Breathing. A normal,
healthy adult takes between 12 and 20 breaths per minute. Assuming the average breathing rate is 16
breaths per minute, adult humans take 23,040 breaths per day without giving it
so much as a second thought. I know I
never really thought about it, until March 14 of this year.
As some of you know, I recently had a terrible battle with
pneumonia that landed me in the hospital emergency room. I remember laying in that bed thinking, “is
this it? Have I celebrated my last Passover? My last Shabbat? Am I going to die
never having married? I grew up Catholic. I know all about Last Rites, but I
have no idea what Jewish customs are!” And I started to pray. I couldn’t speak, and I was too tired to move
my lips. All I could do was think the
words and hope that, somehow, they would reach G-d.
I asked Rabbi Joseph to add my name to the Mi Shebeirach
list that week, as I was still in the hospital during Shabbat. Once word went out that I was seriously ill,
a magical thing happened. I began to see a side of this community that I had
heard about, but never experienced firsthand.
People called to see how I was doing, and if I needed
anything. The Caring Committee reached
out. Rabbi Joseph came to visit, which
was exactly what I needed. Sometimes, I
need a voice of reason to tell me to slow down, or as she likes to say, “take a
breath.” I have to laugh at the irony of
that statement in this particular case because literally, all I wanted to do
was take a breath without pain or coughing or effort. I wanted it to come as naturally as it used
to.
Ellen came to visit on the day I was discharged, and I
received one of the lovely “knitzvah” blankets made by our knitters. Once I was home, I was scared. I was going to have to rest, but somehow do
things for myself, too.
And here’s why I love that blanket so very much – I wrapped
myself in it and set up camp on my couch.
It was as if my entire community was reaching out and hugging me. In that moment, I wasn’t scared anymore
because I knew that I wasn’t alone. All
I had to do was reach out, and somehow, things would happen. And yet, it was the idea of being in a giant
hug for as long as I needed that was truly comforting. It isn’t just any old blanket, nor is it a
collection of pieces of woven yarn. It
is a physical manifestation of the healing wishes of those who physically assembled
it and the community as a whole. That
blanket, in particular, is a give of love, compassion, and caring.
I’m still not better, but I have all of you in my corner. And
sitting here, on this Shabbat afternoon writing this, wrapped in my “knitzvah”
blanket, I realize that I’ve just had another lesson in what it means to be
part of a Jewish community. It’s a
strong and powerful bond, reminding me once again, what an absolute privilege
and an honor it is to be Jewish.
