וילכו שניהם יחדו
Walking arm in arm
father and son
in silence
the cool Jerusalem spring air
Dad comments repeatedly on the quiet
the absent traffic
on this Shabbat morning.
“Magic” he described the feeling walking with me, later
“not like father and son”
Our task from his home to the hospital
was to visit his beloved partner
forlorn without her
at times disoriented
focused only on her visitation
worried about her pneumonia
as was I
we slowly make our way to the Bokur Cholim
internal medicine floor.
In her ward are 4 other women.
The one behind her, disallowing the curtain to be drawn for Mum’s privacy
screaming if we in any way tamper with it
born in Kovno , Lithuania
and sings early zionist songs during the night
keeping all awake.
She has no visitors despite many children
have they given up on her?
Opposite mum is an Arab woman
covered from head to toe at all times
with many many visitors streaming in and out during the day
seven daughters her husband boasts to me
the youngest in Bethlehem University studying business.
each daughter prettier than the next but the youngest unmarried scholar
is stunningly beautiful.
I kibbitz with him about dressing more like the patriarch he is
what with 37 grandchildren at 57 years!
All this banter takes place in the cultural divide
that separates citizens of this so called secular
society but hovers like a pall over all interactions.
Lastly the “Schvester”
a single spinster in her 90’s
no family survived the Holocaust but her
frail and fragile
in long gown
and tiechel
she has a steady flow of visitors all planned by the neighborhood
so only one at a time,
they daven with her
and speak little.
She came to Jerusalem after the Shoah
from Germany
sole survivor
now the mascot for her local Geulah neighborhood
all the young and not so you women are happy to visit “Shvester”
no men come by.
And the fourth is my mother
unwilling to be here
out of place in such company
ignoring the others as much as possible
despite my holy sister’s constant visitations to their needs too.
This pneumonia this petty cough
the shadow on the X ray that convinced the ER physician
of the need for the admission
the antibiotic infusions, the periodic inhalants that irritate
her reluctant walks up and down the ancient corridors
of this building once a hospice
in the old city.
I hold my father’s arm as we ascend the worn stone steps to the second floor
I wonder how many decades it takes to wear down the central third of the step
how many people trod these steps on their way to beloved relatives
how many walked these stones in the hope of recovery.
The stones steps can tell stories we long forgot
bearing the weight of humanity
they groan and slowly wear down
under the sheer mass of suffering.
We don’t know
we never know
we can only endure
these moments of uncertainty
but during these times
the arms interlocked
father and son
in silent movement
there is no-thing to say
the obvious lies before us
illness decay and mortus,
so the moment is treasured like no other
in the anxiety of what may be
we tread the steps humbly
following the countless before us.
All differences fall away before the tremendum
all opinions and treasured beliefs seem trivial here
I ask my father about a recent spat,
based on what I believe is the very conflict surrounding the soul of the family
“does one ignore religious differences in the children for the sake of the unity
of the family?”
he thinks for a few minutes
relying: “it’s not worth making a stand”
and for a minute all my resentment falls away
and his judgement makes so much sense
when seen from his perspective.
Father and mother take on different meaning
this late in life
they are the gift that endures
and each month I visit
I am given another gift
another lease
albeit tenuously
albeit seeing the slow decline
so I treasure this
and even more so when this gift is threatened by possible mortal illness.
I am truly gifted
the very privilege of walking with my father
this Shabbat
in the quiet streets of Jerusalem
in the cool spring air
the blue sky meeting the yellow stoned buildings
all is right
even here and now
in the anxiety of the moment.
