I protected my home.Security comes first when dealing with animals. And that’s why I thought shooting the cats in the garbage would be the right thing to do.
I had used peanut butter. And even with that, my house was secure. And against the advice of all animal lovers, I used the glue trap. And it worked.

What Do I Do When They Look at You
The mouse was looking to me for help. On the trap looking up at me, asking me to save it. Nobody has ever looked to me for help. When in my life have I ever been depended upon, other than the Torah reading at my Bar Mitzvah. And I messed that up.
Depending on me is a dumb idea. I can't help anybody. I'm useless. I did first aid training. Forgot everything. If you need CPR, I'll be standing there telling you, “Try harder.” Maybe I'll throw in a prayer. Blame you for not breathing right. Wish you good luck.

That look touched my soul. The mouse wanted love. The mouse wanted someone to care for it. And here I was, the only one who could care for it, the one who caused its pain.
In my defense. That's my house. I bought it. The mouse did not help with any of the payments. Not even electric. If anything, he ate the electric. The mouse was just taking advantage. Squatting in my house. Living off the fat of the land. Though, unlike my nephews, he did clean up every once in a while.

Now all the sudden I liked the mouse. I'd never seen the guy before. I'd only heard it. He wanted a relationship. I could use one of those.
I cared. The mouse was a cute little guy. Cute and scary as anything. I wanted the mouse in the house, even if I would never use that hallway. That could be his. I had formed a relationship over the months. I had come to look forward to hearing the little guy. I wanted to keep the mouse. I didn't want to let him go. Wanted to hold it. Pet it. Sleep with him. I have no girl in my life. 
We could hang out, watch an Amazon Prime Special, eat peanut butter together. Find a glue trap and eat a few centipedes. Whatever he wanted. I could tell you this. I didn’t want to lose him or hurt him. Until I saw him on the glue trap, I wanted to kill the thing. Execute it. Not now. Now I had a bond with that manipulative little guy.

YouTube Knows
I couldn't figure out what to do, so I went on YouTube. I figured an influencer would have some advice. A teenager hanging out in their bedroom should be able to coach me on this.
The teenager said to kill it. To quote, "You murder the thing. That's humane." And then they went on to say, "You used a glue trap. You're an evil human being."
Has morality come to letting mice take over your house?! Infestation?! That makes a moral human being?! And they continued, "People with a soul use mouse traps that don't work." Well. I did use mouse traps that don't work. Many of them. And now I have peanut butter all over my house.
Whoever came up with the peanut butter idea is a sick individual. They must've had too much in stock. Then they started with this whole "mice like peanut butter" campaign. It was Wegmans supermarket.

Being the kind humane person, I took the teenager's advice and I killed it. That's what our education system has created, a bunch of kids who think homicide is what moral people do.
I wanted to be kind about it. I loved my friend. And to kill something you love tears out a piece of your heart. So, I took my boot and whacked it. Started slamming my boot at that thing. Whipping the mouse against the wall. That's the humane thing to do. You take a bag, put the mouse in the bag and start banging the thing.
I figured boots were good for this. They're good for walking in snow and killing mice.
The humane thing had me feeling bad.
 
The YouTuber knew Halacha. The fact the teenager knew the Jewish laws of Tzar Baal Chayim amazed me. If you must kill an animal, it should be as quick and painless as possible. I figured the boot worked. I don’t know how successful I would’ve been at Shechting the mouse.

It was looking at me to save its life and I killed it. If we can't care for this living being, something is wrong with us as people. It wasn't like this was my neighbor. That guy is a jerk. I would not mind seeing that guy suffer. Get him a glue doormat for his front door.
I felt so bad. I had caused the mouse to suffer, and then I killed it. Was I a murderer?

​Murderers Feel Bad
I felt bad. And that made me feel better. If you commit homicide and you feel bad about it, you're a good person. In prison, they reduce your sentence for stuff like that.
And I did kill the mouse. So, that made me a good person. Truth be told, I’m kind of a Tzadik, a righteous man, for killing that animal. Nonetheless, I felt bad. With all the Halacha and proper practice of execution and use of the boot on my side, I felt bad. And mind you, I didn’t strangle the mouse. I’m not vengeful like that. I took the boot and stomped it.

The mourning period had begun. That mouse was on my mind for two weeks. Two weeks of bereavement. I couldn’t talk to people. I ate peanut butter. Anything to connect me to the soul of my friend I had taken from this world. I started walking barefoot. Sniffing glue. Started sweeping up the pretzel crumbs. Eulogized about walls and how my friend was able to see what was in walls. I began to care about animals. I swore I would never eat mice again. 
What gave me the right to take life? It was the boot.
I realized I had to do Teshuva. I had to repent. I had to be a better person. I gave Tzedakah. Charity was given to every animal project out there. I adopted a hamster. Figured I would get a mouse people like. Nobody kills hamsters. I supported PETA. I became vegetarian.
I started volunteering at the petting zoo. Figured, if they're locked up all is good. As long as there's no glue anywhere.

I was scared of the mouse. But I cared for the mouse. And to that, I was stuck feeling like a disgusting human being. Everything I had done in my life, all the good the bad the care for family in their times of need, was now encapsulated in the eyes of that mouse. And I killed it. I squandered it. I let it down. And I realized I had not done my job caring for others. And I messed up my Torah reading at my Bar Mitzvah.

That was a life that I took. Life with eyes. With feelings. I knew I had to become more caring of animals.
Then my sister-in-law invited me for dinner and put out an amazing brisket

Postscript
Death is death. To be part of that isn’t easy.
To this day, I can't get over what I did to the mouse. The creature of Gd that looked to me for help. It haunts me. I still feel bad. So, when you see me, know that you should be feeling bad for me. Not the mouse.
Now I know what serial killers must feel like. I’m speaking of compassion here. And when I see people, I’m more compassionate now. I think twice before trapping them, and setting up glue traps.
And I still have no idea how to do CPR.

