​I have a runny nose
It's been running all day

I did show up to work
My runny nose does not support me
It does not pay

I don't have COVID
Calm the hell down
I have a runny nose
It's been running all day

Where were you yesterday
When I was coughing
You didn't say feel better

Now I have a runny nose
It was seventy then thirty degrees
You didn't blame the weather

I don't have COVID
Calm the hell down
I have a runny nose
It's been running all day

The amount of mucus in my nose
I have no idea where it is coming from
Yes I sneezed

My nose hasn't moved 
But it's running
I am not a murderer

​I don't have COVID
Calm the hell down
I have a runny nose
It's been running all day

I will keep coughing. I will keep sneezing.
I will keep working. I am not sinning.
I slept standing. And yes I am Chuching.

I can't smell. But you smell disgusting. 
You are the one who is killing people.
If I wasn't sick, I would run from you.

​I don't have COVID
Calm the hell down
I have a runny nose
It's been running all day

My nose is very tired now
​It's been running all day
Calm down or I will sneeze

Now it is you care
There is something is in the air
I hope you freeze
​I will sneeze

That was me
I did not cover my nose
I am proud
​I will sneeze

***I pray for the day all mankind will be able to sneeze as one. A day where once again, mankind will be able to cough and blow their nose, and not be considered a monster.

You can't cry in the waiting room. You need a spot. You need a private spot, especially if you're crying and changing your outfit. 
You can’t get out the real tears in public. You can bring the end cry to the people, but the climax cry is a private thing.

Location of the Cry Spot
You need your cry spot to be within crying distance. That is the distance needed for a tissue when getting out a sneeze. Once you get that feeling in your nose, it could be a cry or a sternutation. At that point you don't know. Either way, it will end up as sinusitis. 
You need spots. Every twenty feet, you have to know where your nearest cry spot is. Exits and cry spots. You don't want to be choking on your cries because your closest cry spot is thirty feet in the other direction. And you don't want to get caught in a cry when there's a fire.

Bathrooms Are Useful
Know where your bathrooms are. There is no better place to cry.
You can start your cry in the waiting room, but you can’t get out the real one in front of everybody. The general big cry starts in the waiting room, goes to the hallway, ends in the bathroom. The bathroom is where the real cry comes out.
Make sure it’s not a multiple stall bathroom. You can't get out a full on cry when a guy in the stall next to you is peeing. 
Only thing that can make crying with a guy in the stall next to you comfortable is a guy crying in the stall next to you. That kind of shared cry could last hours. You hear their cry, they hear you cry, tears are built. You feed off each other.
Bathrooms also provide paper towels. They're full of paper towels there because they know that tissues do not suffice for SICU tears. That first week in the ICU, those are the kind of tears that need paper towel. Industrial. Brown. Not rippable paper towels. The kind of towels that leave a mark when you dry your face, and a papercut.

Never Take the Stairs
Some people have their cry spot in the stairwell. Rookie mistake. Too many people there.
After a couple of weeks of being at the hospital, people start working out at the hospital. They stop taking the elevator. Something happens where they see sick people and they start thinking, "I have to work out." They pass the cardiac unit and they're thinking, "We need to do more cardio." Next think you know, they're walking. They're taking the stairs.This is why you never see the medical staff on the elevators. They see too many sick people.
People are trying to keep in shape, now there's one less place to cry. You just can't cry in the stairwell anymore. Too many walking groups there. People going up a couple of flights talking about their kids.
And the nursing staff is taking two stairs at a time, screaming "LEFT." You can't cry when people are yelling "LEFT." You start to get the feeling you're swimming laps, and nobody has ever cried in a pool.

Have Spots Near the Room
The emotion in the room is a different level. You need a spot within ten feet. 
Mom’s room is where the real emotion is at. That's where the real cries come, in the room. You think bawling and snot phlegming is a big cry. You don't know what a cry is until you've seen your loved one come back to this world. That's a loud cry. Tears coming out of the soul. Christians have been crying for two thousand years.
Any tiny movement is huge. That first show of life on the vent. You cry. You see your loved one after surgery open their eyes, you start thinking "eyes work?!" Can't explain it. You just cry.
That's why family loves going to the hospital for surgeries. They want to get out a good cry. That cry you can't get out when the toaster stops working. An appliance breaks, you show to the hospital. "They winked with her eyes closed!!! They understand!!!" You can get out that cry for having to eat a thawed room temperature bagel.
And each time it's a different cry. Can't explain it. This is why you need spots within ten feet. This is why many rooms in the ICU have their own bathroom. You think the guy that just got out of open heart surgery yesterday needs a bathroom?! It's for family to cry.
Your mom's room doesn't have a bathroom. Jump into one of the other rooms. They're on vents, they just got out of surgery, they can't say anything.

Avoid Contact Upon Return
When returning from your cry spot, anything can set you off. Avoid all people. A touch will set off a post cry. A passing shoulder rub will have you on the floor bawling. Anything anybody says can set you off. Avoid all questions. Answering any questions about how you are will set off cry puddles.
Get out your cry. Come back. Pretend like nobody notices, with your bloodshot eyes. "I got it. All is good." And don't say "all good." Not even to yourself. You say "all is good," tears are pouring again. "All good" is a cry trigger. The words of self-console bring them back even stronger.
Upon return, go to a corner. The walls are a cry buffer.

More Good Cry Spots
Corner rooms. They're out of the way. Even if there's a patient in there, they're probably on morphine. 
Nursing stations. Most of them are on their phones anyways. They won't notice.
​Your car. Issue with the car is you can't drive that into the hospital, unless if you really hate the medical staff.
Elevators. If you can time your cry for eight seconds, the elevator can give you the necessary privacy.
In some hospitals, nobody can find elevators. With all the different colors and letters that don't match up, nobody can find them. In those hospitals, elevator corridors can be a good couple minutes of cry. 
Thinking of it, that's probably why so many people take the stairs. They can't find the elevators.
You have to know your hospital's culture. If you're in a very out of shape hospital, take the stairs. You have to judge your population before picking your spots.
The emergency room. The ER has a lot of curtains, and nobody keeps track of what is going on in that place. Take a curtain, pull it shut, and cry until a nurse thinks you're another crackhead and kicks you out.
The ER is also good, as nobody cares what's happening in there. People are screaming, blood flying out of their torso, nobody cares. You cry, nobody will notice.
Corners. If you can't find a corner room, corners work. You bring the cry to the corner, you have now triangulated your cry, blocking it with two walls and your back. It's also symbolic, like Gd has brought you to the ICU and put you in timeout. 

The Huddle Hug
In lieu of a spot, you can huddle hug in the waiting room. Get the family huddled together, making for a private family crying spot in public. Call the kids. "Everybody in. We need a cry."
The huddle hug takes family understanding and coordination. I don't believe most of these new families in the waiting room have any chance at coordinating a huddle hug. Half of them can't figure out hospital parking.
Only problem with the huddle hug is it looks too much like a family prayer circle. And the huddle hug touch of others will make you cry more. It’s a catch twenty-two. The huddle hug obstructs the tear view of the spectator, yet forces all within the group huddle to profuse their sob.
To note: Group crying is acceptable.​

Conclusion
You need private cry spots. Not a public cry spot. It's not a cry meeting.

Bathrooms are the best cry spots. Locate all bathrooms in the hospital. That includes rooms of patients. You may come off as a bit of a peeper, but at least you will know where the private bathrooms are.
Bathrooms have paper towels, privacy, and they give you a mirror to remind you how you look when you're beaten up by tragedy. Without the bathroom mirror, you wouldn't be able to see what you look like when you have no hope.

Don't think you're better than the cry spot. Anything can set you off. Somebody saying, "We care." It will get you going.
If I can't find a cry spot, I'm listening to Billy Joel. You can't cry when listening to Billy Joel.

Reconnoiter the hospital. First thing, when you show up to the hospital and find out your loved one on a vent, you scout the hospital. You study the unit color schemes and how those can lead you to private bathrooms and elevators. And ask the nurse for crushed ice. Crushed ice is amazing. Truly brings joy to the ICU experience.​

Yes. I cry.  Call me weak. I tend to cry when somebody I love is on a ventilator. I can't tell you when I'm going to cry. But it will happen. And people judge.

You Can't Cry in Front of People
You can cry in front of people. You just can't really cry in front of people. You can't cry and shriek in front of people. There is crying etiquette that is paramount when you're in the SICU worrying about pending death. When your loved one got hit by a car, your focus should be on decorum.
In public, you have to keep your cry at low volume. Low volume with no "Oh L-rd!!!" You can't add a prayer to your tears. And you can't get out a yowl. They'll think a dog got run over and checked itself into the ICU.

It's Not Acceptable in the Hospital
You can’t get out the full cry in the waiting room. You can’t get out the disgusting looking monster full on breakdown cry in front of others. For some reason, other people stay away from loud cries. And cries with excretion. The sinus cry is not acceptable. Snot mucus streams are still not publicly acceptable. 
For some reason, it's not acceptable to bawl in the hallway of a hospital. People are dying. You would think the one spot people wouldn't judge you for crying is the SICU. Everybody in those rooms looks like they're dying or dead. You look at those machines with the squiggly lines and numbers, and you're thinking, "I have to say Tehillim. A few Psalms." And mucus extends from your orifices. 
Psalms is the immediate response to, "I really don't think the doctors have any idea."

In private, you can scream, pray and snot all over. 
The only acceptable cry in front of other people is a When Harry Met Sally reunite cry. That's acceptable. A family member on a vent who you're hoping isn't dead, you can't let that out in front of other people. That cry is not acceptable.
Point is you need your spot. ​

The Big Cry is Going to Hit That First Week
The new group just came in this weekend. They're crying and they weren't prepared. Now I have to see this.
You've got to prepare for the cry. New people don't know this. They think they're going to show up to the hospital, see their four-year-old nephew missing a limb, on a ventilator, and they're going to head out to a dance party.
There is not one person who has a heart and doesn’t have their big cry. Your loved one is in life threat and you are crying. It happens in SICU, surgery, emergency, the car on the way home. It is going to hit you somewhere. The bigger you are, the more you cry. Those extra pounds on the waist, tears are coming out of that.

The biggest cries are the first week. You are broken. After that, you accept that life sucks. You settle into strokes, heart attacks, aids, cancer, aneurisms, pneumonia, car wrecks, no blood. Loved ones on vents becomes a regular thing. You crack jokes, watch the game, try to figure out your next trip to Disney, start petitioning the congregation about wheelchair access. You become an activist all the sudden. You develop an internal cry in your soul that lasts fifteen years. 
It's almost as bad as breaking up.

New Families are Intruding on Our Space
A lot of new people. It was a dangerous weekend on the streets of Hackensack, New Jersey. I don’t need the news to know what is going on. I see the families funneling in. I know who got hit by a car, and I can verify the shooting.
The new families are here and the new flow of crying is on. It's amazing how the waiting room culture just changed, due to five motorcycle accidents. Nobody tells these people about waiting room etiquette. Stuff they should know. Like the three couches in the room belong to the Kilimnick family.

The Cry Spot Must Be Close
Just had a cry. I wasn't prepared. Rookie mistake. I had a deep inhale cry with a "fufufufufufu." No idea how my exhale came out as a "fufufufufufu." Like somebody turned down the thermostat as emotions hit. And orifice phlegm made it into the "fufufufufufu."
You don't know when the cry will hit. That's why you need many spots. It's not like you have time to get home. It hits you fast. It's not like you can hold it in till you have your own bathroom. 
Carrying a commode with you, so you have a clean place to poo in hospitals, something else you should prepare for. We shall deal with that another time.

No Spot Makes It Weird
It's awkward when you don't have a spot. These new guys don't have their cry spot yet. I feel bad. But what I am going to do? Say "good luck"?
I just saw somebody bawling. Something to do with his daughter falling off her bike and not being able to breath. Just awkward. I don't know if he expected me to hug him. 
I felt bad. It was a painful sight. I had to be the one to tell him, "Get a spot. We all have dying people here. None of us know what to do." I wanted to help. I said, "I can see you're holding in your cry. You've got more in there. There's not one snot ball coming out of your nose. You need a real cry right now. You love your daughter. And we want to love her too. But we don't. You can't get in a good 'Oh L-rd' in front of us. You need to find a spot."
​I have a heart. I care. I want to be here for you. But you cry in the waiting room, you get nothing. You need a spot. Unless if the doctor comes. Anytime a doctor comes out to the waiting room, you have a right to cry. We all get that. No doctor has ever walked into a waiting room to let everybody know how happy they are that they got a hole in one.

Prepare Your Spot
​The problem is they don't have a cry spot yet. They didn't prepare. They didn't scout out the hospital before the accident to figure out where the best place to get out the big cry is.
This is why I suggest scoping out the hospital before family ends up in the ICU. Do it when people are healthy. I'm not suggesting you pray for your family to end up in the SICU, so you can cry together. I'm suggesting you visit a sick friend. Somebody who you don't care that much about. A community member. Visit them. Take notes of the different areas. Find out where the corner rooms are. Corner rooms are potential cry spots. Your family ends up in the ICU, Chas vShalom, you need to cry, you go in there and cry. It's a spot. Don't worry about the recovering guy on a vent who just had their heart sliced open. It's fine. He won't disturb you. He's probably asleep.

There are right ways to handle your cry. Crying etiquette, and Kilimnick couch etiquette. I can't reiterate that enough. They need signs, "Please don't disturb others with your love for somebody who might die. And the couches in the waiting room have been claimed by the Kilimnick family."

Conclusion
You need a cry spot for the real cries. The heartfelt tears. If you have no heart, and your cry is a single tear, you don't need a spot.
We have one uncle who doesn't cry. He says he has to be strong for the family. He has no heart.

I don't like the new group. They don't know which couches are ours yet. They're ruining the waiting room dynamic. We are having a sign made for our couches.

I will fight until the snot mucus monster cry is publicly acceptable. We will not have an emotionally sound society until snot mucus is accepted by all.
"fufufufufufu." Until then, I will try to find more cry spots for everybody.

***Thoughts From a Waiting Room are thoughts revisited from 2019-20 in 2026 form. LRefuah Sheleyma LKol HaCholim and shared laughter with their family and friends, bZchut Avi HaRav Yeshaya Ben Yechezkel HaLevi ZT"L vImi HaRabbanit Necha Bat Chayim Zeydel A"H LAliyat Nishmatam.

Music came on. I forgot about that stuff. The TV has been on news. I've been focusing on hearing about how people end up in the ICU.
I heard some music on the way over to the hospital. I started crying, and that was it. I knew it was the right thing for the waiting room. I'm now playing music on my phone. That's the music medium in the ICU. You get to listen to a song, until you get a call from your aunt.
​I've been tasked with setting the crying mood. The sentimental song mood. Let's be honest. Nobody tasked me with it. I tasked myself. I need to feel like I'm doing something in the ICU. Doctors are coming around, ensuring people's limbs are still attached. Nurses are checking to make sure the blood is still there. I'm DJing. We all have our tasks. We all give back in our own way.

Got to Pick the Right Music
I take my jobs seriously.
I'm not DJing a dance party. I realized real quick, the Bee Gees is not proper mood music for the waiting room. Even if it's catchy. Some of those songs aren't meant for people with family on a ventilator.
"Stayin' Alive" is a catchy tune. Not a good waiting room pick. Doesn't set the right background vibe for an invasive procedure. It shouldn't have been in the mix. Youtube did it. It wasn't the uplifter I would've thought it to be.

Songs Make Me Cry
Songs, especially Dveykus songs from Tehillim, will make you cry. King David's Psalm about looking up to a mountain for help to guitar and harmony. It hits the heart. King David didn't have doctors. He had mountains.
A James Taylor song, that will set me off. "You've Got a Friend." I need one now and I’m crying. Anything that is meant to be sung in a circle, I’m crying. It’s the spherical unity.
I've cried to Chicago. Peter Cetera touches the heart. Excellent for the ICU. If somebody got hit by a car while breaking up, that would truly bring the tears. "You're the Inspiration" is in the mix. Thought you should know that. It's in every one of my mixes. Mood, happy, dance, ICU. Break up. I listen to the break up mix a lot. A lot of breaking up.
Billy Joel still doesn't make me cry. Wu-Tang's "Never Again," I'm crying in a strong way. A man cry. Fist to my mouth, athlete cry, to cover up my mouth tears. That rap about the Holocaust hits you.

