Friday, March 30, 2018

Next Year in Jerusalem

Many years ago, we were taken out of slavery and taught how to live as free people. We became a nation at that time. A strong vibrant and shining example of goodness and kindness and righteousness in this world, that doesn’t always appreciate it. But this is just a prelude to the ultimate redemption. This is learning to live with faith despite the pain we all endure. This is trusting that G-d is good and that all of our suffering is for a reason. The final redemption will be so different. It will be understanding why all of that was so necessary but now we are completely redeemed. Free from our fears, from our past, from our pain, free from our challenges, free from our sicknesses, free from our guilt, and free to live without all of that. This is why we talk about it every year at the Seder. We started something and haven’t finished it yet. We started a journey of faith and growth and haven’t yet reached our destination. So let us check our map again every year and make sure we are still on the right path. The path that leads to “Next year in Jerusalem”. I am confident that we are on the right path, that G-d sees the good and that we will truly celebrate our ultimate redemption “This year in Jerusalem”
Have a beautiful and enjoyable Pesach. 

Friday, March 23, 2018

The Trachea Change

Every three months
We remove the lifeline and put in another. 
It’s necessary and seems so routine. 
But it feels like I might die
Every three months. 
I watch and hold his hand and look into his eyes because he can tell from my eyes if he is ok. 
So I lie, deep into my eyes. 
I watch and listen as he begins to deflate. 
The air escaping makes a gurgling sound. 
His chest falling and not rising. 
His eyes wide with fear looking into my lying eyes as I reassure him his next breath is coming. 
There is a calm frenzy getting the new one in and watching and hoping his chest will rise again. 
Cleaning the blood, making sure he is breathing well, cleaning more blood. 
When all is done, he drifts to sleep with the help of amazing drugs. 
I am still holding his hand looking at his eyes, 
so grateful that no one is looking at mine. 
Every three months.