Do I still use glue traps. They work. Would I kill a mouse again. I do like to have guests in my home. I can tell you this much. Knowing what I know now, I would never use a glue trap to catch deer.
Lesson: If you want to feel good, don’t use stuff that works, and do not worry about the cleanliness of your home. Since I took the life of my friend, I have not used a Swiffer.

It’s the window to the soul. The eyes. And now I care for any living being with eyes. A spider, I’ll kill the thing. A cockroach. I’ll squash that thing with my hands.
Yes. I’m still scared as hell of mice.

I didn't want to do it, but there was a mouse in my home. And that mouse changed my life.

Animals Scare Me
I'm not an animal person. I'm a weak human being. I will approach an animal once it's dead and eat it. But I will not pet it. And I feel bad about it. But these things scare me.
​Cats scare the living Beheyma out of me. Living in Israel, I didn't throw out my garbage for years. Those things would be waiting in there. Waiting for me to approach. They knew I was coming. Every time I threw out my trash, they’d jump at me. They'd come flying out of the bin.
Outside my apartment, coming home one night, there were fifty cars. Two cats were going at it and the others were watching the Felidae MMA Event. The cats were being entertained. One cat was taking bets. One cat was standing by the garbage, selling tickets. They called each other together to see the fight. These things communicate. And I couldn't get into my apartment that night.
I called the Israeli police and they just laughed. I thought they might come and arrest a few of them. I thought it was illegal for cats to sell tickets to fights. It turns out, that’s also legal in Israel.
Point is I didn't throw out trash for a very long time. And in America, there are racoons. Thanks to animals, I keep my house very dirty.
Animals conspire against me. Let me not get into the pigeon who's been attacking the air conditioner outside my room the past three years. Just there to wake me up and ruin my day. They know what's going on and they’re out to get me. And so are mice.
They all scare me. All I ever did was stay away from animals and eat them. No connection.

A Mouse in the House
I knew there was a mouse in the house. There was a pretzel on the floor and it was not there anymore. Somebody cleaned it up. It couldn't have been my nephews. In kindergarten, second and third grade, those kids haven't ever picked up a thing. They’ve drop stuff, but they’ve never picked anything up. Bad backs run in the family.
There was a mouse. And I didn't need a mouse gang organizing underworld mouse brawls in my house.

The Defenses
As a responsible adult, I set up defenses around the perimeter of my home. A strong security perimeter. I built up the internal defenses as well. They had already infiltrated. Mouse tactic is not some they teach you in the military. Apparently, the mouse threat is not a concern of the armed forces. The National Guard is not on rodent. Nor are the Israeli police.
I put up traps everywhere around the house, sprayed, barbed wired. My house had been infiltrated by something that was cleaning my floor. I knew something had to be done.
Barbed wire was up. Some of these mice are huge. I'm not taking any chances. I didn't want mice in the house. I definitely didn't want nephews in there. I set up a moat around the exterior. As I was digging, I found more animals. Stopped that project and now I have a messed-up patch of grass and a groundhog.
I sprayed the place with anything that could kill. The container had to look like something that brought death. I sprayed oven cleaner everywhere. Figured, that stuff has to be fatal. I touched it once and lost a finger. It's got to kill.
If you’re ever selling a kind of spray to kill animals, make sure the package has the animal dying. Words aren’t enough. The animal with no hope of life entices people to buy it. People like to see animals dying.
I went to Home Depot and got everything that looked like a mouse getting electrocuted. See a mouse getting shocked, I bought it. Any picture of a cat that looks like a serial killer, I bought the product. The scarier and more felonious the feline looks, the better. Cat with spiked hair, looks good to me. I put out those traps. Then I put up the cat pictures to scare the mice. Thought the mug shot of the cat might scare them out of the house. Let the mouse know there was a tyrant, and its name was Tomcat. I put up those Tomcat pictures, I was scared to walk around the house. That's a scary looking cat.
I figured. If cats scare me, they must frighten the Beheyma out of mice.
Defenses were up. I used every trap.
People said don't put out the glue traps. I asked them why. Answer. "Because they work. Mice don't like them and they work." Then they said something about the mouse suffers as it dies slowly. So, I put it out.
Put out the clip trap. That caught my finger.
Put out the maze trap where they go inside think they're having fun, and die. The maze trap didn't work. The mouse has to find the entrance to that thing. It's a maze. To get over the ramp into that thing, you've got to be a brilliant mouse looking for a fun activity. I got rid of the maze fun park trap. My goal wasn't to set up a rodent jungle gym. I got a Rubik's Cube instead. Gave the mouse another activity to keep him occupied. Take his mind off of eating my wall.
Got the shock trap, where they go through a mouse hallway and get zapped. I guess that incapacitates them for a few minutes, before they wake up and finish their burglary of my house.
​I prayed. When you go to battle, you pray. Just as Yaakov. I prayed and set up traps. I put out traps with peanut butter. Peanut butter was the gift. I went Biblical on the mice. I get my battle ideas from the Torah.
I used peanut butter on every trap. The barbed wire was smothered. This way you touch the barbed wire and your hands get sticky. Everybody said "use peanut butter." Peanut butter was on every trap and not one of those traps caught a mouse. 
 
Most people suggested the maze trap, as then you can carry the mouse out of your home, let it live and drop it in your neighbor’s yard. Give them the mouse problem. But I’m not that much of an animal activist.
I would’ve purchased the mouse edible block poison, but I didn’t need the mouse tripping all over my house. The peanut butter also didn’t spread well on the edible. Instead, I put out bread. Figured peanut butter on bread is excellent. I like that. Mice would like that too.
 
That was a good five days at Home Depot and the grocery store. Why the Wegmans grocery store sells mouse traps. They’re a loss leader for peanut butter.
My house was secured and ready. Traps out. I learned a lot. One thing I learned, mice don't like peanut butter. Maybe they're allergic to peanut butter. I don't know.
 
The Search
For months I heard the mouse running around the house. But I wasn't a hundred percent sure. I thought it was the new wood floor they put in, settling, pitter-pattering every night. Maybe a cockroach. The mouse was gaslighting me. These animals are smart. They know what they're doing.
Every day I checked the mouse traps, to make sure they didn’t work. And to make sure I didn’t have to pick up another jar of peanut butter. I was running out.
I didn't want the traps to work. If I catch the mouse, what then?!
 