Billy Joel Doesn't Make Me Cry
I took Billy Joel out of the sentimental medley.
I listen to Billy Joel, I can’t cry. His saddest song is "Uptown Girl."
"We Didn’t Start the Fire," I’m rocking to it. He makes death and murder sound happy. "Only the Good Die You’ung. Only the good die you'ung." It's the “u” continuation. Something about extending "young" makes me want to bop. I hear him and I'm bopping to the good dying. When Billy Joel sings it, I'm kind of fine with people passing before their time. Though, it's very relevant to the parents with the young boy on a vent, it's too upbeat for the ICU. 
And other families are sleeping in the ICU. You've got to keep the music soft.

Jewish Songs
Uncle Moishy singing "Ain't Going to Work on Saturday" is not going to get the tears rolling. Nonetheless, it's a strong message. And sometimes you want to spread the message of Shabbat to the people in the waiting room.
Avraham Fried's "No Jew Will Be Left Behind." That will get you crying. Might have the other people in the waiting room wondering what kind of lyrics these are. And why they haven't heard that song on the Top Forty charts.
Any Jewish song that has Tehillim in it, I'm crying. I say Psalms all the time now. Signing them. That's a new level of wetness. That next level of Dveykus singalong, you start singing, you're swaying, pulling out a candle, sharing stories about family weekends and crying. And the other people in the waiting room are trying to figure out why you pulled out a guitar while their family is trying to have a conversation. Wondering if you have anybody in the hospital, and why you're not singing in English.
Basically, any Frum Hebrew song, I am crying. Unless if Billy Joel is singing it. I'm not crying if Billy Joel is singing about looking up at the mountains to find a girl. Somewhere on Eighty-Sixth Street.

It Takes a Lot to DJ the Room Right
We’re constantly figuring out what to play in mom's room. There's the waiting room, where you want to claim the space with your music and chase other families away from the couch. And then there's mom's room.
Post surgery can be a tough time to listen to music. So, you want to keep it soft. Soft rock 101.3 is generally good. The problem is you wake up, Delilah starts talking, and you're questioning if your spouse left you.
You want the cry songs in the room. It's just picking the right ones. 
We figured a few out for the room. Basically, anything you can play in the waiting room without offsetting somebody hearing about a family member dying, is fine.
We've taken to the Jewish music, especially Dveykus. Their songs were made for tragedy. It's the gift of tragedy in harmony form. Note: Do not play the Bee Gee's "Tragedy." Make sure that's not in the mix.
We also have Jeff Braverman in there. Something about his voice is very soothing. It's not an Israeli accent, but it kind of is. It's like a soft Israeli accent if an Israeli was from Montreal and never lived in Israel.
The Carpenters. Great. "Close to You." Has there ever been a better song to elicit recovery? The answer is NO. You hear that song and you heal. And then you think about birds. 
Creed. Another amazing Christian rock band for Jews. They truly make death spiritual.

Not Every Song Works
You've got to keep control. Not everybody's music is ICU friendly. My brother-in-law wants to play Metallica and Papa Roach. "Last Resort." Again. Not a good song. Not proper. "Cut my life into pieces. This is my last resort. Suffocation. No breathing." Again. Not proper. Even if it is relatable. 
This is why I've taken control of the DJing. 
You need a vast music library for different medical situations. I will say this one last time, "Death metal is not proper in the surgical intensive care unit." 
And I have made the decision to leave out the rap about the Holocaust. Thought that might be a bit of an intense mood song while on morphine.
And Snoop Dogg singing about sipping his gin and juice is not the proper mood music of choice. The ICU in Hackensack doesn't support smokin in the waiting room.

​Conclusion
Any song that reminds you of camp is good for the ICU. Thank Gd I didn’t have to sleep on a bunkbed in the waiting room. I played my music, chased out the other families, put two couches together and got some good sleep.
 
Billy Joel is too happy for the waiting room. I have taken him out of my intensive care mix. And that's what I call it. And I've given the mix to some friends that I don't like.

Picking the right songs is not easy. You would think Clapton's "Tears in Heaven" would work. That's not the right song for the ICU waiting room. You want to stay away from songs about death, even if they touch the heart. "Dust in The Wind" isn't a waiting room song. It's more of a euthanasia mood song. And there's no ward for that. 
Reminder: Hold off on "Only the Good Die Young." It’s a waiting room mood killer.
If I was writing a Jewish musical, a boy looking for a girl from a good well to do family would be singing "Uptown Girl."

Though the right music is important, I don't bring my phone around to random families in the intensive care, letting them know I have songs that might help. You have to DJ your own tragedy. You can't DJ other people's pain, as enjoyable as it might be to be sitting there, staring at them, playing the song that you feels fits their tears. 
I thought The Carpenters was a perfect pick, when they first got into the waiting room. I looked up at them to provoke some reassurance. A little support. All they gave me was a “why are you looking at us like that.”

It seems that not everybody in the waiting room has my taste in music. Once you go over the river from Teaneck to Hackensack you run into some nonJews who don’t connect with Dveykus and Safam. They didn’t get a good Hebrew school education.
I'm going to invest is some waiting room earbuds. Some people get real mad about James Taylor. They don't like his music, and that is where evil people come from. 

***Thoughts From a Waiting Room are thoughts revisited from 2019-20 in 2026 form. LRefuah Sheleyma LKol HaCholim and shared laughter with their family and friends, bZchut Avi HaRav Yeshaya Ben Yechezkel HaLevi ZT"L vImi HaRabbanit Necha Bat Chayim Zeydel A"H LAliyat Nishmatam.

I saw people yelling "applesauce" at an old guy. It was shocking. Caused me to have nightmares about apples getting crushed.
I am now trying to figure out when it's fine to yell at an old person.
​
Times You Can Yell
If they're pulling up their pants in public, you can yell. I get it. "Grandpa. We're at the park. Pull up your pants in the bathroom! Children don't need to see your belt adjustment routine." Pant adjustment seems to happen regularly by old people walking, trying to keep their pants at chest height. Sometimes you need urgency to stop that in front of families. How their waste gets so high, I don't know.
You can also yell if you have cinnamon to sprinkle on the applesauce. That's exciting. Screaming "cinnamon" brings joy. 
For joy and excitement, it's fine. You can scream, "It's your grandson's Bar Mitzvah." For Nachis, you can yell. Even if it might cause a heart attack. 
If they're throwing the Mazel Tov candy, you might want to yell to wake grandpa up. That's less abusive than whacking him with sour sticks.
Now the aide is yelling "cottage cheese." Any food that's in post-chewable form. You yell that. "Soup!!!" "Borscht!!!" "Pudding!!!" "APPLESAUCE!!!" It kind of gets you excited. It's kind of exciting to not have to chew. Get a little of that cinnamon in there, I'm starting to get worked up for the applesauce.
Ice cream. You can always scream ice cream. It's never abusive to scream ice cream.
You can yell at the assisted living residence. They're loud there. Regular amplitude at assisted living is loud. Staff greets you like you're working the auto assembly line at the plant. You can tell assisted living by loudness and walkers.
If you see somebody with a walker, you can scream. Anybody who has a walker has bad balance and a hearing problem.
Fire. If there's a fire, you can yell. The only problem is that with the amount of yelling at these assisted living places, I don't think anybody would take you seriously.

Outside of Hospitals
Outside of hospitals and nursing homes, yelling at old people is considered abuse. That's tricky. Cause when they call up Max to the Torah at shul, he doesn't hear it.
The Gabai had to yell, "Ya'amod. Coming up to the Torah!!! Max Ben Baruch HaLevi!!! Max!!! Come up to the Torah!!!" And now everybody thinks our Gabai is abusive. And he's still yelling, "Max!!! Get up here!!!"
I've seen people at department stores yell at old people. It would appear that when you're angry at them for asking a question, you're allowed to scream "Sir!!!" "Ma'am" also works. As long as it's a pleasantry, you can berate an old person. "Excuse me! Ma'am!!!" "Please!!! Sir!!!" "Thank you!!!" 
Grandkids. You can yell at old people when their grandchildren are there and they're looking the other way. For pictures too. Ever seen old people looking off the other direction in a family portrait? It's because nobody was yelling at them.

If They Yell
You can always yell at their level. The key is to not yell louder. That's abuse. You have to catch their volume and ride their amplification.
When they get loud, that means they need help hearing. If you have to scream so that you can hear, you're going to have a hard time hearing something that is not in your cochlea. And don't scream "cochlea." That doesn't sound proper.
When they scream at you, that's when you should be yelling at them. First, you have to be abused. When they scream, "What did you say?" you can yell back. "What did you say?" That's a cue. Maybe you should stop whispering that it's dangerous and their drapes caught on fire.
Your yelling voice is eighty-five-year-old-room-voice. That's assisted living dinner conversation amplitude. 
When they yell, "You piece of ----!!!" it's a hard to say what to do. I would say, if they cut you off in traffic, you can yell back.

Lower the Loud
It's always good to try to lower the volume. You never know when grandma is going to say something offensive. If grandma and grandpa are racist, you want to get them hearing aids. Hearing aids make older people less racist. 
Hearing aids help in bringing the voice down and you not losing your job.
General rule is to try to keep them from sharing too much with anybody under forty years of age. You never know when their racist ninety-two-year-old self with start saying something they think is normal. Like, "That's a Chinese guy."  
I can care less how much you trust them, you can’t trust their new ninety-year-old-discussion-level. When they're screaming offensive racist stuff, because that’s how they think, because they are ninety-five, that's not the time to scream, "I hear you. I understand what you're saying." I can care less how many times they yell, "I've told you that's a Chinese guy. Is that not a Chinese guy. He's right there."
And I'm not saying they're wrong. They think they're whispering. And when you whisper, it's not racism.

Enjoy the Loudness
Yelling makes people feel good. Old people have it down. They know how to make people feel good. When Merv and Sadie are yelling, "Great to see yah," everybody feels loved. They think it's for them. It might just be for Sadie, but the whole room feels good.

Lessons Learned
Don't share any secrets with an old person. They think they're whispering. Now everybody knows you don't like your middle child, and you're a racist.
Some older people need to be yelled at. Their hearing is gone, and applesauce with cinnamon, followed by ice cream, is very exciting.
If they softly ask, "What did you say?" maybe they just don’t understand. Old people have the right to not understand.
Only yell at old people in nursing homes and hospitals. Outside of nursing facilities yelling at old people may be considered abuse, unless if there is applesauce or a car coming.
You can't yell for them. But you can yell at them. I know that, because the aide at the nursing home didn't yell, "That's a Chinese guy!!!"
You can definitely yell "applesauce!!!"
​
***Thoughts From a Waiting Room was first written in 2019-20. These are the thoughts revisited in 2026 form. LRefuah Sheleyma LKol HaCholim and shared laughter with their family and friends, bZchut Avi HaRav Yeshaya Ben Yechezkel HaLevi ZT"L vImi HaRabbanit Necha Bat Chayim Zeydel A"H LAliyat Nishmatam.

What just happened. Are these people in my room? Did the Schwartzs just pop in uninvited?  Very rude. They were always very rude like that.
 
Does it look like I can pick up a phone and call? I didn’t invite you. I can’t move. This is what Bikur Cholim looks like. Visiting the sick looks like a bunch of people pushing their way into my room.
Did the shul announce this? It’s like the rabbi to put it out there. “Visit Phillip. He won’t kick you out. He can’t talk or move. Visit him and do what you want.” I’m in the shul bulletin now. They better not be advertising this. I hope I don’t get one of those pictures of me in my bed with this gown thing they threw on me. It’s a shroud. It’s a sick shroud. I’m in the hospital and they throw this on me. I woke up this morning. I thought I was dead. In a shroud.
 
They visit uninvited. I have to watch out for these people. I didn't invite them. I'm half naked. I just peed in the bag. This isn't the time for a visit.
Since when do people just show up, uninvited?
Now they’re talking. Asking me questions. I can’t move. I can’t talk. And they’re asking my questions. Are these people idiots? Do they not see the IVs?! I have fifteen IVs flying out of me, and they think it’s time for a conversation. Just talk. Don’t expect me to answer. I’m sorry I’m not a good host.
They expect me to host them now. They’re going to go back to the congregation and tell them how rude I was. I didn’t get up and offer them coffee.

It's nice to see them. I truly like the Schwartzs. Good people. Nosy. But good people. Caring people. Yet, they do talk a lot about their new cottage. They don’t care enough to stop talking about that.
At this point, pride is not of importance. It's real now. People visiting from the community is real. I need it. I appreciate it. I’m going to write a thank you, if I can ever move again. Where is my hand? Thank Gd it’s there. Forgot I had that.
My kids’ friends do this. They pop over uninvited. I can’t play Minecraft now.
 
Stay. Why are they leaving? Just because I can’t talk?!
You guys can at least turn on the TV!!!
Nope. They just left without turning on the TV. They broke into my room. Uninvited. The nurse aided and abetted in this whole act. The nurses aided and abetted. They stole some crushed ice and saltines from my tray.
The aide probably did nothing. Didn’t even abet. That guy has changed me in two days. Can you at least tell him to clean my butt.
 
Wait. They’re back. They got coffee. Now they can’t complain about me. They stole coffee. These people came for afternoon tea. I didn’t know the Schwartzs are British.
The least you all can do is turn on my TV. You see I can’t move. And tell them to stop bringing me trays. How am I going to eat when I got a trach for an esophagus. Even applesauce doesn’t pass through this thing.
I’m not complaining. I just need my butt cleaned. They come uninvited. I would let them clean my butt. At this point, I’m chafing. Baby Wipes!!!
I’m peeing again. These people give no privacy. Is this what they’re doing now? Following people into the bathroom?! Is that part of Bikur Cholim? Did the rabbi announce that? “Talk to Phil while he’s peeing. When you see the bag fill up, you’ll know it was a good conversation.”
 
Uninvited. I hope they didn't go to my house. I didn't invite them there. And I haven't had a chance to vacuum. Shoot. The grass is probably out of control. The neighbors are probably mad.
They’re probably going to break into my house now. Next week’s announcements will read, “Phillip doesn’t take care of his house.”
 
Why is family not here. The only people who have unbarred entrance are not here.
 
They just left. Now I’m going to miss The $100,000 Pyramid.
 
Will somebody tell the rabbi to put some of this stuff in the announcements. “When you visit Phillip, please turn on the TV. Watch TV with him. He doesn’t want to hear you going off on your kids. He doesn’t care if they’re in college. Your Nachis is annoying. He likes the Game Show Network, as he likes overly excited people. And leave the TV on when you leave. As you can see, he can’t pick up a remote control if he can’t move. And please face his bed towards the TV. He doesn’t enjoy looking at walls and ceilings. When you break into his house, please make sure all the bills are paid. Tell his daughter to brush her teeth. And tell his ex he now hates her. She’s a witch. Do some prayers. Phillip likes Davening. But don’t sing. The one positive about his stroke is he doesn’t have to hear your messed up harmonies in shul. Tell his family to visit, as it kind of sucks when you can’t take care of yourself, and people decide that that’s a good time to not be there for you. Also, please tell them to clean his butt. And he apologizes if you show up and he’s mooning you. He can’t flip his sheets.” And add, “He won’t write Thank Yous. He hates writing those. He appreciates the visits. Just the thought of having to write Thank Yous is too painful. Might cause a heart attack. He’s still getting over having to write the Thank Yous to the people who showed up to his Bar Mitzvah. It was a traumatic experience. And when you visit, he might be naked. Maybe. Don't be like the Schwartzs. Ask the aide to make sure he’s decent. And ask them, to clean his butt before you go in his room. Their eldest didn’t have to see that. Probably not as traumatic as writing Thank Yous. But he asks for Mechilah.”

