Living in a fish bowl, you don’t know want kind of fish you are until you leap out into the sea and find yourself swimming with all the other marine life.
Now that I have returned to the Syrian-American Jewish community where I was born and bred, after residing in Manhattan for 20 years, I realize how much I missed my bowl. This is where I feel warm, secure, and thankful.
When my mother was diagnosed with terminal cancer, I saw the profundity of our community’s heart. It was on the eve of Passover that we learned of my mother’s fate. As Cornell medical teams delivered gruesome test results, we were faced with unalterable decisions. I called fellow community members, including doctors who joined us in the trenches, and I turned to The Morris I. Franco Cancer Center for guidance.
The 24/7 Bikur Holim Room at Cornell was another testimony to the generosity and support of the Jewish community at-large. Not only was it a place to get kosher meals every day, including Passover and Shabbat, but I had a respite from the doctors’ horrific news.
I was able to make a Seder and have the pleasure of including two Hasidic young men who welcomed the opportunity to be a part of their first Syrian Seder. They allowed me to lead the Seder, even though it was forbidden for them. That night they had visited patients and performed private Seders for them. Then, by allowing me to relish in a Seder of my own, they performed this mitzvah from a different angle. They even learned pizmonim.
Jews from different places and of religious spectrums including Hasidic, Ashkenazic and Sephardic backgrounds, congregated in the 24/7 Room, and were able to not only vent but to offer each other medical advice. As an Ashkenazic middle-aged man said, “This is a testimony to the kindness and ahdus (unity) of Klal Yisrael.”
Women brought meals throughout my mother’s stay, including homemade soups, pastries, smoothies, Friday night three course meals, and whatever else they could think of to entice her to eat. Of course, everyone kept our family in mind, bringing enough for all of us. People were aching to contribute to our efforts.
I created a Whats App for family and friends to coordinate visits. My mother knew everyone was thinking of her. One day, the thought of a pastrami sandwich tempted her waning appetite. Her friend posted this interest, and four pastrami sandwiches arrived that day, hand-delivered by family and friends.
Mom was in the hospital and a rehabilitation center for approximately two months. My siblings, a close friend, and I, alternated nights sleeping at both places, but we needed relief. I learned that the Mitzvah Man (MM) has a host of volunteers who would sleep in the hospital or rehab overnight, to provide relief for family members. This was a hesed I found mind-blowing. It was hard to believe there were multiple people with such a level of compassion and empathy.
I reached out to the Mitzvah Man and that day began receiving calls from volunteers who wanted to donate their time. I hired aides intermittently, but there was no comparison. Whenever a MM volunteer was on-call, Mom had a competent advocate. I was able to rest knowing they were overseeing the nurses, reporting to me what my mother ate, and how she was faring. I knew they were by her side all night, watching over her.
I’d greet my mom in the morning and she’d be touched that a fellow Jew had stayed overnight. “They’re angels,” she’d say. One has to be a special type of person to understand the need for—and perform—such a tough task. I cannot thank these women enough for the solace they provided my mom and my family during this trying time.
The Cancer Center played a pivotal role in our endeavor, as well. I consulted with them for referrals and reassurance that our doctors were highly recommended. They sent care packages for Shabbat and holidays, creams to help alleviate some of my mother’s discomfort, and scarves so she could look pretty.
Sephardic Bikur Holim sent out a text with my mother’s name and location, and visitors came, some with young children armed with handmade cards, candy, even a list of questions to trigger conversation. It was heartwarming. Seeing young fresh faces made the day interesting. Our extended family, and her longtime friends, visited frequently from Deal and Brooklyn even though she was in Manhattan. Their love and support kept us breathing.
Going through this trauma felt like being in the cockpit of a warplane. We fought the onslaught from the first night of Passover, April 19th, until July 7th, my mother’s final day. It was a horror, but having our community rallying around us made this challenge manageable. Their involvement helped us stay strong, comforted, and loved. We are blessed.