The Mouse Was There
I'm walking up the stairs from the basement. I did laundry that night. I have to walk all the way down the stairs to put up a load, then I have to walk back up. I'm almost as scared to do laundry as I am to throw out garbage. I'm walking up the stairs and I see something pretty big on the glue trap. My soul fell. My heart dropped. My eyes got wet. It's been fifteen years since I've achieved anything. I went on a four day fishing trip. Caught nothing. 
Must've been the Shpritz I sprayed around the house, with the picture of a mouse going to hell on it.
It wasn't one of my nephews. It was the mouse. The glue trap caught it. I know because I saw it breathing. A creature of Gd that was not a spider. Nor was it one of my kin that doesn't help around the house.
I felt so bad. I didn’t want to kill it. I definitely didn’t want to see it suffering on the glue trap. I would’ve much rather put it in my neighbor’s house. And I cared about this mouse. What could I do? Could I drop off the glue trap with the mouse on it at my neighbor?

Now that the trap worked, my heart was broken. Yet, I felt like a champion. A champion who felt pain.
 
Postscript
It wasn’t the peanut butter. The mouse ate none of the peanut butter. The peanut butter was still there.
Is peanut butter inhumane? I can't tell you. 

To be honest. Those glue traps are great for catching spiders. Centipedes, ants, spiders. Mice eat those. Put centipedes on the mouse traps. Just a piece of advice.
 
Somebody got wind of the pictures I put up to scare the mouse. They thought I lost my pet. Ended up bringing me an actual tomcat. Now I have no idea how to get rid of the thing. There are no tomcat traps with scary looking mice on them. Now, I’m too scared to throw out garbage in my house.

All this circular talk covering up stuff ends up bad.

We already know you can't use other languages to hide sickness from kids. They catch onto bad foreign grammar real fast. And you, as parents, don't even know what you're saying in French. You use some different language you can’t speak to hide the bad news, and now your ailing relative is getting the wrong medication.
I say don't try to hide the sickness. It's their grandparent. They know. And they should know.

Kids know there’s something wrong when mom and dad walk into the den and shut the door. They know there's a bad illness somewhere. Either that, or you got their report card. Either way, something is not good. At least that was the case when I was a kid. My report card came and I couldn't tell if mom and dad were mad they raised an idiot, or if somebody died. Whatever it was, I failed my family.

The Cover Ups - Don't Try
I'm hearing these parents describe extreme ailment, and it makes no sense. "Sniffles. Grandpa has the sniffles." "Sniffles" is now the technical term for "can't walk because he had a stroke and cancer." 
It’s all lies. When they talk to kids, it’s all lies.
The cover ups are rampant. Parents can't just tell the kids they're broke. They start selling ideas like a "home entertainment system." A whole scam, lying to the kids with concepts like going out in their own house, because they have a “home cinema." "Why do we need to go out to the movies and dinner. We have a home entertainment system. We have a cinema in our living room. And an oven." Then mom and dad express their thoughts on the cost of food. "You know how much the hamburger would be in a restaurant?! And coffee?! The amount they charge for coffee."
You know mom and dad are having a hard time paying the bills when the conversation is "you know how much that would cost at a restaurant." “No. We don’t eat out. Because we can’t afford it.”

Always covering up. "Your uncle isn't poor. He just likes to eat food in pita pocket form. And he likes to sleep in a tent. He's a hiker. He hikes in our neighborhood." The embarrassment of imperfection. "He's not really your uncle. When they ask you at school, you’re not related."
You cover it up and the explanations don't make sense. "Your cousin has a fever. That’s why he’s got a bullet wound."
It gets to the point where parents have to lie, even when it’s good. "We're not talking about Aunt Minnie's wedding in front of the kids. Tell them their aunt came down with the sniffles." Mom and dad will turn weddings into a sickness. You have a Simcha, you think you can tell the kids. Nope. It’s marriage sniffles. “Aunt Minnie has marriage sniffles.” And now the kids think Aunt Minnie caught a disease before her wedding.
The cover ups don't work. Your cousin got shot because he's an idiot, Uncle D is poor and can't afford to purchase food you eat with a fork, mom and dad went broke paying for your summer camp last year, and they haven't had a date night because of you, and grandpa would love to see you before he dies. Go and visit him, you selfish piece of sniffles.

Just Say It - You Can't Protect Them
Parents always want to protect their kids and hide stuff from them. I get it. But you can’t. Think back to your childhood. Did you like it? Exactly. You found out people were dying when you first went to shul and so the old guys Chuching up phlegm wads.
You can’t hide it. "Grandpa is in the hospital for twenty-five days, because he has sniffles?!!!" They know something is wrong when not one doctor can figure out to cure grandpa with a tissue. And they know things are real bad when mom and dad repeat the last word of their explanation a good three times. "It’s a cold. A cold. He has a cold!!!"
Don't try to protect the kids. Tell them, "We're going away for a couple of weeks. Grandpa is about to die. At least he's real sick. He asks about you. Enjoy." Leave your children worried. Every day of their lives they should be thinking "Grandpa could die." That will help them get through elementary school.
Maybe hold off on the dying part. A little hope doesn’t hurt the little ones. You don’t have to make their whole life into panic. You already brought them into this world, sent them to school. That’s horror enough.

We Tried Hiding It for A Bit
Trying to tell them about their Bubby not feeling well, you try to protect the kids. Why. You try the "Bubby’s in the hospital, because she has a booboo." The kid is like, "I had a booboo. You just kiss it and goes away." Then they see the trach.
Some of the family uses it to make the kids more religious. "You have to say extra Tehillim and Tefillah every day and treat people well, for Bubby's booboo to go away. You share with your friends and there's no more booboo. But only if you sit at the table and eat nicely." And now the kids are messed up and praying to Gd. Saying the Birkat Hamazon prayer. It’s amazing what people will use to manipulate their kids into behaving. “Let’s not let the aneurysm go to waste.”
That is a dead giveaway to a six-year-old. She’s thinking, "I have to share my toys. Somebody better be really sick."