Somebody just came and yelled at my mom. I ran into the room to make sure nothing happened. Nothing happened. They were yelling at her because she's in a hospital.
People yell at old people and sick people. They're already not doing well, and now they're getting reprimanded.

She's in the Hospital and She Can Hear
She's in the hospital. Even so, you don’t have to scream at her. She didn't do anything wrong.
Everybody thinks that when somebody is in a hospital bed, they age forty years, and they lose their hearing.
I had a friend visit me after a hernia operation. The guy was yelling, "Can you still hear?!" I wasn't even in a hospital bed. He thought that since I was in a recliner, I had lost my ability to hear. It might just be that position. Something to do with the forty-five-degree incline of the back. The natural instinct is to yell at them. The natural angle of earshot. 
Maybe they're thinking "she's in a coma, she is hard of hearing." Those are different problems. And if she's in a coma, are you trying to give her nightmares? "Why are they yelling it's good to see me?! Am I in hell?! Is that how they greet you in hell?!"

Always Yelling 
I see it every time people visit a hospital. They always yell. You just got out of surgery, and the first guest is mad at you. You're dizzy as anything, and somehow, you're getting blamed for the new seats they put in at the shul. You're saying, "It's not the time," but you can't talk. They're going off on how beautiful the chairs are. And they sound so mad about it.
People should have a basic medical understanding when screaming at someone who's recovering. Understand the diagnosis. Know if they're on morphine. Then maybe yell, "I'm taking out the catheter." That's something that might need a yell.

Screaming at Old People
People scream at sick people and old people. Let's deal with this yelling at old people epidemic.
​Old people don't need angry people screaming nice things at them.
"It’s good to see you." That is the line. That's the discussion. It is always, "It’s good to see you." They don’t add anything to that. It's just concerned people coming in and screaming nice things at them. It's scary as anything.
I understand it can be hard coming up with something to talk about. You can’t say, "It’s good to see you like this." You can’t say, "I am happy you broke your arm. And you won't be walking again." You can't say, "Your kids are waiting for you to die so they can get the inheritance."
What else are you going to say to old folk? "You look good."?
And then you wonder why you get no response. The reason is because old people don’t like getting yelled at. "It would be good to see you, if you weren’t always screaming at me!" Half the time, they're in shock. They think they're being attacked. You get startled with a "it's good to see you," you become mute. You go into defense mode. You're on guard, thinking, "This person wants to know how I am."
I am trying to get you to stop yelling at old people, and sick people. Sick people can hear too. "I had a cough and lost my voice. Stop shouting."

Have a Real Conversation at Nursing Homes
Conversations have to be more than, "It’s good to see you." Old people have a lot to offer. They know a lot of stuff. They have a lot of experiences to share. And they will repeat it. You can have a full-on two-hour conversation with Max telling you the story of the family trip to the Poconos. He could repeat that sixty-eight times. Beautiful conversation. Max is happy and all you had to do was say, "It's good to see you." No yelling. Just a kind statement.
Old people don’t need your pandering, petting them and yelling at them. They are not dogs. Nonetheless, some can use grooming and hair removal.
I can promise you this. Residents at the nursing homes hate when you talk to them like they're a newborn. Right up in their face, with the high pitch, "How are you? deedee deedee." They don't want you pinching their cheeks. Though, they do enjoy when you bring the kids to the nursing home to dance. Everybody loves that.
Respect old people. They have a lot to share. Young sick people, you can tell them it's good to see them. No need to yell. Leave it at "good to see you." They have nothing to offer. No reason to pry for some enlightenment with six-year-old Sari, because she got her tonsils taken out. Getting ice cream from a doctor after surgery doesn't make a scholar. It also doesn't hinder a child's ability to hear.

Calm Down
You all have to calm down. It's a beautiful thing to visit.
People get intense around old people. You have to calm down. I understand you're thinking, "They might go in a few minutes, I've got to get it all in now. We should've worked out the will earlier." But calm down. If you miss out on a few ancestors and the vacation house to your sister-in-law, so be it. You can't rush things.
Everybody is so loud at these nursing homes. Guests are loud. Even the nurses and CNAs are screaming at the people. I get scared. I got home from visiting a community member and had nightmares of people yelling "applesauce" at me.
There is no way to get sleep with these crazy people.
You yell at old people for no reason, when they're right next to you. You're sitting right by their bed. If it was something important, I would understand. I can understand if you're crossing the street with them, and they're moving at the old person pace, and you're yelling, "There's a car coming. It's good to see you." I understand urgency. And I understand the need to tell old people it's good to see them.
Not every moment at the nursing home is an emergency. Not every time you're sitting next to my mom at the hospital is an emergency. There is never a need to yell, "APPLESAUCE!!!"

Conclusion
"IT’S GOOD TO SEE YOU!!!" is what you yell at old people you see on the other side of the street when a car is coming. Not in a room, right after somebody just drilled their torso.
Not all people in hospitals are old. You don't age because a bed can adjust to recliner position. Stop screaming at people who are trying to recover. They will appreciate your calmness as they try to heal from you. Though, you should always get louder when somebody doesn’t understand the language you are speaking in. You can help them understand by repeating what you said in more of a yell. You should be screaming at those people for not knowing English.
Getting older is not a hearing condition. Some of them can still hear you. People who are sick in hospitals have not all lost their ability to hear. Some of them might have broken their leg. An ACL tear doesn't affect hearing.
If they are old and not American or from the British Commonwealth, yell at them. If they are also sick and from Galicia, definitely yell at them.

Lesson For Me
If somebody ever says it's good to see me, I will know I have aged. I will know I let myself go. The kids are already calling me sir, and they're getting louder.

***Thoughts From a Waiting Room was first written in 2019-20. These are the thoughts revisited in 2025 form. LRefuah Sheleyma LKol HaCholim and shared laughter with their family and friends, bZchut Avi HaRav Yeshaya Ben Yechezkel HaLevi ZT"L vImi HaRabbanit Necha Bat Chayim Zeydel A"H LAliyat Nishmatam.

It’s been a year and I don’t know what any of it means. All I have are ideas.
I’ve been saying Kaddish all year. No idea what it means. I still have no idea what "Ba’agalah" means. I said it around eight to twelve times a day for eleven months and I have no idea. I look in the English every time. Just looked at the English a few minutes ago. Forgot already. Anyways. Everything should be Ba'agalah. That sounds like a good blessing to give on a Yahrzeit.
It's been four years since I had those thoughts on my Abba's first Yahrzeit. And I still haven't figured it out

Maybe people figure some of this death stuff out quick. They're usually intellectuals. People in college who haven't lost anybody yet. But they have death down. They know Gd's plan. They sat on the quad with a buddy. I think it takes longer when it's your dad.
There's a lot I still haven't figured out. I still don't know how to get the dishwasher to work. It just sits there. If there is one reason for reincarnation, it would be to find out who broke the dishwasher. Was the dishwasher was broken before I tried using it. Why is Abba not in the physical Olam anymore. I have questions. How did it break. Maybe it was me. I will never know. 

Abba was my father. Hence, I called him Abba. Yet, to most, he was a rabbi, a rebbe. It's hard to see the rebbe when they're setting a bedtime for you, and saying you can't watch any more TV.
I read that Hasidim, a rebbe's adherents, would follow their masters in their last days. They follow them all the time. Very nosy. This is a reason to not have Hasidim. You go grocery shopping and fifty people are following you down the canned foods aisle, and not one of them offers to pay. But this specifically speaks of their rebbe's last days, as they learn from the way the rebbe lives and dies. "To record the last moments of their masters was for Hasidim a sacred task" (Jewish Reflections on Death, Riemer, p.16). These community leaders, Hasidic Rebbes, are also known as a Tzadik, righteous person. And they probably wouldn't have passed away if the Hasidim would've put down a pen and called a doctor.
I didn’t record anything as I have seen what happens nowadays with social media. However, I witnessed my father’s last days of living in Olam Haguf (I call it the world of the body, because the only thing about passing that I know is that we are not using our body for actions anymore- at least for now).
Sometimes, the only way for a rebbe to shake off his Hasidim is by dying.

Being with my father the last months of his life in the physical Olam I learned of forgiveness. He forgave. He judged not. His last words were of love. What makes a Tzadik? I would say forgiveness. If we are judged as righteous when our Mitzvot outweigh our Aveirot (sins), we are definitely righteous when we are able to help others in that process of having less Aveirot. And that is what forgiveness does.
My rebbe always thought about others. And that is what he expressed in his final days.
Other people are annoying. They mess up. My Abba always saw people for good.
In his last days, my Abba taught me that even congregants have good in them. It's hard to see that, but it's there. And you have to forgive them for being idiots. That's what I got out of it.
 
What’s the lesson that we learn when a Tzadik passes? I don’t know. I’ll give a sermon about it at some point. Who knows, somebody else may give a sermon about it. They will have no idea what it means. Even so, it will sound good. It will sound meaningful. It will sound like the rabbi knows what’s going on. Even though the guy has never lost somebody. They had a buddy who thought about death in Ancient Stoic Philosophy 101.
I do know that I wasn't trying to learn a lesson those final days. I'm still not trying to learn a lesson. Being there with my dad was life itself. Not a lesson. You tell me there is something to be learned, and I will not be happy. People don't want to learn lessons about dying. If you want to lose your job as a rabbi, start telling people it's good their parents passed, because they can learn something from it. But I learned a lot from it. Just don't tell me that.
There is always an idiot leader ready to piss off the mourners. Usually, they wait for communal tragedy to share their thoughts.

Following the rebbe in their last days has something to do with what’s truly important in life. People seem to hone in on what’s important when they’re faced with mortality. When it's my time, I’ll probably be focused on selling my baseball cards. I know I’m mortal and that’s what I’m focusing on now. I can't get rid of those things. It will just be a greater degree of urgency. I’ll probably do a flash sale from the hospital. Collecting as a child focuses the rest of your life on selling the stuff. 
We’re faced with mortality every day. Walking under the trees in my neighborhood. The trees are old. Every morning, I see countless branches on the ground. Dead. Dead branches. I’m just happy I’m sleeping when it’s happening. I can’t deal with more death right now. And I am not following the trees right before the arborist cuts it down. Though, I am sure they think congregants are annoying. And I know they hate dogs.
Those last days, when the body is weakening, are the culmination of one's true thoughts. What does one want to leave in this world. Abba wanted to make sure I trimmed the hedges. He didn't mention the baseball cards. Those were still in the house. And he wanted to know that everybody else was good. They were good and righteous in Gd's eyes.
When will I start thinking about others, like my rebbe, my Abba?!

The Rebbe focuses his life as a community leader. One who leads people in Torah. Their students follow them, as they know that the actions of their rebbe represent Torah. And then, their last days, you see the culmination of this part of their life. What they seem to believe it was all about. Generally, the culmination is represented with tubes and a lot of sedation. They’re spent wondering how a bed with so many different incline positions can be so uncomfortable. But for those other moments, you see someone’s true essence. And Abba wanted me to turn off the TV. And to have a conversation with is son. He wanted his son to know he is a decent dude, and he's proud of him. Not because his son accomplished anything. It goes without saying, that didn't happen. But because he thought his son cared about people and was a good human being. Basically, Abba knew I accomplished nothing. Loading up the house with boxes of baseball cards isn't a source of Nachis. But his son caring about Pete Rose being in the Hall of Fame, that's a source of Nachis.
Abba was proud of all his kids. Which goes to show, never trust a parent who tells you how great their children are.
Truth is, Abba did support my comedy and got Nachis from that. Not because of success. But because I cared and hopefully did something of a giving nature with it. And that is where Abba's mind was. It was focused on what is truly important. When it comes to other people. It's caring about them. And Abba taught me that throughout his life. I would've followed Abba everywhere, taking notes, but Abba was skeptical of journalists.

Those last days, my Abba, the rebbe, shared with me the moments of his beautiful interactions with people. Challenges and how they were overcome. He was sharing with me what is truly important. Family, caring for people, seeing other people in a positive light. Even if they are pieces of…
 I try to now see people in a positive light. I see it something like "we wouldn’t be able to see good in the world if there wasn’t evil." That’s why I worked my last job. I wouldn’t have known hypocrisy, lies and evil if I didn’t work there.

Lessons from this Yahrzeit
Losing my Abba and rebbe in this world is hard. But I do thank Gd, as with all gifts, for the holy day of the Yahrzeit. For Kaddish which I don't understand. For being blessed with parents that were so caring, with an ability to see the blessing of people. And for those last days with my Abba. I would never trade those last months in the house, taking in my father's heightened sense of perspective before heading to Olam Haba.
In those last days of us talking, Abba turned into my rebbe. In their last days, many people project their thoughts onto their parents. They turn their parents into something they want, so that they can cope. To be blessed to take in those days with my father sharing his true feelings, learning from him. And to take in his love for Yiddishkeit and people, while wondering why the baseball cards are still in his house.

All those hours by his bedside. Those conversations in the home I grew up in, I learned so much about outlook. To not judge people. For they are all idiots. My father couldn't shake that thought from me. 
My father saw everybody as talented. As precious. As holy. And he always gave them that respect. That's what my Rebbe taught. And he taught that throughout his life. I should've written that down over the many years, instead of advocating for myself to eat hamburgers and deli at 2am.
I would've rather he just told me who broke the dishwasher.

I miss those moments in this Olam. But I feel the holy moments all the time. Todah Rabbah for passing that on. At the end, the real success is just being decent and caring, and forgiving.
I've got to start letting people know they're good dudes and I'm proud of them, even though they're idiots.
May it all be Ba'agalah. Whatever that means. I’m sure it’s a blessing.
 
***For an Aliyas Neshama for הרב ישעיה בן יחזקאל הלוי זצ"ל and all the Tzadikim who made and continue to make this Olam a great life.

Beryl Horowitz. A Holocaust survivor, never married, living alone in Brooklyn. He owned a little bookstore. You would think he would be depressed. But he wasn't married, so all was fine. He would sometimes do acts of kindness, stay later in shul and Daven with Kavanah, because he didn't have anybody hounding him, constantly asking "where were you." He was even able to eat deli sandwiches every night, as nobody cared about his health. Life was good. But he cared. Beryl was a very kind soul. He was even able to own a bookstore, because he didn't have a wife bothering him with this concept of "We Need Financial Stability."
It was a Jewish bookstore. You don't move to Brooklyn to open a boutique bookstore for Mennonites.

Beryl knew a rabbi that worked in a prison. Beryl wanted to do something kind. The rabbi was shocked. He'd never heard this from a congregant. Most questions addressed to the rabbi were, "How much can I save on the hall for the Bar Mitzvah?!" To quote the rabbi's response to Beryl's, "I can't pay you for your kindness." Beryl said, "I still want to do something nice." The rabbi suggested, "Going down to Florida is a nice thing to do during the winter. That's what most of my congregants do." Beryl told the rabbi, "I want people to know they're important. I want to do a true Chesed. A true act of kindness. People are lonely. I want to help them." The rabbi was in shock. People caring is not something the rabbi was used to. This purity of kindness made the rabbi uncomfortable. The greatest act of kindness he had witnessed till that moment was a community member paying their dues on time. 
The rabbi suggested Beryl send letters to inmates. The rabbi could've suggested sending letters to women, but the rabbi didn't think very much about Beryl's needs. He didn't even shop at Beryl's bookstore. He went to Eichler's for his Judaica. This is why the rabbi was suggesting Florida. To get Beryl to close his bookstore. At least to get Beryl out of town, so he could shop at Eichler's without feeling guilty. 
Beryl would've been married if the rabbi thought for a second about his love life.

