Before long, the scent of fresh tuna and vegetables mingle in the air, a taste of normalcy – what comfort. The box of cookies at the bottom of the bag is genuinely appreciated, down to the very last chocolate chip. It melts in our mouths; it melts our hearts. Dinner trays will be waiting for us on the third floor, where my son will be placed. They are prepared and available as soon as we are ready for them. What sensitivity. What thoughtfulness.
It’s been a long day. Baruch Hashem, we’re in a room. My husband wants to return to our apartment to sleep and recharge his batteries. We ask for a car service number. Bikur Cholim to the rescue: “We will gladly take you.” A new horizon opens before me. Busy mommies with families, working girls, and men who could use every bit of spare time all give of themselves. Esti Hirschman is at my side – whenever, whatever. I come to love the sight of that silver minivan. Not only is she steering the wheel; she has a special knack at driving into the heart as well. I really look forward to commuting time. It is a time to rejuvenate and unwind. It is unbelievable how all the wonderful women I meet turn riding time into a therapeutic outlet.
* * *
My family calls after Shabbos. They are really concerned: “What kind of Shabbos can you have in a hospital?” Well, of course they are concerned. They have no idea about Baltimore’s bountiful Bikur Cholim. How could they know that I lack for absolutely nothing?
We found a beautiful Shabbos package in Sinai’s Bikur Cholim room, I tell them. We had an instant Shabbos table. We covered the food table tray with a white tablecloth, a challa board, and a beautiful challa cover. Believe it or not, the tray also provided us with a beautiful crystal-like goblet and challa knife. From the Big Brown Bikur Cholim bag we took grape juice, challa, and every salad and cold-cut imaginable. Kugel wasn’t forgotten either. Not only did they provide food for the body but also for the soul. A Binah and Hamodia to relax and rejuvenate, coupled with the famous box of chocolate chip cookies, created a most relaxing Shabbos. Actually isn’t that what Shabbos is all about?
“No problem” is Chaya Monderer and Esti Hirschman’s favorite phrase – and, truly, nothing ever is. We go next to a rehab hospital where they do not provide kosher food. No problem. Chaya arranges Bikur Cholim food and a kosher refrigerator to keep it in. My children miss me. No problem. Bikur Cholim’s Aron Katz came over with a Skyping laptop. How special. What an awesome view! Of course, he also brings an entertaining album of DVDs. We savor every one of them. They are a great distraction for treatments and pin care times.
Bored? No problem. Bikur Cholim arranges entertainment. In came visitors with a pizza pie on a long motzei Shabbos and a good game on a lonely Sunday.
It is five o’clock; it’s getting dark outside; it’s getting chilly; the phone rings. A special Baltimore balaboste has supper for us. How wonderful to chat a few minutes, to see heimishe people instead of just nurses. How nice to come up to my room with a heimishe bekele and a delicious smell wafting through the hallway. The hot nourishing meal always warms my body – but more than the food is how it is wrapped and sealed with love. I feel the beating of a Yiddishe mama’s heart in every bite.
Mrs. Isbee calls. She wants to know how to fill the fridge so we can feel at home. “Hold on,” I tell her, “there is a beep.” It is Gila Weg: “Hi, Mrs. Rosenberg. We’re sending you lunch. Please tell us what we can treat you to….”
My dear Baltimore sisters, never have I felt so strongly, mi ke’amcha Yisrael!