Thank Gd, the most my family does is "booboo" and "sniffles." We adopted sniffles from the other family in the ICU. From my understanding, sniffles means you’re on life support.
You call illness what you call it, depending on your age. It's "booboo" through eighth grade. Then you get "sniffles" till you're around thirty. We develop very slowly in my family.
We're not using any code words for bowel movement. BM. Pups. Not poop. Pups. Dinkel. Now your kids are screaming "Dinkel" everywhere. You look like idiots. You look like people who come home with bad report cards.

I can understand hiding cake. But they see worry, they hear French, they know Hebrew, they know. If there’s cake in the house, they know. "There's Boston cream pie running around the house. Grandpa is in the hospital, or dad is out again drinking."

Conclusion
Don't hide it. Once the other language jig is up, there's no way to hide it.
The only news you should be hiding from kids is if there’s cake in the house. Or when you're planning to go to the amusement park. Because they won't shut up about it until you go.

My niece sneezed the other day, and she's having nightmares about how sniffles kills people. Maybe you should hide sniffles from the kids.

Use normal words when people are in the ICU. Don't use your family code words for "about to die." 
Random people in the waiting room are now mad that somebody's taking up a bed in the ICU with sniffles and BM. "What is this BM thing?! There are people now taking up ICU beds and getting trached up for sniffles?! Sniffles and BMs?! What happened to cancer and strokes?! Heart attacks. I want to see people here with heart attacks!!!" "You don't understand Sir. It's really bad sniffles."

Something about knowing things are not all perfect makes for better people. People know. They can now come. They can visit. They can think about the person who has cancer and multiple heart attacks. It allows them the opportunity to walk around depressed for the rest of the week. And to pay for hospital parking.
It also lets you know who the messed-up ones are. The ones who don’t visit. The ones whose Simchas and funerals you can skip. And that is quite valuable information. That will save you a bunch of weekends and money on gifts.
 
The lies started with my grandma. She lied about her age. Since my grandma was younger than my mom, all family facts had to change. Grandma was driving SUVs in the 1930s when she was alive, and yet younger than my mom who wasn’t born yet. And now we’re stuck with sniffles.

Now we're all going around the ICU talking about sniffles. We sound like idiots. Fifty-year-olds who can't even say "cold." 
I'm going to make a Sniffles teddy bear that sneezes and dies. That will make good money. 

***Thoughts From a Waiting Room are thoughts revisited from 2019-2020 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.

You can't hide the bad news from kids anymore. Their Hebrew is too good. And whose fault is it. Yours. You sent them to Jewish day school, you sent them to Israel. Some of you made Aliyah and moved to Israel. And you wonder why you have to load up on sugar cereal every time you go to the supermarket.

Parents Try to Hide Stuff
Going shopping. You don’t want them to know. Otherwise, you’re picking up ice pops and Frosted Flakes again.
Parents try to hide information from their kids. That is the goal of parenting. You don’t want your kids to know stuff. Otherwise, you have to start explaining to the little critters why you brought them into this world. And you can't explain that. You're still trying to figure out why Frosted Flakes are so bad. Thus, you hide everything. "We're going camping tomorrow." "When are we going to let the kids know?" "Never." "Won't they figure it out once we're there?" "No."

We're Trying to Hide the Sickness
We're trying to hide the stuff about their Bubby’s condition. Figured, that's what we can do to help. We don't have much say as to the medical treatment, but we can hide stuff from the nephews and nieces. The problem is their Hebrew. The Jewish day schools are teaching too good.
I tried talking in Hebrew about Bubby. It was over in a second. "I know what 'Tiguva' means, I learned it in school." He then went off on a whole rant with the word. No concern for his Bubby, he was just so proud of himself for knowing the word "Tiguva." I had never seen such happiness to a conversation about somebody in the ICU for three weeks.
I have no idea what Tiguva means. I just used it because it sounded Hebrew. I think I was talking about some vacation I went on. I don't know. It was Hebrew. I truly didn't understand what I was saying. I just got involved in the moment. Heard everybody else talking Hebrew. Thought "there's illness, and you don't use English when somebody's sick." I am thinking English is an Eyin Hara. And I don't want to bring the evil eye when kids are around.

Their Hebrew
Their Hebrew is better than mine. My Hebrew is too basic to hide stuff from kids. I can’t Echad Ha’Am my Hebrew. I can’t pull out Navi Prophet words, that are now considered modern poetry if somebody uses it in their writing. People are amazed when somebody uses the Biblical "Vav." The way that letter that changes the future to past tense is mesmerizing. If you can’t understand my transliteration of the Hebrew letter, you're also lacking basic parenting skills. How do you plan to hide stuff from your kids if you can't transliterate?!

Jewish Day Schools Have Ruined Parenting
They’ve got to stop bringing these Israelis to American schools, teaching Hebrew. It is killing parenting. You can’t hide sickness from kids. "'Choleh.' That means sick. I know. I learned it. I'm awesome." No care about who is sick, just happy and prideful they know the word.
They know Hebrew, yet they're not saying Tehillim for their Bubby. They learned the word Tehillim in school, but they can't say the prayers.
And then they're teaching the kids a third language. Now, you can’t hide from them in French. Forget Spanish. They know that too. If I'm going to parent, I am learning Norwegian. They don't teach that in school.

Even if They Did Bad in School
They know something is up, even if they don't speak the language. They know, they hear Hebrew, it's serious. "Mom and dad are talking a language in grammatically incorrect form, somebody is ill."
You speak any language other than local dialect, they know it's not good. "Mom and dad are talking Portuguese again. Somebody must've passed away this time." “Anytime mom and dad talk Portuguese, something bad happens. I’m starting to see a pattern. I think grandpa just had a heart attack. And I think Portuguese is quite ominous.” “How do you know?” “They switched from English to Portuguese. Mid-sentence." 