Beryl started sending letters to inmates every Friday. Letters of encouragement. Stuff like, "It's not any better at Coney Island. I'm shvitzing here. The hot dogs aren't even Kosher."
One letter reached nineteen year old, David, in Florida. David was in for armed robbery. It might have been shoplifting. Not sure. I heard something about forgetting to ring up the tomatoes at the register. Maybe he had tomatoes in his red shopping cart, camouflaged, and then he was carrying a pocket knife. That stuff will get you locked up. 
David was planning to take his own life that morning, but the letter came in. I believe the letter came in the morning. Some say it came in the afternoon. He was planning to take his life that morning, but hadn't gotten to it yet. David was a procrastinator. He saw the paper, thought about the damage a paper cut can do, and remembered he was supposed to take his life. Instead of paper cutting himself, David opened the letter.
David was down. He was locked up. I feel that explaining why David might be down is important to the story. He was behind bars. Now you understand the psychology behind why David might have been down.
The letter read, "You matter. You are more than your worst mistake. Gd believes in you and so do I... Beryl Horowitz." Beryl signed it. I am not sure if it was with a "love" or a "sincerely" or a "thank you." I do know he signed it. I believe it was cursive.
There was no return address. Just a name. He didn't want to get robbed. He wanted the guy to know he cared. He didn't want to be a victim.
David broke down. He started crying. David started learning Torah, he got out of jail and married, and became a teacher. How crying leads to Torah learning, I am not sure. I do know that David wanted the Kosher meals. When you're locked up, that airplane packed Kosher food is a joy. It gives you a reason to live.
David was touched. Somebody cared about him.

Thirty years later, now a grandfather, David was in Brooklyn. He went into at tiny Brooklyn bookstore and a nameplate was on the counter. It read "Beryl Horowitz Owner." It could've read, "Beryl Horowitz Guy Who Likes To Shop Here." But Beryl owned the place.
Standing there in a moment of true connection and gratitude, David asked, "Are you Beryl Horowitz?" Beryl was already around ninety, and he had already been through communism, pogroms, the Holocaust, losing every job because of his name. Thinking he can't get fired now, he said, "Yes. I am Beryl Horowitz." 
David asked Beryl, "Did you ever send letters to inmates?" Beryl responded, "I did. I used to do it all the time. Every single Friday. Why?" Beryl was now worried he was going to be arrested for contraband.  
David pulls out a letter from his wallet. It was his electric bill. He forgot to pay it. He said, "Thank Gd. I have to go to the post office and pay this." Then, he pulls out another letter. A faded letter. Answering Beryl's question, "Because this letter saved my life."
Beryl, filled with tears. At this point, of course he cried. This was a moment. Watch a drama. This is when you cry. Beryl said, "All of these years, I just sent them. I didn't know if any of them made a difference."

Lessons of What Followed
Beryl never got a letter.
After that meeting, I do not believe that Beryl went to jail. He did think to go to jail for Shidduch reasons though. It worked for David.

For some reason, those moments of connection make you cry. Almost as much as a kidney stone.
Just the fact that somebody cared about him, helped him turn his life into one of meaning. One where he learned Torah and never enjoyed a decent cheeseburger again. One where he had to report to his wife where he was, every moment of every day. David was touched. All he needed was to hear he mattered.

Letters by hand are meaningful. They leave an impression. A high school kid heard this story, started writing a letter by hand and swore she would never do that again. She told her parents, "Nobody should have to hurt their hands that much to text a message." 

Torah allows one to see each moment as important. Even when locked up in jail or prison it's a chance to do Mitzvahs. A chance to help somebody with their contraband. Kal vChomer, even more so, when your family locks you up in a nursing home. We can learn from David to find that meaning in each moment, even in those places where it's hard to see how important we are. And we can learn from Beryl that letting those people know you love them may remind them how important they are, even if they don't have much money. Even if it doesn't look like you'll get a decent inheritance.

David made a lot more mistakes. Thanks to Beryl, he felt good about them. He started messing up crossword puzzles. He was fine, because he had that letter reminding him that Beryl and Gd believed in him. Unlike his parents who thought he was a Yutz.
Beryl then asked, "What was your worst mistake?" David said, "Getting married and having kids. I'm broke, and on a teacher's salary, having to support these people. I should rob a shop." When Beryl asked about getting locked up for armed robbery, David went on. "Wait. An even worse mistake was being a teacher. These kids nowadays need to be locked up." Then, in a moment of epiphany, David continued, "That letter changed my life. Mr. Horowitz... Thank you. Torah truly killed my plans. I was going to be a doctor." Maybe he didn't say that. I am not sure if that was their conversation. Quotes can be wrong sometimes.

I don't think David invited Beryl to Florida. Though, he did buy a book. A softcover, to save a bit of money.
If Beryl's rabbi would've shopped by him every once in a while, Beryl might have felt that having a bookstore was a good idea. Your actions are important. They do make a difference. Gd believes in you. Beryl needed to hear that too.
Is this not why we're all here in this world? To help each other. To be the most important to somebody? To let them know they matter. To remind them they make a difference. To ruin their good times the next time they're out drinking, thinking "Gd believes in me." Try taking down a few beers with that and the mortgage in the back of your mind. We all need to hear we matter, that we can make a difference, and somebody cares about us.

***Not sure if that's exactly the story word for word. To hear it in shorter, probably more correct form, check out realyaakovcohen on Instagram.

Let’s talk about gifts again. Actual gifts. We're going to talk about giving gifts. Mommy was a giver. And one thing she gave a lot was gifts. 

You Give Gifts
What else are you going to give? A cough? Let's start here. With gifts. Nobody wants you to give them a cough and a fever. Who wants to work?! That's why we're not talking about giving people jobs right now. Give gifts.
Gifts are a good way to give. Gifts are always in conjunction with "give." You don't donate gifts. Though you could do that if you don't have any leftover pasta for the food cupboard. 
When donating to the food cupboard you first want to think about stuff you don't want. Stuff you want to throw out. Then you check for stuff that's really old. Dry goods that are out of date. If you have nothing else, you can throw in a toy. Little kids eat those too.
Point is that when you think of giving, you think of gifts. You can take gifts but we're talking about giving. You go out, buy somebody a gift and take it. That's off. You buy a sweater that's your size, and then you wear it, it's not a gift. You went shopping. You bought a sweater.
I got chocolate for a girl years ago. I ate it. She never got the gift. That relationship did not pan out.
I know, many of you are mad, because Oprah says you've got to treat yourself well. And that means buying gifts for yourself. Mommy thought about others. Let's focus on giving gifts to others, and not stealing sweaters you knitted.

People Are Holy
(Bereishit 9:6) "In the image of Gd, He created man." People are created in Gd's image and they are all the best. Everybody deserves the best. And thus they get gifts. (Pirkei Avot 3:14) Rabbi Akiva teaches, "Man is loved because he is created in Gd's image." How do you show somebody you love them? You say "I love you." Point is everybody is important. Everybody is unique. And they all deserve gifts. People like gifts more than love.
The gift lets people know how unique they are. How loved they are. This is one way Mommy showed it. A gift for each person and a fight with Abba. She wasted so much money on gifts.
Mommy had a whole closet full of gifts. Always stacked. Abba thought he was going to pull out a nice new shirt and all the sudden there's a closet full of Monopoly and Bob the Builder.
Gifts make people feel special. They let people know they are holy. It reminds them they were created for a reason. And that reason is to get gifts. 
Mom was a gift champion. She had gifts for everybody, because she thought of others. That is what made Mommy unique. She thought of others. Most people are selfish pieces of... Give gifts. Don't be a selfish piece of...

Mommy Saw The Special in Others
Mommy saw people as being special. She didn't look at everybody like they were disabled. She looked at everybody like they were important.
Mommy was a star at Camp HASC for special needs. I remember Mom showing up one day and all the campers felt like they were seeing a close friend. Mommy was kind, giving, smiling, nonjudgmental. She treated them with respect. She didn't have gifts that day, so they stopped talking to her after a minute. You can get respect anywhere. If you don't have a gift, what's the point?! There are better friends out there.
The idea is to let people know they're important and loved. Godly. Give them something to let them know that. A Tonka truck. If Mommy would've had Tonka trucks, the campers would've invited her back to Camp HASC.
Mommy focused a lot on gifts. She knew people felt important when they got something. Especially a mirror with a name on it. "Rebecca." Mom bought a lot of mirrors with the name "Rebecca" on it. They must've had a sale on Rebeccas. It makes you feel good getting a Rebecca mirror, especially if your name is Samantha. It's special. Samanthas usually don't get Rebecca mirrors.
Mommy liked sales. Whenever Mommy saw a sale, she was thinking about Jewish kids. Mommy is the reason why the anti-Semites think Jews like deals.

See the Specialness
I will never forget doing a show and I didn't understand why a comedian was getting laughs. Mommy was laughing and she said, "Everybody has their thing." Mommy taught me that day that everybody is great. They all have their thing. You just have to see their godliness. You see that, and you can laugh, no matter how bad a comic is. 
I thought I knew comedy. I thought I understood it. I had seen beyond enough performances to understand. I didn't understand the person. Their soul. Their lack of effort they put into their routine. 
Mommy saw the uniqueness in that comedian. The specialness. She didn't have a gift for him. Though, she did give the gift of laughter. Ever since then, I laugh no matter how bad a show is. And I have seen many uniquely bad shows.
Mommy should've given him a prop. That would have been a nice gift for that comic. Something to help him with a joke. A joke that was not dependent on seeing his godliness.
Through the acceptance of the godly soul of each individual, I learned to give. I learned to accept that some kids are just not very artistic. It is for this reason, my siblings still hang their kids pictures on the fridge. They're pathetic works of crayon on construction paper, but they're holy. Holy works of... At least they have all stayed away from canvas.
You give the gift of laughter and you let a comedian know you appreciate that they haven’t connected with their godly self. You give a platter as a gift to somebody and you let them know they should be presenting dinner more elegantly. You give gifts and you let them know they had an oversight. They overlooked stuff and they are created in Gd’s image.

You give a gift and you let somebody know you were thinking about them. I wish I would've not eaten that Toblerone that Tu BAv. I would've been married. 

Lessons Learned
People who got the real gift from Mommy learned to give. Giving is the action we emulate as those created in Gd's image. Mommy truly reflected His image.
That is a life well lived in this Olam. A life focused on caring for others. And she was a happy person, because she was focused on others. That is how you feel good about yourself. You focus on how messed up other people are. You do that, and you can laugh. You give gifts and make them feel better. You let them know they're important, even though their family hates them. You give them a gift and you don't have to spend an hour and a half listening to them complain about their kids. 

Give gifts when you can, especially when you find them on sale.
Mommy taught me to think about others. Give to them. Anything can be a gift, but nothing is more meaningful than “buy two, get one free.” We're focusing on the physical manifestation of an actual gift. I gave somebody a hug the other day. They didn't appreciate it. They invited me for dinner and I forgot to bring wine. I thought the hug would be sufficient. They said they would’ve rather hugged a cabernet. I did think to bring chocolate. Though, I ate that before I showed up to dinner.

Givers make people feel special. Takers make people feel special and broke. So, make people feel special and go broke on gifts. From now on, I will try to show my appreciation of others by saying "thank you."
Everybody is created in Gd's image, and thus holy. Holy people deserve gifts, even if they're not Kohens.
We can all be the most important person in the world. Each one of those people that got a gift felt that way, because my Mom made herself important to them.
 
You can give to anybody. Even if their comedy is off. You focus on others, you can see their uniqueness. You can laugh. I am still trying to figure out what that comics "thing" is. What's a thing? Maybe it was an ungodly thing. Nonetheless, I laugh at other people's things now. Especially, when it’s illness. As I learned from Mommy, laughter is a form of giving.
Don't focus on you, even if Oprah says to. A gift must be focused on the godliness of the other person.
It's how you give a gift. I remember I once gave somebody a gift and I said, "Enjoy it. I'm broke. That was my paycheck."

It sounds cooler to say "Mom." If you want people to mock you, say, "Mommy” at forty-eight years old. Forty-eight and a week. I still count my weeks. But that is my uniqueness.

Gifts are about letting the other person know you see the special in them. Bringing wine for dinner is thus not a gift. In my books, it's a necessary. It's a thank you. Thank yous are also part of giving. But a thank you is not a gift.

Why did Mom feel good seeing the others happy? Because we're all connected in Gd's image. This is why we feel good when we're kind to others. When we give a gift or a laugh, or some wine so that you get the dinner invitation again. Because we're connected with One. In a sense it's kind of selfish to be nice. A little wisdom I pass on to you.

***For an Aliyas Neshama for נחה בת חיים זיידאל וריבה לאה ע"ה and all the Tzadikim who made and continue to make this Olam a great life.

The family is here today. It must be a Sunday.
It's not a Tuesday. People do not come on Tuesdays. Law and Order is on Tuesdays. And they don't come Wednesdays or Thursdays. Law and Order is on.
Chas vShalom, Gd forbid, they should take off of work for a loved one who almost died. But I wouldn't want them to feel any guilt.
It's been three days and nobody has been here. Just the nurse. The nurse is not related to me, which is why he comes. He gave me a sponge bath. Which isn't really even a bath. He thinks he's cleaning a dish. I was like a very heavy piece of porcelain. He sponged me till he saw suds, then he shined my forehead. He even looked at my foot to see if it sparkled. He did a breath on it, then rubbed it with a towel.
I'm guessing the bath would be more enjoyable if it was not given to me by Bob. Even so, I do feel clean. Kind of like fine china.

Maybe it was the trach that got me down. Just got that put in yesterday. I hope the family was praying. I like when people pray for me. Focusing on me in their relationship to Gd. 
Maybe they didn't see me because they were sitting in the waiting room together, praying. Or doing what our family does and waiting in the waiting room. We wait. That's what we do. We like to sit there and wait, and worry. We worry while not looking at each other and focusing on our phones. As long as we're worrying in the waiting room and texting, we feel like we're doing the right thing. Family member gets out of surgery and we leave. We did our thing, we waited. We leave. That's what Engelmans do.
We are very good at leaving. We do not wait around after we've waited. My mom left my dad at a wedding with no ride. She waited five minutes and left. She looked around, noticed it wasn't a waiting room, nobody was in surgery, she asked why she was waiting, she left. Dad was stuck in the Five Towns, trying to find a way back to Hackensack.

So now, I'm kind of feeling good today. I'm still out if it, but people are here. And that makes me feel good.
They're talking about me again. It feels good to have people around focusing on me. They're not praying. When they're here, I would rather them talk. I like prayer, but it's not good for discussion. I can't hear what they're saying to Gd. It's not a good conversation when they're mumbling incoherent Hebrew sentences to me.
They're just focused on me. But not praying. Thinking about, right now I can use some prayers. There's a huge tube coming out of my neck. I need the prayers right now. When you see a tube coming out of an orifice that was not created at birth, that's a good time to pray.

It's good to have the focus on me. I don't think I've got a birthday call for over a decade. At least the stroke got people thinking about Phillip.
I feel like I'm doing a Mitzvah, taking their focus off their daily grind. I'm bringing family together. That's what my stroke is. A family unifier. Our family comes together for sickness. Nobody shows up for Bar Mitzvahs. They show up for strokes and cancer. We unite for sickness. Our family connects with illness.
We love ailment. We need invitations for this stuff. "Thelma had another heart attack. Please come. We have pizza, lox and good schmeer in the waiting room. Please come and sit with us as we worry and text as a Mishpuchi."

And they're being decent and kind. Even my brother-in-law hasn't said anything stupid yet. Wait. He just mentioned the trach. It would take this fool to get everybody thinking about the trach. I thought nobody noticed. I was trying to be discreet about it. I tried telling the doctor the tube is too big. I knew people would notice the plastic coming out of my neck.
Now they're all talking about the trach. My cousin can't stand the trach. She just left. Can somebody tell her I'm disgusted by her too. Still using gel like it's the '80s.
And they are still not praying. Can't they tell I need prayers? Tefillah? Isn't a huge tube and human dissection a sign that they should start praying? What does my family need to start Davening to H'? Do they need to see the actual blood squirting at that moment? That is the one moment they would pray and not help. They would let the blood go and ask Gd to somehow stop it with a tourniquet. The Engelmans are a useless people. I would probably also stand there and start praying that somebody useful would come and take care of it.
And they are still talking about the trach and how I look like I have another limb coming out of my throat. Looking like a mouthclops. It was cute that my nephew came up with me looking like a dinosaur that he created. How about Tehillim?!

