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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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!!!