Now the Kids Think Your Native Language is an Angry Tongue
You speak to your kids in Russian all the time, they are asking, "Why is Russian such an angry language?" Because your mom talks to you in Russian. And your mom doesn't like you.
You think French is the language of love. That's until you hear mom. Mom uses French to scream, because she's French.
I hear a woman speaking Spanish, I know she's mad at her husband. In English she's all kind with her, "Oh Honey. Jue are sweet." Might throw in a Mi Amor. She switches to Spanish, she starts talking fast speed, something went wrong. Dad's in trouble and kids are taking out the trash.
Jews, we used to have Yiddish. Got out our anger among the kids in Yiddish. And everybody knew who the Putz was.

Next time something bad happens, just say "Shalom Koolam Hakol LTova" when you get home. The kids will know, it is Hebrew, something bad is going on. No need to yell. “Mom and dad are talking with messed up grammar again. Something is wrong.” 
Or you can just tell the little ones, "Somebody died. There is death in the world. You don't have too long in this place. That's why you've got to put more effort into the Siddur party."

Conclusion
You want to really protect your kids. You want to hide information from the kids. You want to parent right. Stop teaching them Hebrew. Keep your kids uneducated.
Don't send kids to Jewish day school. Definitely don't teach them languages. Focus their education on English. Nobody uses English to hide news from their kids.
Me and my wife are going to learn sign language. It's harder to yell in sing language. And I want my kids to know that sign language is a language of love.

If you don’t care about protecting your kids, move to Israel. They will definitely know something is wrong when you try talking in Hebrew with your messed up vocabulary. They will realize how dumb mom and dad are, when they can't order Falafel like a normal person.
It's easier to keep your kids dumb in America.

And I am stuck trying to figure out why my sister-in-law is trying to teach her kids French.

***Thoughts From a Waiting Room are thoughts revisited from 2019-2020 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 see these people using sanitizer in the hospitals like they cured hepatitis. Pulling it out in awe, rubbing it like they're running their hands through the Fountain of Youth. It makes me want to hurt them. 
They pull it out like it's going to save lives. These ladies pull it out, rub their hands, and the world is a safer place.
They use a bottle on each hand. Spending five minutes, squishing it. I have to see these people rubbing their hands half the day. And they look at me. It's very uncomfortable. They rub their hands and look at me. "This right here. This is world peace." 
Why the Purell rub look. Why do I have to see that. And then they do the clap. And then rub again for another five minutes. And still looking at me.
Are you trying to get under my skin? You see what I did. "Under my skin." Kind of like a pun. This Purell thing just rubs me the wrong way. Another pun of brilliance for you.

Nursing Staff Is Also Involved in Purell
The hospital staff should not be sanitization dependent. They walk into the room and visit the sick like it's fine to touch the ill with their disgustingness. Now that they've rubbed their disgustingness deep into their hands, the dirt is fully engrained. 
Nurses Purell their hands, come into your hospital room sticking their hand down your tonsils with it. No gloves. "No need for the gloves, my hands are dryer." And now you have a parched throat. To note, Purell will parch your throat.

Hospital Sanitization
The hospital has Purell dispensers everywhere. Dispensers that everybody's touching. It's the sanitizer that's causing the sickness in the hospital. They come to the hospital healthy, then they get sanitizer on them and they catch illness.
And I can't stand the PPEs either. I don't need to see you coming into the hospital room with a chemical grade hazmat suit. Nurses coming in fully masked, looking like they're part of rat control, does not help the family morale. 
Now they're saving the world by sanitizing their hands, then coming into the room with clothes they're going to throw out. 
How are the hand germs getting through the chemical grade hand gloves. 

Dirt Needs Water
There's no way that rubbing the dirt into their skin cleans the dirt. There is no way that not cleaning your hands makes them clean. 
Hand sanitizers don't work. Guy rubs his hands through his hair, picks his ear, shakes the hand of the guy who just put on his shoes, there is no way it works. You might kill the germs. But the grease, wax, mud and whatever else Frank does are still there.
Purell doesn't clean. It dries. And I don't care if I offend people. How about this? Maybe there's no dirt in deserts, because deserts are dry. Think about that. Before you think about it, you should know it's not a pun.

Cooties
Due to this sanitizer dependency, Americans are more afraid of germs than disgustingness. That's why people are afraid to kiss nowadays. Cooties. They're afraid they will get germs, and get sick, because they don’t have mouth Purell yet. The only way to get some action nowadays is to Purell your lips. This is the only time Purell makes sense. Clean your mouth with Colgate and then Purell it.

What Sanitizing Does
I looked it up. Just did the research. It works by killing bacteria, but doesn’t remove it. Exactly. You cleaned it, but it's still there. The bacteria is still there. You have murdered bacteria all over your hands. Science.
Now, all of these people visiting our loved ones in the hospital are rubbing their bacteria on them. Forget about germs. Bacteria. Does anybody care about bacteria anymore?!!! And the nursing staff right now is in the ICU, saving lives with dead bacteria all over their hazmats. The hazmat has hazmat all over it.
It turns out, I don’t care about germs. I care about being clean. I don’t want to infect sick people with dirt. 

And this is why everybody has chapped hands.
And then I have to see them rubbing their hands in lotion, giving me that moisturizer look like they've cured Purell. 
Please rub your hands in private. Don't make me have to look at you rubbing your hands. It makes me very uncomfortable and violent.

Conclusion
I am staying away from anybody with chapped lips. I know who they've been kissing.
I'm going to start wearing gloves to not get touched by sanitized people. Might end up having to shake a sanitized hand. Don't know. It's disgusting.
The classy women pulling hand sanitizer out of their purses all day are disgustingly dirty people. 

You have clean and you have sanitized. You have normal people who use soap, and you have left-wing crazy people.
Use gloves. That's all I'm saying. Stop expressing your hatred of Donald Trump with sanitization.

I am going to use up your natural resources, run water, unroll paper towel, and keep this world clean and not sanitary, so the next generation is immune enough to eat nuts and talk politics. 

COVID killed society.