Why is nobody talking about Pesach? When is Pesach. What are we going to do? Who is cleaning the house?!
Shoot I just pooped. I hope they didn't notice. They're leaving the room. They know.

Now I’m alone again. I was doing good till they all started focusing on the trach. They all saw the trach. The thing coming out of me. It's embarrassing. If they were saying how cool it looked, I would've been good with it.
I know they're all talking about it on their way home. How do you see a trach and not talk about it. It's not like I dyed my hair and now they can't see the greys. It's an orifice that is now closed with a digital monitor.
Is the nurse coming? If they know I pooped, why are they not getting the nurse. Nurses don't come for poops. It's not like my poop shows up on the screen next to my oxygen level.

There are rules. You don't talk religion or politics at the hospital. Unless if it's a chaplain. Thank Gd, bars don't have chaplains.
Watching Fox News can be dangerous for our loved one.

They're Old
The news must be playing at all times. Old People watch the news. They love watching the news. In the waiting room, they're always watching it. There's something about keeping up with everything bad in the world, thinking about the next presidency and knowing the weather, that attracts old people. There's a certain frustration and anger that the news brings which they may not get from family.
The older you get the more the news is on. You reach seventy, news is running all day. No music in the house, just news. At sixty, the news is on fourteen hours a day. Then, each year, you add on an hour till it doesn’t stop. At seventy, you sleep and the news is running. There's a comfort knowing things aren't good. You wake up, it's because a power outage turned off the news. 

Be Careful in the Room
We have to play the news in mom's room. Mommy is not young.
We just made the decision that for safety, no Fox News. We were going to play it because she loves Israel, but we will not take chances with my mother’s care.
We have made a family decision that while my mom is in the hospital, only CNN. BBC is also allowed, as they don't like Jews either. You can tell people you hate Israel for the one's safety. At least we feel that way in the ICU.
This is Pikuach Nefesh (saving a life). We have already invested a lot into doughnuts for the nursing staff. Doughnuts can help with a quick EKG check and parking. Politics will save your life and get you a cleaner room. 
Mom is hearing all this anti-Trump banter now, and she's worried her children have become left-wing self-hating Jews. But we are just trying to ensure there is no malpractice. Somehow, when Fox News is on, the nurses are on break, eating doughnuts. They should be blaming Trump for malpractice.
It's about safety. We've even started watching Jimmy Kimmel.

Side Story of Inspiration and Hope
My uncle turns on Fox News. A bold and reckless move in the waiting room. That is how you know a real activist- when they play their news station in public. It's bigger than going to a protest. At protests you can hide behind signs. And my uncle brought a sign to the waiting room. How about that for an activist. Nobody said anything as he sat there in prideful indoctrination.
He was watching the news with intent, as a Syrian woman sat down unhappy. I thought it might have been about the family member in ICU. It was Fox News now killing her day. Not the motorcycle accident her child had just got out of. My uncle says to her, "This is the honest news."
The Syrian woman was shocked that anybody would watch Fox News. How the station exists is an anomaly. Nobody had ever admitted to such a treasonous act. Yet, my uncle was retired. Emboldened, as he didn't have a job. He then proceeded to tell her to give it a chance, and she did. The waiting room is kind of a private space and none of her family was visiting at the time, so she could be naughty. 
I bonded with a Syrian woman who was forced to watch Fox News for the first time. She was shocked that the newscasters said nothing racist. And then I got her to say "Israel." She said to me that I lived in "Palestine." But I knew where I lived. I'd been watching Fox News for a while. So we had an Israel-Palestine word competition, which seems to be the norm nowadays with people who have never been to Israel, or were used to watching CNN. After ten times of me saying "Israel," she said "Israel." Hasbara!
Apparently, if you are nice and let them know about free speech, and how people don’t have to run from Israel’s dictator, they like Israel.
All because of my uncle's heroic act of Fox News in the waiting room, my mom's life is in jeopardy.
I am just happy that lady’s daughter was not in SICU, because that Fox News word about my uncle would’ve spread to the nurses. I told my uncle to never watch Fox News again around my mother's unit. All of the doughnuts in the world can't undo that kind of Hannity damage.

Always Be Careful 
When back at the house, we will have to play the news. My parents are old. Nurses know that there's no way that at my parent's age the news is not playing. If we don't have the news on, the nurses will know something is fishy.
We need somebody on the TV at all times. When visiting nurses come to the house, we will have to have a quick system of flipping on CNN.
Don't know if we can trust our uncle. We have to ensure a family member is always nearby when our uncle is visiting, just in case it's not Fox News time. A nursing visit dual control remote control kit.

We Started Vetting
We've now started a Fox News check. It's too painful watching CNN and BBC.
On shifts, we check to see what kind of jewelry the nurses and aides are wearing. If they have a religious symbol of any sort on their necklace, we put on Fox News. If their hair has funky colors in it, any kind of highlight, CNN. If they're spewing any kind of hatred towards people who care about education, Jimmy Kimmel. If they don't understand why actors are so politically involved, we can play Fox News. Fan of Nick Cannon, back to CNN.

***Thoughts From a Waiting Room was first written in 2019-20. These are the thoughts revisited in 2025 form. LRefuah Sheleyma LKol HaCholim and shared laughter with their family and friends, bZchut Avi HaRav Yeshaya Ben Yechezkel HaLevi ZT"L vImi HaRabbanit Necha Bat Chayim Zeydel A"H LAliyat Nishmatam.

Getting Ready for Shabbos
Journal Entry by Rabbi Shaya Kilimnick — January 3, 2016

My daughter took this picture. Before I put on my Tzitzis
I'm posting it so people shouldn't think that I enter Shabbos with a miserable face.

His Child's Commentary & Lessons He Learned from Abba
Abba was Frum. I didn't realize how religious Abba was until I saw how he wrote Shabbos. You can tell how religious somebody is by how they spell Shabbis. Shabbos is very Frum. Shabbis is relatively Frum. Shabbat, and you are breaking every law of Shabbos. Probably making fires anywhere you have a chance to light a match.

My father had on a shirt. It's the more comfortable way to wear Tzitzis. You out the Tzitzis over an undershirt or a Tshirt, and then you can serve Gd in comfort. It was a picture of Abba smiling.
Sometimes you want to let people know you're OK. They're worried and a picture is a way of letting them know you're good. A picture with a smile. It wasn't a picture taken of me at a Simcha. A picture of me at a wedding does not exude happiness. It exudes a feeling of time being wasted on behalf of young happy people. My father at a Simcha, he had a smile.
The smile says everything. I have to smile more. I always got in trouble around the time of family pictures. I probably didn't smile because Abba was ripping out my hair, trying to get my cowlick to stay down.

There are pictures people post on social media on a yacht. Smiling on a yacht. Those pictures are there to get you mad. They're not letting you know they're OK. They're letting you know they're better than you.
Abba's picture says, "Have a Good Shabbos. I'm good. You should be good too. Even though you haven't visited, or cared to make a phone call. Just know I'm good. I'm here with cancer and I'm good. So go on with your selfish life and be happy. I'll cook my own food- Since you stopped sending food three weeks into cancer."

When family was around Abba didn't need visitors. He was happy with his family being around. Taking in the Nachis of his children. Unless if that was me. Then visitors were appreciated. And I would be able to bring out the chips, Diet Coke and ice, and ice cream for everybody. I learned as a kid that getting Diet Coke and ice was a Mitzvah. Getting Diet Coke and ice is called Kibud Av vEim. Honoring your parents when they're relaxing on a couch. I had good Chinuch growing up.

Abba had to put in the Tzitzis comment because people would've talked. "Our rabbi doesn't wear Tzitzit?!" And they would've said "Tzitzit." My father is Frummer than them. He says "Tzitzis."

And that is how you enter Shabbos. Smiling and good. You don't expect Shabbos to make things good. You expect Shabbat to make things good. Shabbos, you come in with energy to that. An energy that you developed learning in Yeshiva and living a Torah life for seventy years.
What you give to a day is what you will get out of it. I believe it's the Beatles who said, "The day you make is equal to the day you take." Or it might have been, "The Shabbos you make is equal to the Shabbos you take." I don't remember which one the Beatles said. But Abba took that lesson to heart and shared it. Sharing his smile and gratitude is what he had to do.

Postscript
I decided that we'll post the comments and my comments to the comments, and the stats, after all of Abba's Caring Bridge posts are finished. Otherwise, we'll get too caught up in people saying how much they care and how much they don't want to visit or send food. I'm still trying to figure out where all the food went from the beginning of cancer. When do they stop bringing the food?!
As rabbi, Abba should've made a rabbinic decree to bring food even when people are in remission, as they still have families in remission. And there is still Shabbos in remission.
People who keep Shabbat, you don't want them cooking Shabbos food for you. They have no idea how to make a decent Lukshen Kugel.

The smile was Abba's way of giving to his community. He was going into Shabbos with a smile and he wanted you to go into Shabbat with a smile too. Abba didn't judge you, even if you celebrated Shabbat every week.
It is all gratitude, as the smile in the picture that you can't see shows.

***For an Aliyas Neshama for רב ישעיה בן יחזקאל זצ"ל and all the Tzadikim who made and continue to make this Olam a great life.

What is wrong with my nephews?!
The waiting room is not the right place to play Spit. Spit generates too much excitement for those waiting to hear if their family member is alive.
If you're not nervous enough about having to be in the waiting room, hearing a loved one might die, watching a game of kids play Spit will push you over the edge. That is why kids should not be visiting the hospital and sitting around people. Kids should just not be around people.
My nephews are smacking the table, yelling "Oh no." Everybody was worried something happened. Every single person in the waiting room ran to the ICU unit crying, checking on their loved one.

Loss Can Be Devastating
Guy to my left is bawling. It’s his first day in SICU. Everybody cries the first day. After the first day, the family can care less. They've already let out their emotions. What will be will be. From that point on they leave it in Gd's hands. Prayers are less emphatic.
I can care less who stabbed your brother or who put out the hit. You are crying. I felt bad for the guy. He’s shedding tears. I look to my right, my nephew is cheering, "Spit! Got you!"
My other nephew starts crying to his dad, because he lost. That is not the right kind of crying for the waiting room; unless if it brings back flashbacks to times he lost at War. Maybe he was thinking about Uno. Loss can be devastating.

You Need Games
I think we're the only family who turned the ICU waiting area into a game room. One of my nieces asked if they had a PlayStation.
After the first week of crying, you start to need the games, to soften the intensity. Though you shouldn’t be pulling out fun ICU games that are too energetic, like hockey or Spit. You shouldn’t be playing tag in ICU.
The waiting room is more for games like Chess and Gin Rummy. Games that don’t make noise, where you look meditative, which also looks sad. Solitaire. Play solitaire.
The quiet game can also work. That's my favorite game to play with my nephews.

Just Don't Play
No. You don’t play Uno. No game with screaming. No Bingo in ICU. Yelling “Bingo” doesn't hit the right feeling of intensive care.
You play Bingo when you make it out of ICU and end up at the nursing home rehab.

Think About Who's Around
You don’t know when there will be a first dayer. I feel like I want to coach the waiting room rookies.
There's the right place for things. And it's usually Never. Dad is crying and next to him, a cousin is listening to a funny Mother’s Day video of little kids crying. It's not always the right place for Spit.
The greatest memory from sickness is when a cousin is shooting all of us their pictures from the family vacation in Hawaii. My father ZT"L responds, "I have cancer."
When the proctor croaked our regents, I asked a buddy if he wanted to play ping pong. I thought that was the right time for ping pong. When is the wrong time for ping pong? According to my buddy, "Somebody passing out and possibly dying is not the right time."
I pray the guy’s brother is going to be OK. Kind of hard to think about that though, when you're in the middle of a competitive game of Spit.
"Want to play Spit?" "My brother just got ran over and stabbed."

Meditation does look sad. Next time my nephews play Spit, I'll make sure they look meditative.

The waiting room is yours. Do not share it. That is what I was told. My only goal lately has been to occupy the waiting room. And I am doing whatever I can to not share the room with other families.
You bond with the other families and care for them, but do not share the waiting room with. You want to care for them in the hallway. You want to talk to them in the hallway. Not on couches. Those couches are yours. And if you don't take ownership, these other families will think they can use the waiting room couches too. You welcome them into the waiting room, next thing you know it's for every family visiting their loved one in the ICU. It's just as easy to listen to their story about the motorcycle accident in the hallway.
Nothing kills the vibe of your family relaxing at the hospital with crushed ice and ginger ale more than other people coming into your room.
Here are the main techniques the Kilimnick family has developed for claiming the room so others don’t join:

The Three Person Technique
Settle the room with at least three people. One person is weak alone. Like a chair with one leg. Other families will come in and start loud conversation; sometimes even use the "can we sit next to you" technique of removing you through discomfort. Very Chutzpadik to come into a waiting room, to think you can use it as well. Especially when we have family coming in later for dinner. The waiting room has a table as well, for our family soiree.
They will even angle conversation over you. Anything to get you out of there. The other families are sneaky. They all got their techniques. You need three people to take control.
Also known as the Large Family Technique, if you have a lot of guests you can always over-claim a room. It’s a numbers game. Nonetheless, you need at least three people to be loud.

The Coat Method
My brother came up with the coat method of settlement, where you throw coats everywhere. It’s hot out, but that’s not stopping us from bringing trenches and parkas for our waiting room. One person and four coats can claim a room, if you spread them out right.
Don't be afraid to use purses. I don't suggest purses with cash in them. It's optimal to bring extra handbags. This gives a sense of more people. Hence, more space for you and your family. Carry on luggage is also quite helpful, giving off the message that you are moving in, to the other families.

Spread the Food
Spreading out dinner helps. Bring tins and lay them out. That establishes the room as yours for the day.
If we have to, we are leaving out the empty trays. Do not clean up after yourself. If there is no cleanup crew that night, you can get two days out of a couple disposables. Leave your trash and it will be uncomfortable for the others. This is also a great way of reserving your room for when you come back from Mincha services. 
Do not be afraid to use food from other families. If people left food and Styrofoam, you can use that to settle another table and couch. Just toss the wings on the love seat.

Decoration Technique
Decorate the room. We brought in a pillow. Nobody sits on the seat where we have our pillow. I am thinking of bringing a picture of the Rebbe and putting it up. That will let them know whose room it is. The Rebbe, a candelabra, some streamers. Mix up the room a little to our family liking. I believe the plastic cactus plant placed correctly will throw off the others.
Starting a settlement with the pillows is a good way to claim space where there are no couches. Bringing your own ottoman can also help control the waiting room. Remember, the more room you take up, the less others will have. And that is truly the goal.

Talk Loud
As discussed, if you're by yourself, it is hard to be loud. But you can do it. A loud phone call will suffice. An overexcited phone call laugh will annoy anybody. Loud conversation is a great way of removing the previous family from the room and creating anti-Semites.
The Large Family Technique works the best. This is why Charedi ultra-Orthodox Jews have a lot of kids. It helps them claim their spot at the hospital. With this in mind, you may want to birth more kids, just in case the waiting room is needed.
Remember, arguments among your family truly helps with claiming the waiting room. You may want to repeat the pulling the plug argument the doctor brings up when you see other people coming into the waiting room. It truly helps. It's good the doctors and social workers bring that up a lot. Arguments about who is there, when you are there together, also works.

