Since I have received many responses and queries about my column of two weeks ago (Female religious leadership), I decided to revisit it. This is something I have never done before, but in light of a repeated question, I decided to address it.
Many of you were curious as to what the good rabbi’s words were that became a helping and healing turning point in the hospital-hospice situation I was in.
A brief reminder: I was caught in an emotionally demanding situation where two brothers were paralyzed by the fear of needing to break the news of the dire circumstances of their dear mother to their very elderly father.
These brothers were considering withholding the information of their mothers passing from their dad (who was mentally sound and almost 100 years old).
Should the situation arise where he would ask about his wife’s whereabouts (he was crying for her a lot) an elaborate ruse of her illness, requiring an extended hospital stay with no visitors allowed, was going to be put forth.
It was a terrible dilemma. These sons were tormented because in their heart of hearts they felt uncomfortable with the ruse.
They were also paralyzed by the enormity of the emotion and possible consequence being the cause of such terrible pain and, possibly worse, to their father, whom they adored, idolized and loved.
I, in my humble opinion, thought that, as heartbreaking as it is, their father should know the truth and even be able to have a last opportunity to see his wife, if he so wished. For sure, I thought, he should be the one to decide what his last memory with his wife should be.
I had no idea how to shepherd these people through this process, free them from their paralysis and enable them to make the decision.
Before I answer your question of what Rabbi Avi Weiss words were to me, let me ask you a question. What would you have said or done?
When I called Rabbi Weiss, I was calling in between murmuring psalms from the sterile windowless hospital corridor lit by harsh fluorescent light, with the odor of death in the air. The only audible noise was the eery quiet of life’s end and the incessant humming and beep of hospital machines in the background. The angel of death was hovering.
When I called I felt the pressure of possible last moments, of a last chance, of a neshama slipping away.
After explaining the situation to Rabbi Weiss, he said something to me about the meaning of the death of a spouse, I don’t remember his words or idea exactly.
Then he said: “Every second counts now. Every second is an eternity now.
The sons should approach their father and say, Mother is not well. She has taken a turn for the worst. She is struggling.
Then he added: He will know what to do, he’ll know what to do.
Rabbi Weiss said that he finds older people much smarter and more aware than we give them credit for.
He said that in todays America older people are infantilized, when, in fact, despite their failing bodies, they are bright, meet the challenges of life, and the reality of life.
In one minute, Rabbi Weiss wisdom conveyed with strikingly brilliant simplicity turned the entire fragile situation around. No longer the tormenting decision of two sons, now the situation was flipped 180 degrees, with the decision, the respect and the dignity in the hands of the father, where it should be.
One thing I would like to add is that, aside from the content of the conversation, which made all the difference, was Rabbi Weiss way. How he said the words he said. I can’t really explain it, but when I hung up the phone, a weight was lifted, and a sense of compassionate and wise rabbinic guidance engulfed and comforted me.
After I hung up, I knew we were doing right by this man and woman and the holy and loving relationship they nurtured throughout their lives. For this I thank Rabbi Avi Weiss and will always have hakarat ha-tov (gratitude).