And I just saw Purell soap. That's just confusing. I'm assuming the soap dries before you wash it off. So now there's a soap that doesn't clean.

***Thoughts From a Waiting Room are thoughts revisited from 2019-2020 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.

My Tuchis just got clean. I feel like a million dollars. Now, it would be nice to have people visit. Somebody to turn on the TV. Can you imagine TV with a clean Tuchis. Heaven.

Thank Gd. Family finally visited again. I guess you have to wait till Sunday to get guests. They come on Sundays. And if I don't have guests, other people get them. Which is sometimes better. You see new faces, different people, and you don't have to deal with them. They disturb other people's sleep. But family is here and it's great and they better turn on the TV.
The rest of the week I'm on my own. Trying to flip the channels through telekinesis.

And they put on the TV. Thank Gd.
And like idiots they put on Fox News. You don't put on Fox News when there's nursing staff. They hate Trump.
I heard my nursing assistant say something about privilege and having to eat baked ziti the other day. She said that she doesn't have the privilege of families bringing her doughnuts like the other aides. She hates Trump. And with Fox News and no doughnuts, I will never have a clean Tuchis again.

I know there's a war going on. I hear it when they put on CNN. That's how I know they hate Trump. One staff member said, "I hope the Americans die." And there you go. You put on Fox News, you're taking a chance with my life. It's like a military field hospital here. We're all in beds. They see Fox News, they get the feeling we're at war. They see I'm the enemy.

Wait!!! This nurse is a MAGA person. I know because she never says anything. She wants to keep her job. Put on Fox News now. Switch it!!!
Today, you can put on Fox. I'm blinking. It's a Fox News day. Does anybody notice I'm blinking?

I still can't get over the trach. They trached me a few days ago. That got the doctors excited. Doctors get very excited when they get to cut holes in people. Dr. Feigenbloom was so happy, yelling, "I'm making an orifice!"
My doctor thinks it’s a lab. They think I'm an experiment. He took a scalpel. Thought I was a frog.
They only thing more exciting to my doctor than cutting a hole in me was him popping in the tube. Doctors love putting tubes in people. It gives them something to do. The doctor re-trached me today. The excitement showed when he yelled, "I'm popping in another tube. I'm making another orifice!"
If the aides would only get this excited to clean Tuchis.

People don't take you as seriously when you have a trach. The conversation changes. Not as many questions. They seem to talk a lot more. 
Now every visitor looks at me differently. I'm not a person anymore. They don't see me. They see the tube. It's like I'm a machine now. A machine with a prosthetic throat.
It's the tube. That's why people are looking at me differently. The stroke and not being able to move or talk might also have something to do with it. But it's definitely the tube.

Great to see you all!!! I guess they can't hear that. Well. They left.

Shoot. They left Fox on. I hope they blame that right-wing Trump loving nurse for this. I want somebody to clean my Tuchis before next Sunday. Politics should not influence Tuchis cleaning.
I hope they at least clean that new orifice my doctor threw in. I don't even know if he had a reason. He had his scalpel and figured "this guy won't say anything."

Why I'm abandoned? I'm not annoying. I don't cough. I don't talk. I don't slick back my hair. I seem to be a pretty decent guy to hang around right now. But I will not see them till next Sunday.
I hope Fox does a news exclusive on how important it is to bathe.
Do these people here think I'm supposed to do it myself. Are the aides and the medical staff walking around, talking about how unhygienic I am?!

The new shift just came. They changed it to CNN. I have feeling they're trying to indoctrinate me. That's what they do. They see a trach and they work with the nursing homes to indoctrinate you. And then they vote for you.
I hope I can talk again. I have so much I want to share about the war. If my family finds out I've been watching CNN, they will kill me. But as I learned from the nursing staff, never listen to your family. Your family is evil.

And here we bring the end of the crying quadrilogy. A lot of crying. There is about four times the amount of crying in the ICU.
There is stuff, other than listening to James Taylor, that will make you cry in the waiting room.

Anything at the SICU Can Cause a Breaks Down
Everybody at SICU has a moment where they cry. A real cry. A loud one. A cry that says, "I don't care if other people see this. Let them all think I'm an emotional wreck. This is life here." And then they lose their job.
It just hits you over here. Anything can set you off. You feel bad about not being there, you heard the surgery might not work, you heard the price of gas went down. Emotions hit, especially when parking is twenty dollars.
Anything can set you off, and you don’t know the times it will hit. There is always something new. The doctors like to surprise you every day with a new way your loved one might die.
One guy came back to life. I cried. Call me weak. You can’t tell me you’re not crying when somebody’s cousin comes back to life. That is on par with a romantic comedy. If his wife kissed him when he woke up, that is even more of a tear jerker than When Harry met Sally. All these new families here should merit the same cry I let out when Harry and Sally got back together at the end, in a well paper-toweled cry spot.
Reincarnation will make you cry, even when redemption is not happening. 

​There Are Times Where I Cry So Much
It hits you, and it's not even a rom-com. You start crying and it feels like the right thing to do. And then you notice other people watching.
Almost anything will get you going those first days. After the first days, you don't cry as much anymore. It becomes routine. Doctor comes in, says, "There's a good chance their going today." You're saying, "OK. Sounds good. And an excellent day to you."

Tefillah
Prayers will get you going. You hear a hymnal and you just start bawling. Somebody says, "We are praying…" I start crying. 
They say, "We are praying for you," I break down. That extra "you" adds a level of emotion. That personalization of the prayer. Bawling. And they add in the "we." now they're talking for everybody. Is that a whole community involved in that. Now we're all united in this hymnal. Everybody is now saying Tehillim. A communal connection to my loved one. Are these prayers invoked to make me cry.
A "we're praying for your loved one." Oh no. Now there's a connection. "I'm also praying for my loved one." Profuseness. Can't help but to weep.
Even if they're not praying, they say it and I cry. They said the right thing. That's enough to make me cry. They're not really in this. As long as they said they are, that's all I need to start Shpritzing water out of my eyes again. 
Any prayer sung out loud, that's it. A prayer book opened and singing, that's next level tears. They pull out a Siddur and start praying, that's just manipulative. That’s why rabbis carry around that Rabbi prayer book. They open it up and you start crying. The action of flipping the page exudes emotion.
And readings. Don’t even get me started. I hear a reading done slowly, I’m crying uncontrollably. Dr. Seuss. You open the Cat in the Hat and start reading that to the correct hymnal pace, I’m crying.