Other Techniques
As I am about educating and being educated, my friends have added some techniques that you might want to have in your wheelhouse for times you're alone and want to get a good nap in the waiting room.
Yomi mentioned burping and scratching your head to make yourself look crazy. I have seen this technique used in the emergency room, used along with the Barefoot Homeless Method, it truly keeps the people away.
Ryan Smith also reminded us of the Foot on Chair Method. Put your feet up on any chairs you're not sitting on. Family members should also put feet on tables. Feet are a quite valuable appendage of deterrent.
Never move an object. If you move a purse, a jacket or a pillow, you are giving in. You're showing weakness. Families of ICU patients are very sneaky.
And show up early when you must. We noticed other families also care about their loved ones in SICU. Very annoying.

I can see anti-Semites saying, "The Jews and their settlements. This is how the occupation started, with plastic plants, pillows and feet." I'm fine with that. As long as we have the waiting room.

I hope this helps. As we've learned, there's no feeling that's worse than seeing other people in the waiting room and having to share it. A loved one in ICU is a close second.
I'm beginning to think some of my family is liking the waiting room too much.

***For an Aliyas Neshama for HaRabbetzin Necha Bat Chayim Zaydel A”H and a Refuah Sheleyma for all who need a speedy recovery, and shared laughter with their family and friends.

I am here. In the hospital. It's probably day 35. I'm working with day 3. Things move slower when they throw a trach in you.

I know it's Chanukah. People are celebrating Christmas.
Some lady came around with a Santa hat. That was the holiday. Nothing for Chanukah. When you're sick and you can't talk, you're Christian.
The chaplain came around. That was nice. He gave me a blessing and an ornament. He just hung the ornament on me. He figured, "The guy can't move. That's good enough." Then he started caroling.
I think it has to do with Engelman. They think it's Engelhardt and they start giving me sacraments. Right now, I'm worried whenever they bathe me. I don't know if they're trying to clean me or convert me. If I had more of a name like Goldberg, Irving Goldberg, people would know.
Maybe if my family was around and put up something in my room, other than a card from my boss, who is Christian, they might know I'm Jewish.

No Chanukah gifts. I got a Chanukah card that said "Get Well Soon." When you're in the hospital, all cards are the same.
It was a "Get Well Soon" card. The card didn't say, "We hope to see you at home soon." I don't think anybody wants to see me at home. You don't usually see the cripple at shul. They don't like seeing wheelchairs at synagogue. People see a guy in a wheelchair, with a trach and an oxygen tank, and they start to think Gd doesn't answer prayers.

Last days, people have stopped coming. They figure, they don’t want to me to
expect it. I might complain. I can’t talk!!!
They must be mad I missed the softball game. They were depending on me. Your team has got to be real bad to be hoping the guy in the wheelchair loaded on morphine can take over the game. Maybe they were hoping I would get walked. Or pushed.

Family stopped by for a minute. That was nice. They popped in to tell me they were going to a Chanukah party. They thought I would appreciate knowing they are not going to be with me.
There is this concept that you can't be happy in hospital. Then what do you expect from me. Stuck to a bed. Staring at a screen that has squiggly lines all over it, and numbers that nurses don't seem to like.
My whole family is convinced you can't celebrate in the hospital. The hospital is not the place for holidays. And it's not a place to visit your dad.
Forget about a party. They didn't even acknowledge the holiday in my room. Do I not deserve the right to get a Chanukiah. I would like the holiday candelabrum. I guess they think it’s dangerous to light when you have an oxygen machine. The priest is at least trying. He keeps asking the nurses when he'll be able to put a cracker in my mouth.

Where the hell is my family? I don't care it's a holiday. It's not like they have ever enjoyed the community parties. They complain about it all the time.
I guess it has something to do with ICU. Maybe the ICU is a downer. We'll see what happens when I'm out of here.
Wait. There's a waiting room here. My parents are loving the hospital. The waiting room is a family reunion. Everybody loves it. Friends pop over to those things. Nothing is more enjoyable for a family than surgery. Everybody gets together.
They should be celebrating a Chanukah party in the waiting room. Maybe that sounds off. Big parties in the waiting room and other families are coming in trying to figure out if the doctor is right and they should pull the plug. "You want some Chanukah Gelt? It's chocolate in silver foil."
I say celebrate it all. Every moment. I’m alive. Celebrate the stroke. And cry. People should cry a little. I want to know people are crying.
You can enjoy the holiday in the hospital. Put up streamers. That's all I want are streamers.

I've started thinking positive and appreciating the small things. That sounds cliche. But when your way of celebrating Chanukah is by seeing nurses in Santa hats, you appreciate it all. So let's count the Chanukah miracles. I coughed today and I didn't get a cramp in my stomach. That made me not want to die. The doctor didn't call me a vegetable or a Chanukiah today. The chaplain thought I was an ornament holder. Did I get any Chanukah gifts? Got a blood transfusion. I guess that was a gift. My butt got wiped today. That was appreciated. Nobody pulled a plug. Thank Gd. My TV is on. They haven't changed the channel from Weather in eight days. But at least no plugs were pulled on me. Maybe my family loves me.
People are caroling. That’s nice. I guess I’ll take those as Jewish songs.

If my kids came around, that would be a miracle.
"Can somebody hear me?! I want streamers!!!! I guess I am not saying anything. Can somebody hear my thoughts?! Steamers!!! It's a holiday. Steamers!!! I need streamers in my room. Stop looking at the machine. Put streamers on it."
We have to celebrate each moment on this earth by doing good. Even when we have it real bad, we need streamers. Maybe that's the morphine talking.
My prayers will be answered if people still appreciate me, and somebody gets streamers. Streamers!!! It's a holiday!!!!

I want my family to go to the shul Chanukah party. But I also want them to come here and tell me how messed up it was. I want them to celebrate with me too.
What I'm trying to say is holidays are about joy. Celebrating is about joy. Not Latkes that turn out to be soggy Tater Tots. That's how Mrs. Pinkowitz makes them. We all know it's Tater Tots. They're tiny round Latkes. The chaplain gets that. My family doesn't get that. And I need streamers!!! Streamers!!!

These people have already called me a vegetable. It's been two days. I think. Don't know how long I was out for. Could've been an hour, two days, a month. Could've been a year. Cindy's hair definitely looks longer. And I am a vegetable already. This means they don’t talk to me. They talk about me. And I now hate the doctor. And my kids don't have to visit.

Oh shoot. They're taking blood again. That blood guy is not fun.
I haven't been to the American Red Cross in years. I did not sign a consent for this. I am not one to donate blood. I haven't given anything since my kids started going to private school. That tuition.

I had to yell, "Sir!!! This is not the time to be taking my blood and giving it to others!!! What the hell?!!! Why are you poking me. Don't you think I should be resting now." I don't believe now is the right time to take my blood. I need it.
This guy is stabbing me. Does he not know how to find blood? He's poking me all over, pulling out hairs.
Oh shoot. He's using the tape and he doesn't even have it in the right place. He's going to have to pull off the tape again. Damn. This guy is torturing me. Please stop pulling off the tape.
Thank Gd he only took a sample.

And now I have a scratch again. Damn. That is painful. I think it might be worse than the tape. It would've been nice if he poked my the back of my ear. He was poking everywhere else. At least he would've helped with the itch.

My kids are good by the way. My ex-wife told them to not worry about their dad. She said nothing about prayer. Nothing about visiting and being there with their dad after he almost died. She says, "They're too young to give a ----." That's how she watches out for the kids. She lets them know that love and care are not important. She wants them to be focused on good grades, because that's what makes a great human being. Good grades and a dead dad. And not having to think about other people. She said their teachers agree. This is the American education I am paying for.

So, I don't believe these people here respect me. They just told my girlfriend and my mom I'm a vegetable. I think they're going along with it because the doctor said it. Anything the doctor says is correct in my family. So, now I'm a vegetable. Did the doctor also tell my ex that caring about your parents is not important. Did he tell her that Gd's commandments mean nothing when it comes to getting into a decent college? Did he tell her to not have a heart? Did he tell her that alimony is supposed to be my full paycheck?

I'm sorry. It's been a hard day. I am now foliage.
A vegetable?! Did they just call me a vegetable?!
I guess my life is ruined people are going to treat me like ----. Talk about me, in front of me, like I am a teenage legume.
What an a-hole. This doctor. I can care less if you resuscitated me. Who calls somebody a vegetable?!
What kind of vegetables am I? Am I broccoli? Brussels sprouts? Bell peppers? Maybe that's why my kids aren't visiting. They hate brussels sprouts. I think brussels sprouts are amazing. I would've gladly been a sprout.
I guess vegetables do have feelings.
That's it. I'm a carnivore. I am never eating vegetables again. I have a heart. I'm sure my ex is eating a huge salad right now. probably telling the kids it's healthy to eat vegetables. She has no heart.
If I was a science project, they would visit. If I was that thing where they stick toothpicks in potatoes, their mom would let them love me again.

Finally a decent nurse. I think. Thank Gd the blood guy is not the IV nurse.
She's poking me too. Does anybody in this place know how to find a vein???!
Now it makes sense. This is why the girl is poking me like a fool. She thinks I'm cabbage. And cabbage does not have veins.
This is great. The blood guy is coming back. The doctor probably told blood guy to come back and saute me.
I'm a bit worried about that alimony thing. Is she going to take me to court while I have a trach?! I think I just heard the doctor tell her that the money is rightfully hers. I hate this doctor.

And they're pulling off the tape again. Ouch!!!!! Now that hurts. That hurt more than the stroke. That is more painful than listening to John talk about his kids. Do these people have any idea what pain is?! From now on, I hope they just leave the needles in and leave the tape!!!
"Again!!! Please. Just leave the tape. Never remove tape from my body. I'm a hairy guy." I don't think they heard that.

I don't think I'll be able to make the softball game next Sunday.

We’ve been in the ICU for a week now. I want to talk about appreciation and that means food.

Appreciate Nurses Not Doctors
Forget about doctors right now. I am grateful beyond words to them and they don't like talking to me. They only talk with family members of importance. That includes family members that are doctors and pets.
We're talking nurses today. Nurses who go to school and learn how to have a heart and care for people all day long. Doctors care in spurts. Doctors care for the requisite 'hello' and then start thinking about how they're going to cut me open. They're thinking what kind of scalpel will work on me.
I want to show the nurses appreciation. The necessary emotion they bring to the job. I'm amazed at the amount of care they show. I studied acting. I can pull kindness for thirteen minutes. I'm not a method actor. I've timed my ability to care, sitting with community members at shul. I've timed it. I once made it to thirteen minutes listening to Fran talk about her grandchildren. At thirteen minutes, I ran, left my gefilte fish and Kichel on the table. I stayed away from shul for two weeks after that.

Showing Appreciation with Food
We brought them donuts. They appreciated that. Donuts and coffee. That is how you show appreciation in the hospital, if police are taking care of your mother. You bring them donuts and coffee.
The next day, we brought them baked ziti, fruit and salad. They don't like us anymore. Salad is not a way to show appreciation. Cabbage is not a gift. You don't make friends with celery sticks. You can try to wow them with peanut butter. They still won't like you. And they definitely won't like you if you bring pasta in cylinder form.
Cake, candy, ice coffee. That's how you show appreciation. Stuff that makes you fat.
Fruit might work. but only in platter form. Once they platter it, that's real expensive, and that's appreciated. And don’t ruin chocolate by putting it on a strawberry. It's not appreciated. And we're not sure if that makes the chocolate healthy or not. Quite confusing.

Why Show Appreciation
Nurses like to put on weight.
They will treat your loved ones better if you put out stuff they can't eat at home. It turns out that some nurses force the healthy stuff on their kids. They show up to work for the chocolate. And their kids think asparagus makes you fat.
If you end up bringing a tortilla salad, with soggy tortillas, they're pulling the plug without even asking the family first. I heard about that in the waiting room.

Waiting Room Advice
We learned the technicalities of nurse feeding from our buddies in the waiting room. Working nurses is a big topic in the waiting room. Working nurses and death.
A woman in the waiting room told us the rehab technique of leaving the donuts and candy in the room. She also suggested to buy them trinkets, even though you can't eat them. This way they want to help the patient. Her loved one was on life support, but she understood what was important. Candy.
The candy in room technique is quite helpful. The candy works as nurse bait. Taffy works best. It takes a while to chew, and it keeps them in the room for a few extra minutes.
To cover all bases, we put out Kinder eggs. They got those little toy trinkets inside the chocolate. I believe Kinder Co. is trying to corner the waiting room market.
I was a bit hesitant to take her advice, as she was working for her family member as well. Nonetheless, I found an excellent deal on Kinder.

Now the Nurses Expect the Food
We gave the nurses some of the food. That was a mistake. Now they expect it.
We forgot one day, they ignored us. We pressed the emergency bell to the room, nobody came.
To get the nurses to stop complaining, we gave them the ziti. They stopped asking for food after that. It turns out nobody likes ziti, or people who give it to them. To quote, 'Ziti?!!! The family couldn't even get us mac and cheese. Oxygen is dropping. Til the family brings mac and ice coffee, they're on their own. I'm not going.'
We had a family discussion about higher quality food. We can't live up to nightly shnitzel and brisket for all the nurses and aides in the ICU. We're sticking to donuts and coffee.
It turns out the nurses only come if they're getting apple fritters. The machine beeping with the heart rate monitor, showing 'oxygen low,' does not bring nurses to the room. Fritters.
To quote: 'There are no fritters and coffee. Let the machine beep.' Response of Aide: 'I think they're the ones that brought us the ziti.' Nurse Again: 'I hear you. Let somebody else cover that room.'

Things I Learned
Show proper appreciation to the nurses and give them cake. Better yet, donuts. Don't try to be fancy. Stick to donuts and coffee. Or donut cake and coffee.
If you want people to hate you, give them vegetables. And never give anybody ziti, unless if you're looking to make an enemy.
Some nurses eat healthy. They're losers. We will discuss them another time. There's no pleasing these people.
If you truly care about your loved one's well-being, bring coffee slushies. Even the healthy nurses like those. Coffee slushies are part of the health category of food. Once the sugar is served in frozen coffee form, it's healthy.
Never buy doctors anything. They make enough off the insurance. They can afford coffee and donuts.

Conclusion
Don't waste money on nurses, buying them jewelry. Stick to trinkets.
Some nurses don't like to talk to me either, even if I have donuts.
Forget about the aides. Nobody thinks about the aides or CNAs. So, don't worry about getting them anything. They don't have access to the meds.
If it wasn't for food, I would be questioning why we have community. If it wasn't for food, nurses would be questioning why they're taking care of these people.

***For an Aliyas Neshama for HaRabbetzin Necha Bat Chayim Zaydel A”H and a Refuah Sheleyma for all who need a speedy recovery, and shared laughter with their family and friends.

It's been hard times with Mom going through stuff. Been in the ICU for a couple of weeks. Yet, many community people have been there to help.
Bikur Cholim help in Jewish communities is amazing. Bikur Cholim, visiting the sick, being a Mitzvah has helped me get a lot of food. Mom can't eat, but I am not going to tell anybody that. I'm enjoying all of the food, and I will keep telling them it's a Mitzvah.
When people think they're doing a Mitzvah, they do good. If people thought it was a Mitzvah to not be depressed, they might smile in shul. I think I have the makings of a non-profit here. I'm going to tell people it's a Mitzvah to give me money.
In hard times, it's good to know that people come together to help. In between the tears, it's good to know people care.

The Community Comes Out with Food Brings
Food brings out the beauty of the community. It's great to see community working together to make sure we are fed. The Jewish soul knows that people shouldn’t deal with crisis on an empty stomach. When family is in the hospital, in the ICU caring for a loved one that almost died, the Jewish community understands that what they need is a good spread.
They have lists going out. Different people cooking for us every night. They have Tehillim lists, Mishebeyrach blessings lists and Flanken rib lists.
One family from the community brought us bagels and lox. No onions. A Chutzpah. Probably the worst spread I ever had. I question their Neshama.
In between the tears, it's good to know there's food.

