I had the shofar with me today. A Jewish patient who was not inclined to hear it a few weeks ago - he had other things on his mind that day, and didn't recognize the shofar - said "yes," he'd enjoy hearing it. So I let everyone around know what I would be doing and then blew a mighty "tekiya."
"You shouldn't do that when you're crossing the street," he told me. "Too many people might get hurt."
Friday, September 17, 2010
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Driving down the highway . . .
It's been one of those weeks.
I've driven between 70 and 90 miles each day this week Normally I try to schedule my day so that the facilities I visit are near each other. But with Holy Days, new admissions, visits that had to be made this week, and patients who were not doing well, I was going from one end of my territory to the other - every day.
This time of the year, however, I like long car rides. I use the time for Yom Kippur preparation. Not for work - but for me. I listen to podcasts - programs like "Speaking of Faith" that either have specific High Holy Day programs or programs that are thematically linked to the Holy Days. I listen to music. The sounds of "Avinu Malchenu" and "U'nitanah Tokef" fill my car (and I turn the sound up, and sometimes hit the "repeat" button.)
As I drive I reflect on the ways I can be better and do better in the New Year. I think about my family and friends. I remember people who we lost in the old year. Often when I reach the nursing home I'm visiting, I spend a few extra minutes in the car listening to the end of a song or a section of a podcast.
Sometimes a word or phrase or musical piece reminds me of a book I recently read, or a sermon I heard, or some aspect of the holidays I've been ruminating over. I become lost in thought and the words or music become a muted background to my own thoughts. So far, and somewhat surprisingly, I've managed all this without missing my exit or getting lost.
It's been one of those weeks. But this week I've been happy to have the extra time on the road, as all the roads I've traveled have led me back to myself and forward to atonement.
I've driven between 70 and 90 miles each day this week Normally I try to schedule my day so that the facilities I visit are near each other. But with Holy Days, new admissions, visits that had to be made this week, and patients who were not doing well, I was going from one end of my territory to the other - every day.
This time of the year, however, I like long car rides. I use the time for Yom Kippur preparation. Not for work - but for me. I listen to podcasts - programs like "Speaking of Faith" that either have specific High Holy Day programs or programs that are thematically linked to the Holy Days. I listen to music. The sounds of "Avinu Malchenu" and "U'nitanah Tokef" fill my car (and I turn the sound up, and sometimes hit the "repeat" button.)
As I drive I reflect on the ways I can be better and do better in the New Year. I think about my family and friends. I remember people who we lost in the old year. Often when I reach the nursing home I'm visiting, I spend a few extra minutes in the car listening to the end of a song or a section of a podcast.
Sometimes a word or phrase or musical piece reminds me of a book I recently read, or a sermon I heard, or some aspect of the holidays I've been ruminating over. I become lost in thought and the words or music become a muted background to my own thoughts. So far, and somewhat surprisingly, I've managed all this without missing my exit or getting lost.
It's been one of those weeks. But this week I've been happy to have the extra time on the road, as all the roads I've traveled have led me back to myself and forward to atonement.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Happy . . . Hanukah ? ?
One of the residents at a facility I visit is always happy to see me. "I love you, I love you," she has told me. She met me when I was her brother's hospice chaplain in the the same facility. I am grateful that she doesn't connect me with her loss or see me as a reminder of her sorrow.
Initially she recognized me by my kipah, now she recognizes me as me. Whenever she sees me, she gives me the appropriate Jewish greeting (or at least the Jewish greeting she knows.) "Happy Hanukah," she says. "Happy Hanukah." I thank her.
I saw her last week, just before Rosh HaShanah. She wished me a "Happy Hanukah."
I couldn't help noticing that the local Chabad has their hanukiya fully lit for their New Year observances. Perhaps she's right: it's always hanukah somewhere.
Initially she recognized me by my kipah, now she recognizes me as me. Whenever she sees me, she gives me the appropriate Jewish greeting (or at least the Jewish greeting she knows.) "Happy Hanukah," she says. "Happy Hanukah." I thank her.
I saw her last week, just before Rosh HaShanah. She wished me a "Happy Hanukah."
I couldn't help noticing that the local Chabad has their hanukiya fully lit for their New Year observances. Perhaps she's right: it's always hanukah somewhere.
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