Questions
Never take a question. That will make your cry.
Any show of care will make you cry. You couple that with a question, you're multiplying the cry.
Any show of care gets me going. "How's everybody doing?" "Oh no. You just got David going. You asked a question... We request nobody ask questions or David will cry. Questions trigger him."
Anytime somebody asks me how I’m doing, I suddenly realize I’m not doing good. I was doing great before the question. I can be doing fine, they ask the question, now I’m asking if you're OK. "How are you?" "Oh. No. I was doing well before you asked. I guess I'm not doing that well. Now that you mention it, I haven't showered in four days and my loved one might die. The doctor found a new way for them to go to Heaven this morning. I didn't think much about it then."
And they always ask how I’m doing with that tone of sincere care, like I lost a loved one.
You need the cry spot in case of questions.

Saying Anything
Talking. You open your mouth. For some reason, that causes tears. If I can get out a "me too, I'm also praying," now I'm choking on the tears. Just my voice makes me cry.
Don't talk or you'll start crying more. Definitely don't sing. Hospitals don't provide enough PPEs for that. And do not sing the words, "I care too." ​​

They Touch You
I thought the cry was over. I had the cry spot. It was a hard one. I came back to the waiting room, I was over the big cry, somebody put their hand on my shoulder. That was wrong. I just started crying. I let out a huge one to my words, "Is there a bathroom around."
Never let anybody touch you in prayer. Whatever religion that is, it will make your cry. They touch your shoulder in prayer, that's some kind of devious evangelical religion. Watch out of those people. And never take somebody's hand in prayer. That kind of unison will bring out a community of tears.
"Take my hand and let us pray." That's tear manipulation.

I needed to let out the rest of the tears. I didn’t realize I had a reservoir of tears that got opened with a shoulder touch. Shoulder touch tears are from somewhere in the upper-stomach area.
I found myself pulling the athlete fist over mouth cry. That’s where you cover your mouth with the part of the fist you spit pits into. You clench your hand every three seconds and suck in your breath. It’s what tough guys do to hide the tears coming out of the mouth.

And watch out for group hugs. A group hug will make you cry.
If in a group, huddle hug it. The huddle hug will stop others from seeing you cry. It will make you cry. Even so, it creates a barrier, thus not necessitating a bathroom.

Conclusion
Don't talk when crying. Your voice will make you cry more.
Anybody touches the shoulder, you will cry. Be ready for that. Maybe wear some shoulder pads. Get an old double-breasted suit. Maybe come in with an '80s style sweater, so they can't induce shoulder touch tears.
 
Romantic comedies bring tears to my eyes. I can share those tears in public. Those tears are understandable. Tears for your loved one. People will judge you for that.

When somebody is sick, they're called your "loved one." You never want to be anybody's loved one. 

Touch, prayer and gas prices will make you cry. Anybody listening, you will cry. Never watch a romantic comedy. You'll start crying even more. Dramas will have you crying more than your loved one getting hit by a car.

You need the cry spot close, just in case somebody talks to you, or touches you. Always converse near a bathroom.

***Thoughts From a Waiting Room are thoughts revisited from 2019-2020 in 2026 form. So don't worry that you weren't there when David needed you. 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.

Mom taught me to not waste time arguing with people. That’s how she got me to go to sleep early.
It was about giving people their space. Allowing for their self-expression. In this Olam, world, there is a lot of selfishness. Not Mom. Mom, always focused on the other person's needs. Those needs never included myself skipping school.

(Vayikra 25:10) "And you shall sanctify the fiftieth year, and proclaim freedom in the land for all who all its inhabitants. (Yovel) It shall be a Jubilee for you, and you shall return each man to his property, and you shall return each man to his family." And I am hoping that jerk gives me back the Mickey Mantle card he lied about when I was a kid.
In Yovel, slaves become free. Slaves are given their freedom of movement and are thus free. (Ramban). When people can move as they please, they are free.
The year of rest. The year of Yovel. The year of "Dror." Freedom. A year where kids shouldn't have to go to school.
"And man shall return to his inheritance." Returning to who you are. It is that return that gives Dror. Freedom. And my Mickey Mantle back.

Mom, Necha Bat Rav Chayim Zaydel vRiva Leah, passed away in a year of Yovel, Jubilee, after a life in this physical world of giving us all Nechama, comfort. She did this by allowing people to be who they are. By respecting what is theirs. Giving and accepting.
This acceptance of individuality gave people freedom of movement to be who they are as people, as Jews. Never wavering her commitment to Torah, she never used Torah to judge one’s personality. She used it to follow in Gd's ways, and to allow people to make very dumb decisions.
That gift of freedom and non-judgmental acceptance allows for celebration. And Rebbetzin Kilimnick gave everybody celebration.

About Taste You Don't Argue
Mommy always said "Al Taam vReyach Ein LHitvakeiach." "When it comes to taste and smell, there isn't what to argue about." She said it in Hebrew, which made it sound Biblical. Which means it's true.
Mommy and Abba always used Hebrew or Yiddish to make a point. I learned at a young age that you can't argue anything said in another language. Especially when you don't understand it.
I learned later on that it has to be said in Hebrew. In English, the saying doesn't rhyme.  
Mom allowed people freedom. She allowed people to be who they are. And that is Kadosh.

Mommy repeated it a lot. It was Mom's mantra. Whenever giving advice. And it manifested itself. I had no idea what it meant. If she would've just said it in English. As I recently learned later, it means “other people are very stupid. Don’t waste your time arguing with them.”
For years, we had arguments. "I hate soccer." "Al Taam vReyach Ein LHitvakeiach." "OK. Sounds good."
Mom thought I was getting a Jewish education. She thought I understood Hebrew. The only thing I learned in Jewish day school is that other Jewish kids also don't know Hebrew. I definitely don't understand transliteration. I now know that "Al" doesn't mean AI.
Al means "on." It might mean "about," or "when it comes to." With an Aleph it means "don't." It means too many things, and I stopped trying in fourth grade.