Family Visits
Cousins hear the shul members are bringing food, they're visiting for dinner. Not coming to the ICU for Mom. They're showing up for the shnitzel.
Close relatives are bringing food too. They are truly there for us. Bringing us food and eating it. I think the family likes the ambiance in the waiting room.  The dimmed lighting makes for an excellent dinner experience.

Bring Decent Food
The food you're bringing influences how many visitors come.
I just want to get in a thought here. An important thought. One that will help all members of the community. If you care, bring good stuff. The other night somebody brought us ziti. I would’ve liked to have known. I wouldn’t have visited that day.
You have to tell us what you're bringing too. I was Fleishicks. I couldn't eat dairy for another four hours. I would've run errands and then visited.
One day somebody had the Chutzpah of bringing cake and no whipped cream. When word got out, I heard some family members turned around on the I-95.

Food is Vital
Emotions don't get in the way of food.
In the hospital, my cousin asks us what we want for dinner tomorrow night, prefaced with, 'Although it's the furthest thing from your mind.' Don't assume. I am very much thinking about dinner tomorrow night. There is a big difference between breaded shnitzel and pretzel chicken.
If we’re not on top of the food, somebody might bring us ziti for dinner.

Things I Learned
When getting good food that I am not paying for, I don't ask if it's kosher.  
No matter how hard I have it, I'll be thinking about food. There's Jewish tradition to proclaim Gd's Oneness with the Shema when a person is about to pass on. I'll probably be saying a Shehakol on a nice piece of Flanken. It's a Bracha to Gd.
If people knew that there was all this food at the hospital, the ICU would be more well attended.

Conclusion
Everybody has an important place in community, if they can cook. If it wasn't for everybody helping, they might have missed a meal. And that means relatives would stop visiting.
Note of Importance: Please cook more. We didn't expect distant relatives who heard about dinner to be bringing their grandkids for supper. I only got one chicken finger the other night.
Another Note of Importance: Don't come if you don't have food. I see you coming in without a platter, I am truly asking myself why you're here.
In between the tears, it's good to know that our cousins are well-fed.
The food almost makes it all worth it.

***For an Aliyas Neshama for HaRabbetzin Necha Bat Chayim Zaydel A”H and a Refuah Sheleyma for all who need a speedy recovery, and shared laughter with their family and friends.

Mom made everybody feel special. A lesson we discussed last time. She did this by constantly giving. Mom was a giver. And so I started thinking about giving, until I realized how much it costs. I am still mad that shul dues are at around $2,200. I will put that aside for now.

Be a Giver
In Rabbi Dessler's Strive for Truth he teaches that it is man's mission to follow in Gd's ways, and Gd is a giver. Read the book if you want to know the chapter. I'm not here to be a dictionary for you. Do some work yourself. I won't always be here for you. I'm working on the giving thing. It takes time. Mom would've given you the source. Mom would've found the page for you.
Lesson is that we should all strive to be givers. Not takers. Like Gd who giveth life and... Forget the taketh part. We're talking about giving here. Gd gives.

What does ‘being a giver’ mean is the question. It means gratitude. It's making other people feel special. It's focusing on the other person. It also means giving. Hence, the word 'give.' If I have to explain this. I guess we answered that question. We should stop here. But I will go on.

Focus on Others
Being a giver is an outlook. A mindset. Thinking about others. How you express gratitude. It's a way to spend money.
If you think about yourself, you're going to get down. You’re going to start thinking about work, the kids, and how you got ripped off at Kohl’s when they gave you 280% off. Life is not that good. When you focus on others you can laugh at how bad they have it. That's the essence of joy.
Focusing on others allowed Mom to visit the sick, and make them feel good, even when dealing with me. It allowed Mom to be a nurse that brought joy to people in their hardest of times.
We should stop here. But I will go on for a bunch of feature pieces for a bunch of months. And I will go on right now about Mom's focus and how she gave with her conversation. I will then go on about Mom's giving of time and care. We will then learn from Mom's gift giving abilities and how she ruined my Chanukah.

Conversation of the Taker
Takers focus on themselves. The conversation is always about them and how bad their lives are. Nobody's life is ever good. Nobody ever talks about how amazing their tulips look. That's not conversation. People leave when you talk about that stuff. Spreading happy.
Nobody's life is good unless if they're on social media or being featured in the NJ Five Town Rockland County's publication of Jews Who Give Money and Vacation A Lot. How it is that they're the greatest donors and they're still able to live half the year in Maui on a yacht with a private chef? I don't know. But it deserves a plaque.
People’s lives on social media are amazing. They’re always smiling. They’re always on vacation. Never at work. Just a bunch of happy people smiling on Instagram. I never see that in shul. At Kiddish, I see these depressed doppelgangers. Depressed doppelgangers not willing to share a Kichel. Angrily elbowing me on their way to potato Kugel.

Conversation of the Giver
Givers focus on others. That is the essence of the giver. If you ever had a conversation with Mom it was focused on you and your family. She didn't want to have to explain why her son does dumb stuff.
Mom cared about others. The conversation was always, 'How are you kids doing?' You want to leave the question open and vague. Otherwise, you have to remember the kids' names. Mom actually knew their names. She just wanted to give the parents a chance to focus on the children that gave them Nachis.
'How are the kids doing?' Now that I think of all the lackluster performances at my violin recitals. Mom was trying to stump them. Catch them off guard in a moment of honesty, where they say how their children bring them no joy. That is why Mom was always able to laugh. She didn’t focus on her son who stuck on ‘Twinkle Little Star’ for eight years.

Mom focused on others. When she had a broken leg, you heard nothing about it. I sneezed and Mom gave me attention. Mom hopped over on one leg with a tissue, and I was asking why it took so long.
Mom never focused on herself. I remember hearing Mom had surgery around five years ago. I had no idea. On the day Mom had surgery I was complaining about a customer who didn't leave a tip at Off The Wall's bar.
Some things in life are hard. But you make it through. It was a hard day. Yet, I got through that day without the five shekels. It takes strength, but you do it.

Focusing on Others Allows You to Enjoy
It was this focus on others that still had Mom laughing even with her physical hurt. Being a giver allowed her to not think about her pain. It allowed her to be godly.
Focusing on others allows you to smile. Healthy people don't do that. Healthy people take. They take the positive of your life and kill it. They usually have a smug look of unhappy. Healthy people do whatever they can to ensure you're miserable. Your depression is their focus. They work as mechanics. [Sorry. That got out of hand. I just had an oil change and found out the guy thought it would be a good idea to fix the engine for six-thousand dollars as part of the 'free full service'. My tulips aren't looking that good. I hope that makes me affable.]

One of Mom's friends visited her in the hardest of her times, where Mom couldn't move or talk, after her aneurysm. Her friend said, 'I feel so bad. Last time I was here she couldn't move or say anything. I was down for a few days.' I turned to Mom and said, 'Mom. Rivka is having it hard.'
It was absurd to be there listening to this, suffering from an aneurysm, and somebody else is the one feeling bad. Mom laughed.
Mom was able to laugh, because she was a giver and focused on others. And nothing is funnier than how messed up other people are.

Lessons Learned
Focus on others and you will be able to enjoy life. You'll be able to laugh at them. ​Don't be a taker, focusing on yourself; you'll never get invited for another Shabbis meal. And don't focus on shul. Thinking about dues will bring you down.
If I ever have pain, I'm going to whack somebody else and think about their pain.
Perspective brings enjoyment. Mom had a beautiful perspective because she focused on others. She was a vessel of good in this world. A vessel that made everybody feel special, even if their children brought them no Nachis.
It was violin. It was the Suzuki method that messed me up.

Epilogue: I hope Rivka is OK. She must have had some hard years there not visiting.

Next time we will focus on gifts, and other cheaper ways of giving that people don't appreciate.

***As Mom's Yahrzeit was this month (it was hard putting this piece together), this should be for an Aliyas Neshama for נחה בת חיים זיידאל וריבה לאה ע"ה and all the Tzadikim who made and continue to make this Olam a great life. An world we can laugh in.

This sucks. Did this really happen???
Let me tell you what happened.
I thought I was gone. I was fine with that. Then somehow, I woke up and everybody was looking at me real weird. Like somebody just died. It's awkward when people are looking at you like you just died. And you did. Some were sad. I still like them. The others that had a smile on their face, it better be that they're happy I woke up.
I was fine with being gone. I was content not having to hear them complaining about pumps and augers anymore. Not having to fix stuff at the factory was not a bad reason to die. Not having to try on pants at Marshall’s, that’s a good reason to go. Between us, ice cream in general has been getting worse. Some people are even insisting frozen yogurt tastes good.

These are my thoughts. Apparently, nobody can hear me screaming. Maybe my voice is gone. I tried cracking the joke, “What's going on here? Did someone just die?” Nobody laughed. They must've not been able to hear it. Great timing too. Might have been the ambulance. Those things are loud.
They say it was a stroke. Was it a heart attack, cardiac arrest, having to raise kids? I don't know. It might have been a car accident. I don't know what happened. We'll call it a stroke. 

These are my memoirs. At least they're memories of what I can remember. I don't know. I had a serious stroke. Calm down. This is what I got. Do I have brain damage? How would I know?! All I know is that I have had to listen to a lot of people say real stupid stuff since the accident. They have definitely made me dumber.
These are the memories I have. I figured I would put this out there. I can't talk. That's what everybody is saying about me. I can't talk, I can't move, and from what I understand, some people want me dead. So, I figured I would write this with my buddy.

Day 1
I'm looking up. I have no idea what is going on.
Who are these people? I haven’t seen them before?
Did they just wake me?! I was in the middle of a good sleep. And why are they standing right by my bed?! That’s rude. Have they been watching me sleep the whole time?! Who the hell are these people?! Who the hell watches people sleep?! A little privacy would be appreciated. I think I just poohed in my bed.

Can everybody please stop staring at me?!!!
Why is everybody on top of me? And why I am in a stretcher?
Is this another doctor? Do they change my primary doctor every day?
Something is messed up here. Does anybody hear me? Please. A bit of privacy would be nice. Oh no. Some random dude is about to change me. Why do I keep on getting the guys. I would like a woman for once.
I have a lot of questions right now. And one of them is who is going to pay for all of this.
 
I guess I have a stroke. This fool in a white coat is saying, “It's a stroke.” I get it. I have a stroke. Will you shut the ---- up?! 
Why is this guy asking me questions? He knows I can't answer them. I have been yelling for the past five minutes and nothing is coming out.
How did it start? From what I remember, it was a conversation with John. Worst conversation I ever had. I have had some real bad conversations, but my head has never exploded before.

Let me take you back to when it stated.
I was hanging out with my buddy, John. Last thing I remember. John was telling me about his kids. We were in the promenade getting a cup of coffee and my brain exploded. He wouldn’t stop telling me about his kids going off to college. Yapping away about how proud he is. He just wouldn’t shut up. And boom, my brain just gave up. There is only so much hearing about John’s kids and the sports scholarships my brain can take before blowing up.
I would have to say, that the worst conversation I ever had. Even worse than the time I had to listen to Bernie's jokes at synagogue. That must be how strokes happen.

Forty-three. Who the hell gets this when they're forty-three. I am sure she's going to break up with me.

It turns out the white coat girl isn't even a doctor yet. She's still a student. She just likes saying “stroke.” Like she figured something out. I don't think now is a good time to ask her out.

Medicaid better cover this. If it was up to me, I would not be in this hole. I don't think workers comp covers conversations about how proud John is of his kids. So not talented.

Thank you to all who see the beauty and goodness H' gives us in this world. 
People are beautiful and special. I learned this from Mom when she insisted on me dating girls that I was not attracted to.

Last Mishna of Menachot. I finally learned something. I hope my Mom and Abba A"H are proud.
Be it a burnt-offering of cattle or a bird, or a meal-offering. By all of the offerings we say אשה ריח ניחוח 'A fire-offering, a pleasing aroma.' Why? 'To teach that whether one offers more or less, it is all one if he directs his mind to Heaven.' LShamaim. For Heaven.
If you have the right Kavana, it's all the same. All is holy if you have the right intent. All is pleasing to Gd if you have the right intent. This is why, when I'm binge-watching, I always have H' in mind.
Mommy always had the right intent. LShamaim.
In additions to all of Mommy's pleasing ways, she followed in H's ways and let others know they were a pleasing aroma. LShamaim.

Some People Offer Very Little
As long as their mind is directed to Heaven it is a pleasing Aroma.
Mommy treated all people the same. With respect. With dignity. With love.
As countless people shared over the Shloshim, they all felt loved by Mommy. They all felt important. I can tell you, as a member of the shul, they are not all very important people. Many of them you have to chase down for their dues. When they flip over the tab on the Yom Kippur appeal card, that's a good half a year of chasing. I don't know if that's what H' had in mind as 'pleasing' and 'Kavana.'
Mommy followed in H's path. She saw the pleasing aroma of all. She was a nurse. She dealt with people who smelled disgusting. Yet, she made them feel holy. She let everybody know they were loved by Gd. They were respected. She had the right Kavana. In turn, she allowed for them to have the right Kavana. LShamaim.

She Made People Feel Special
Be it her congregants, her kids, her kids' friends (how many people felt special because they had a pecan pie made for them?- chocolate chips- done right), coworkers, friends, residents at the nursing homes, aides, campers, random people taken back from the Kotel for a Friday night Seudah on their Israel visits because my father thought he knew them, people at the comedy club in Jerusalem that showed up for Karaoke, the cashier at Kohl's taking back the weekly thirty returns because Kohl's Cash will do that to you, they all felt like they were unique when Mommy interacted with them. Smiling when possible, even in the worst of times. My Mom even smiled when the mechanic charged her. That is how much good Mommy saw in people. 
I have never smiled at a mechanic. The only way I have made a mechanic feel special is by allowing them to rip me off.
Everybody felt special. Everybody was special. Not greater or worse than anybody else. Everybody was respected. They were special and holy. LShamaim. They were respected as themselves by our Mother. Not judged. Loved and appreciated for who they were. A pleasant smell. A congregant who didn't help out with Kiddish.
All loved the same. All given a smile. All shared her laugh. Some people weren't even funny. But they tried. So, Mommy laughed.
And somehow, they all felt special. Like they were the most important person. It was LShamaim. And now they know that everybody else was also important. That kind of kills that feeling of being special.

All of her Mitzvot done with no ego. LShamaim. It was because of her unselfish way of living that everybody felt special.

Some People Give Nothing
The different offerings cost different amounts. Some people just give a bird. You're invited over to their house expecting brisket. They give chicken for dinner. It's a letdown. Then there are those that just give you some flour. You're hoping for meat and then you find out it's vegan night, and you're eating quinoa, and you are not pleased.
The members of the shul that don't even pay their dues. Mommy made them all feel important. And the shul board resented that.

Lessons Learned
Be nice to people and shower.
Know you're special. My Mom would've treated you that way.
Treat others as if they're special, even when they are not. Let them know they're special by paying attention to them, even when they're sharing jokes you've heard before. The way you treat others is in turn the pleasing aroma you offer.
Don't have an ego. Your ego is not for Heaven. It doesn't allow you to treat others as special. The selfish ego is the lack of Kavana that does not bring a pleasing aroma to Gd. That sounds like a good rabbi message.
Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder. As Mom always taught BTaam vReiach Ein LHitvakeyach, there is no arguing with taste and smell. We all have our own taste and smell. However, we can all agree on ugly. She didn't teach that last part. I read between the lines. Why Mommy insisted I go out with that girl. I hope one day I will get over it.
If it's LShamaim, you will see the beauty in others. Though, from experience, you may not want to date them.

Do it all LShamaim. Everything Mommy did was LShamaim and with intent. And Mommy had Kavana when she Davened. There are some lessons I didn't learn. At least I shower before I pray to help with the stink.

Wait: Just got this one. אשה ניחוח. Necha נחה. Mommy was the epitome of pleasant.

***For an Aliyas Neshama for נחה בת חיים זיידאל וריבה לאה ע"ה and all the Tzadikim who made and continue to make this Olam a great life.

I have never been in a hospital where I can find my way. When I visit people, I get lost. Sometimes, I can't even find the entrance. I can't tell you the amount of times I have been late to appointments because I was there on time.

It Must Be Poor Building Plans
Half the time, I have to go through another building that was added on fifty years ago, to get back to the building I was in.
Here is an Actual Conversation: 'How do I get to building A?' 'You go through building B, then you take the orange elevator. Come back down the green elevator then go through building A. You might make it after you find blue.' 'Am I in building A now?' 'Yes. But to get to building A, you have to take the purple stairs to building B. But there is more...'
It's harder than giving directions in Jerusalem. They may not have streets that lead into each other going the correct way from a one-way street. However, in the Holy City they at least have street names. In the hospital, I have to memorize color number codes, foreign alphabets, floral arrangements. The directions went on: 'It's 55g74d on the red spectrum. That's where you'll find the elevator... Then you find somebody who is standing near some lilies.' It's like a scavenger hunt. I have to find somebody by the tertiary colors to get back to the primary colors, where I can visit my family..

Information Had No Idea
I went to reception. For my last appointment, they had no idea. Information had to look at a map. At first they were shocked and told me I was at the wrong hospital. Then I got this, 'This is our city... Yes. Most of it is underground.' They marked it like I was a tourist, and they were amazed that they figured it out. ‘Nope. I was wrong. You go that way. Through those doors to get that way. Then, that way through purple color code 548de3 stairwell back to fluorescent green. Now I know what the neon signs are for.’
I shall repeat. Yes. It is frustrating when the information people have to look at a map. It's like going the information booth at the subway station and them going, 'I am just as lost as you are.' That's why the hospital people sit at information and don't move. They don't want to get lost.
The only person who knows how to get anywhere is the lady in the gift shop. They've found shortcuts to deliver balloons lilies.

No Hospital Plans the Additions
They do an addition and then they give it a color. They expect you to know that fluorescent yellow color code 5132d3 means 'right.'
They throw down a building, build some kind of skyway, on ground level in a color coordinate. And then they realize that there are no entrances to the building they just built.
Why they have skywalks on ground level still baffles my mind.

Doctors Get Lost
I can't imagine doctors can find their way in these places. It would take more than four years of medical school and eight years of residency to learn how to locate the operating room. That's why they call it a residency. You need to live there for many years before they can trust you to figure out the location of your office.
This is why we have to wait for doctors all the time. They have no idea where the appointment is. They can't find their way from their office to the room. And if they're colorblind, they have to quit.

They Don't Want You to Visit Family - That is My Conclusion
It’s a maze with random colors. Unless if you're a tracker, you will get lost. Once, I found a cafeteria. It must have been in an unmarked bunker. I never found it again. They do whatever they can to make it impossible to find your way and visit.
Once you've studied maze building and mastered escape rooms, you can visit your family member.
It's even harder to find ICU. ICU is tucked away behind tertiary colors in an unfinished building. Transparent tertiary is code for ICU in the hospital. I didn't know that.

Conclusion
Once I find ICU, with the help of the floral lady at the gift shop standing by the neon green opaque, I stay. I know that if I try to find the waiting room, I will never find my way back.
And don't tell me that you were at the hospital and it was easy to find your way. That was not a hospital. That was an office building. It might have been an infirmary. It was definitely not a hospital.
I've got an appointment tomorrow at the University Medical Center. I am going to study my tertiary colors. I know I am not going to find my car in the parking lot. I'm going to have to abandon it and walk home.

PREVIOUS JOURNAL ENTRY THAT WAS MISPLACED
Journal Entry by Rabbi Shaya Kilimnick — January 2, 2016
By Rabbi Shaya Kilimnick — last edited Dec 24, 2015

Dear Friends and Family,
So I just finished the first round of chemotherapy. For seven days in succession they inject you three time under the skin. Fortunately, I had no adverse reaction other than enormous surges of fatigue and difficulty falling asleep. Now I have three weeks until the next round of chemo and will, G-d willing not feel so weak. I do, however, need to go to the clinic every other day for blood work and platelet and blood transfusions.

The illness I have is MDS - Myelodysplastic Syndrome. It is a diverse bone marrow disorder in which the bone marrow does not produce enough healthy blood cells. Also referred to as bone marrow failure. You could probably google it to find out more. I however, hope that you use your precious time to pray on my behalf.
Once again, I don't know how to thank enough the many who have sent emails, cards, calls and food. I also thank those who are ardently working on a match for the Bone Marrow Transplant. May Hashem bless you all.

Above all, there aren't sufficient expressions of gratitude for my wife Nechie other than thanking G-d for listening to my Kvitel (written prayer) that I placed in the Kotel in August of 1968 on our first date at the Western Wall in Yerushalayim. Like then, I hope Hashem will continue to answer my prayers for good health and Arichat Yamim (long life)

His Child's Commentary & Lessons He Learned from Abba 
Previous misplaced entry is the title. That is Abba. Honesty. And that is what made him a great humorist and funny person. That is what added to the genuineness that is the charisma that people to this day still visualize. An Emes. A truth.

Chemotherapy was a big thing for our family. We all showed up to it. Aunts, uncles. Our family doesn't waste an opportunity to be together for a Simcha. And here, we got free ginger ale and granola bars. That made my aunt happy.
'Surges of fatigue and difficulty falling asleep.' I get that every day. That's asides from the point. Regarding Abba and the lack of sleep, at least this time it wasn't my fault.
Abba is making chemotherapy and blood platelet transfusions sound easy. I was there. It was not easy. I had to get the drinks from the fridge. I had to get the Diet Coke and chips every evening. It really does make you tired. I had to fill up the ice cream bowl and bring it to Abba. The daily routine of chemotherapy is not that easy. I was very fatigued. I am extremely self-absorbed.

Instead of looking it up on Google, Abba wants people to pray. As a rabbi, you try to get people to pray. It doesn't happen. They're all on Google, trying to figure out why they didn't become a physician, and talking during services.
Abba wanted people to pray. What else do you want from them?! To pray and bring food. If they're not bringing food, then what else can they do?!
I hate when people ask me how somebody is doing, to find out they only want the information. Abba is telling people to do more than have a conversation about him. Though, you can't stop congregants from talking Lashon Hara about you.
I wish everybody took that lesson of prayer to heart. If you're asking genuinely, because you truly care and want to bring food, then ask and find out. If you're not bringing food, then pray.
I wish Abba would've mentioned food. I was at the house at this point, and people bringing Kugels and lox would've been appreciated. Very disappointing.

People asking about the illness for simple talking points truly bothers me, as a family member.
Let me get this off my chest: I got a call the other day from a guy asking for Tzedakah (charity). It was on Abba's phone. I kept Abba's phone number and I can tell you, once you're in Olam Haba (the world to come) they still ask you for money. The Shnurers and the organizations will still try to track you down. They're even sending my father calendars.
Abba ZT"L has been in Olam Haba for two and a half years. This past Rosh Hashana, he received twenty calendars. To note, I received not one. People already know they're not going to get any money out of me. And what happened to the books about rabbis and Megillahs? Have organizations decided that they should all send out calendars?
They send the calendars, just in case. H' can work miracles. Who's to say that they can't send money from Olam Haba. And would it not be a bad thing if Abba were to not know when Chanukah starts on the Jewish calendar in New York City?!
The Shnurer called because he thought Abba was in this physical world. I told him that he was in Olam Haba. He then went on to ask about my mother, in a rude way. He knew about Mom's aneurysm, which is why he probably gave my dad a break from Tzedakah. I could tell that the guy had received a lot from my dad. To end the call, after he got his information, he said, 'Interesting story.' It was the rudest interaction I had ever had. At least at the time I felt that way. I feel many interactions are the rudest. Yet, this was up there. A selfish person who only wanted money. He is not praying for anybody. He is just looking for money and a decent conversation piece. To him, it was just a story. The aneurysm and Abba's move to Olam Haba. Just a story.
At least he has a story now. When talking with his Shnurer friends at Kiddish, he might even have the Zechut (the honor) of having everybody's attention to tell them about the "RACHMANIS."
And for my Mom, the Shnurer didn't offer a Refuah Sheleyma. To him, it was just an interesting story and a let down, knowing that he might not get money from Abba. I am sure he will send Abba a calendar.

Now that I got that off my chest: People should be praying. That is what Abba is saying. Praying and/or helping. Abba appreciates the calls and the kindness expressed in emails, with a Refuah Sheleyma.  I don't believe those calls, cards and emails ended with 'interesting story.'
And Abba thanks those who are doing something to find him a transplant. He isn't saying that he just appreciates prayer. I think Abba would rather the people trying to find him a transplant try to find him a transplant, and not pray that they go find him a transplant. Pray and find. Between us, if they were truly spiritual Gd fearing Jews they wouldn't look for a transplant; they would just pray.
He did not thank people who are using him, as they do anybody dealing with illness, as a conversation piece.

Abba is full of thanks. He was always thankful to people. He was always appreciative of people. Those two go together. When you appreciate other people you can truly be thankful. That's a lesson for you to share. Sometimes, I have profoundness to share.
The problem is that most people give me nothing to thank them for. Ever since they stopped bringing the food to the house, it's hard to find something to thank them for. The first month or so you get food. After that, you get a leftover rugulach every once in a while.
Abba always expressed appreciation, especially for the elderly and doctors. He was appreciative of people. That is probably why he was honest. Why he loved seeing them laugh. And where the charisma exuded from.

The Kotel story: Abba put a Kvitel (a note of prayer) in the Kotel to ask Gd that my mother should be his wife. As he told the story, he pushed the note in and my mother pushed it out from the women's side. Every time he pushed it in, my mom would push it on the other side and it would pop back out. If I delivered the story well, it would be funny. I am sure the Shnurer would botch it up. It's good I didn't tell him the Kotel story.

Abba wanted health and a good long life. I don't know if he got the longer life he was praying for at the time. Though, in this physical Olam, he lived every moment to the fullest. What he gave and continues to give this Olam is of a full long life.
I sleep a lot. That's how I pray for long life. I do very little and sleep. And before I go to sleep, I pray it will be a good long sleep. Abba was active and he gave to this Olam.
Abba lived this physical Olam to the fullest. A romantic, my Mom is the only one for him. He took everything as a blessing from Gd. And for all of that, his life continues. His long life continues.

You can't ask people to do something they can't. I will addendumize Abba's request, as I know you will look it up. Look it up on Google and pray.

***For an Aliyas Neshama for רב ישעיה בן יחזקאל זצ"ל and all the Tzadikim who made and continue to make this Olam a great life.

I Can't Go a Day Without Eating
I am going for a quick procedure and the doctor's office said I can't eat for a day. I have never been so mad in my life. Yom Kippur is painful, but I do it. I do it for the sake of Heaven. So that I can get Heaven. Now, I've got to do another day with no food???!!! And I don't even get Heaven for it!!!
If another Jewish calamity happened, I would fast. As a good Jew, that's how I mourn. I fast. That is tantamount to giving up everything, to me. I asked the doctor if a great Jewish sage died on this day. He had no answer. He also couldn't answer anything about a Jewish exile from Rochester, New York. I let him know that another Temple was not destroyed, and then I agreed to not eat for the day, and his staff went back to work. My anger apparently drew everybody's attention.
And I think about people who are ill and being fed through IVs, and I forget about them and I get very angry that I can't eat for the day.

Our Whole Life is Entertainment
TV. Internet. Eating. All we do is try to enjoy ourselves. Even learning. People learn Torah and they enjoy it. It's entertainment. Don't ask me how it's entertainment. I have seen some Chasidic Yeshivas where they learn Rashi and dance the Hora.
How can it not be our duty to bring constant enjoyment and entertainment to people who can't access it themselves? Would that not be our most important moral duty in this physical world we live in? And, do people without full strength, who express joy without all of this constant entertainment, not deserve more respect than anyone, for their strength?
Reminder. I am getting angrier, as it has been another hour without food. Even being able to drink liquids bothers me. If I'm not chewing on food, I am not happy.
Just drinking liquids is painful. I enjoy liquids when I'm eating solids. I need the food. It's like having a cup of milk and no pastry. Like drinking a glass of Coke with no brisket. Like drinking Snapple with no pizza. You need the thing to wash down. I don't wash it down with chocolate milk. I chew it down with rugelach.
Our life is activities. We need to be doing stuff. I need a division head in my house, making sure I don’t get bored.

How Do They Do Any of It
They can’t eat. And they live???
Limiting my enjoyment with anything bothers me. My whole day is about enjoyment. How do they not leave their bed, get bad sleep, get woken every three hours, never leave their room, not have their TV on, have nobody around for a day or eighty, not move at all, get stuck in a gown with their tush out all year?
I can't stay in a bed for longer than thirteen hours. I can sleep for thirteen hours. I just can't stay in bed after that.
I can't be in a room with nothing to do, just left to space out. I’ll start cleaning. When I’m cleaning, something is wrong. How people can stare at a ceiling and want to live baffles me. There must be a greater level of transformative mediation when people leave you in a room with nothing to do. I just don’t know how to meditate without eating.
I can't not watch TV (TV means something on a screen that has volume on it- TV includes watching a movie on computer- and all the Frum Jews who are hiding their TV should know I see their computer, and I am judging). If I needed somebody to turn on my TV and they weren't there, I would go crazy. If they put on the wrong channel, because they thought Hallmark was a good station, I would probably start eating solids.
I can't not have people to talk to. I even have a hard time being at home alone. I need the TV just to hear other people's voices. Preferably a drama with family yelling at each other. That makes it feel more like home. As annoying as it is to have to talk to people at Kiddish, I need it. I need shul. If I’m not at shul, I'll never be able to find my doctor.
I can't go a day without leaving the house. Even during COVID I went to the grocery store every night. It was the only place I could go. Sometimes we didn't need anything, so I picked up milk. We had freezers full of milk by the end of COVID.
I can't not go to the gym. I need to be active to know that I'm aiding myself in being less healthy and out of shape.
I can't have random people changing me, putting on messed up clothes with the tag of the women that used to be in my room. Hand-me-downs from Ethel, who none of the new staff ever met.
Reading. I can go without reading. But people enjoy it. Don't ask me.
I can’t not eat. There are people in this home that haven’t eaten for years. Not eating for one day, I can see how much more we need to give to our family and friends who are bedbound. And thank Gd for TV. If I didn't have TV for the day, I would be even angrier. And I can change the shows.
 
It's Not Spiritual
People have to stop being spiritual. Bedbound people need stuff to do.
Spirituality is great when I don’t need food. I was praying for food today. Didn't help. I couldn't eat it. I needed other activities. At least I had TV, and I could turn it on. I was able to move around and get out of my house. Those who are bedbound and/or can’t eat, their activities are limited. They can pray and connect with Gd. But they can’t reach the remote.
Whenever it comes to sick people, or people without full health, everybody gets spiritual. They start praying for them. They leave them unattended, staring at their feeding tubes, and pray for them. 'I pray that somebody is taking care of them.' ‘I pray they’re not bored.’ ‘I hope they’re enjoying the football game. I pray somebody turns it on for them. It’s a great game. I pray one day they’ll be able to eat wings again… Honey. Where's the garlic mayonnaise dip.’
I am very angry about this not eating thing. This doctor has no soul. I love garlic mayonnaise.

Conclusion
Most importantly, they deserve our respect. How do they do it? How do they go on from day to day and still find beauty in this world, and appreciate it? Strength. Spiritual strength. TV.
People who are sick, and people living in a less physically able state, deserve our admiration. They deserve our support. They deserve for us to be there, to help them with all the moments of entertainment they deserve, so they don't have to focus on not eating. They deserve for us to learn from them.
They're an inspiration. Weight Watchers should be out there praising them. Letting the world know that people are out there not eating solids.
One day and I can't do it. And I'm watching TV right now, on the internet, hitting the gym after the procedure, and I'm praying to Gd and being spiritual so I don't have to help anybody.
It's not helping people enjoy life and bad cooking that destroyed the Temple.