It was a matter of acceptance. Even when Mom came to my comedy and karaoke club, she accepted everybody. Along with Abba, she encapsulated a Yiddishkeit, a way of Jewish life, that people wanted to attach to. One in which they weren't judged for being a weirdo. A Yiddishkeit in which you could be free to serve Gd as somebody who has fondness of singing off tune.

Mom Wanted Me to Think of Others
When I think about other people, I like to think how they're wrong.
Al Taam vReyach Ein LHitvakeiach is about thinking of the other. About making them happy. About appreciating their thoughts. Nothing to do with arguments. That's why we gave gifts all the time. They start arguing with you, you give them a little trinket of a rebbe, they stop arguing with you.
I was into my own stuff. Mom wanted me to not be selfish. To not be focused just on me.​ Which is why I did not make it to the NBA. 
Mom wanted me to grow up to not be like the eighth-grade jerk who traded me Mike Greenwell cards for a Mickey Mantle and told me I was getting a great deal. How could I argue with him. He was very happy getting the Mickey Mantle. Al Taam vReyach Ein LHitvakeiach. If I only knew what it meant. The jerk had a penchant for stealing from people. Mom would've been proud of me if I had told her I gave away three thousand dollars because an eighth grader said, "You're getting such a good deal. I'm only happy, because I’m happy for you."

Mommy thought about other people, and she wanted me to think about other people. We even wrapped gifts. Half of my childhood I remember wrapping up stuff for other people. "Why do they get a Nintendo? I would like one of those." I think the Nintendo is enough. No. It has to be wrapped and personalized. A note, "This Nintendo is not for David."
It was about celebrating the other person's uniqueness, even if they liked carrots and peas in a can. To this day, I still don't know who's buying that stuff.
We would personalize the gift. Celebrate each unique person. 
Al Taam VaReaich. You get a gift you don't like, you can't argue. We thought it was a good idea. A gift specifically for you. My nephew hadn't learned that yet, when we gave him a train set for his birthday. He wanted the one with more colors. And so, he rightfully threw it and cursed out his Bubbie. 

Mom Was an Excellent Cook
Finally I moved to Israel. I realized the saying meant, "Don't argue with Sefardim about food." If they like it spicy, don't judge them.
Mom was an amazing cook. Great Taam. Loved her food. B"H my sister does a great job with Mom's food. Duck sauce chicken, amazing pies, quiches, Kugels, best lasagna, oatmeal chocolate chip cookies. I can go on with the different dishes that made me fat.
The only person who argued with Mom’s taste was a Sefardi guy who made a point of saying the food has no taste. Apparently, if it's not Schug, it has no taste. I guess he didn't understand the saying, and that Ashkenazim have different taste. And he would argue about it. This guy needs Schug in everything. He needs his lemon pie Charif. The guy needs his desserts spicy. "Oatmeal cookies with Schug and Hilbeh. Disgusting. Who eats like this?! Who eats sweat desserts?! Ashkenazim."
I will say, you can argue when somebody makes duck sauce chicken wrong. Even so, Mom never made somebody feel bad for their food.​ It was their taste. Even if they are Sefardic.

Mom would bake the pecan pie for people. Because somebody wanted it. Somebody had that taste. Everybody had their taste and everybody like pecan pie with chocolate chips. Mom was a master of chocolate chip usage.
And I can't cook.

Celebrate Others
Everybody has different tastes and there is so much beauty out there. This lesson of different tastes and celebrating uniqueness had me ending up on a lot of really bad dates.
I will always remember the uniqueness of the jerk that lied to a sixth grader and ripped him off. Taking his Mickey Mantle. I truly do see that guy's uniqueness as a Ganev.
​
Mom brought comfort to people celebrating their individual freedom to be themselves and to smell bad. Come to think of it, Mom never told anybody they smelled disgustingly bad.
At camp, when I was sleeping next to a guy that smelled disgusting, she gave me soap to give to him. His name was not on it. It should've been. The soap should've been inscribed, "Shower. You smell disgusting."  
Thanks to Mom, I didn't argue with him about his smell. I just gave him soap. It was always a matter of making people feel good. Feeling good for who they are. Make them feel good for smelling disgusting.
Mom taught us all to be a Nechama. Be a comfort. Don't be an argument. And in the case of the guy who never showered, Mom taught me to be a kind solution and passive aggressive.

Lessons Learned
Don't argue, unless if somebody says something really dumb. Something political. Like, "Obama and Biden were great presidents."
When it comes to dating, "Al Taam VaReiach Yesh LiHitvakeiach."

You notice people's taste, you bring them pecan pie, you bring them happiness. People have their own thing. Their own taste. Once you understand that you can be kind. Tell that to the Sefardi guy that's still complaining about Ashkenazi food. Ashkenazim uniquely still can't handle Charif. They can taste stuff that doesn’t burn their mouth.

Mom focused on others. That's how she brought comfort. True to her name, Necha.
You felt good when you were around my Mom. You were comfortable. You could celebrate. You could be yourself. You could be free. And she had a whole community celebrating.
When you recognize what belongs to people, when you recognize their identity, their family, their needs, their uniqueness, how much they messed up, that is when you make things holy. Mom lived a holy life.
Jubilee. Sounds close enough to jubilation. By allowing all the comfort of personal expression, Mom brought joy to this Olam.

And what was Mom's freedom. Her being. The laughter, the kindness, the smile, the listening, the giving, the Torah, being a comfort to all.
I learned so much from Mom's example and Mom's teachings. And I now know people are idiots. Don't waste time arguing with them.

The Yovel year came and I did not get my Mickey Mantle card back. That guy owes it to me. That thief. 
I will not get over the Mickey Mantle.

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

​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.