{"id":11384,"date":"2008-01-10T16:39:01","date_gmt":"2008-01-10T16:39:01","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/production.ou.org\/life\/other\/praise_him_with_cymbals\/"},"modified":"2015-10-28T07:16:46","modified_gmt":"2015-10-28T12:16:46","slug":"praise_him_with_cymbals","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.ou.org\/life\/inspiration\/praise_him_with_cymbals\/","title":{"rendered":"Praise Him With Cymbals"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"image\"<\/div>\n

At the hospital, Chaya Rivkah wasn’t in her usual bed. I’d arrived late, and it took several more minutes to find a nurse who could locate her.<\/p>\n

In the doorway of the Outpatients Ward, I glanced around apprehensively. When it had last been my turn with her, about a week before, Chaya Rivkah had been too weak and nauseated to speak, or move her head on the pillow. I spotted her now at the far end of this long, crowded communal room, sitting upright in a tilted-back armchair with a book in hand, reading intently. She was hooked up to an unwieldy intravenous machine like all the others, and at her back, a ceiling-high window looked out onto a flat blue sky above the breezy Jerusalem morning.<\/p>\n

In I walked, tentatively, into the complicated forest of plastic tubing and beeping monitors and metal poles at angles askew; feeling the eyes on me as I passed — all the people in armchairs on my left and my right, some gazing absently, others accompanied by silent or chattering family members. Some appeared to be asleep. Jews and Arabs, religious and not religious; young, old, middle-aged; the fat, the emaciated. It was a unity of chemo.<\/p>\n

Chaya Rivkah looked up as I approached and flashed a smile, setting down her book and waving me in gaily. \u201cHello!\u201d she mouthed. \u201cHow are<\/i> you?\u201d She looked ready to leap up out of her seat.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo much is going on!\u201d she said as I pulled up a chair. \u201cGood news!\u201d Her pale and fragile countenance, all newly articulated cheekbones and jaw-line\u2026the childlike chin, small and determined\u2026.This bleached, frail flower of a face\u2026it still took me aback. But there seemed to be a distinct hint this time of its former fullness, and elusive, flickering intimations of the young woman she’d always been. The wattage of this smile, however, packed an energetic wallop much greater than ever, and I was dazzled\u2026. Her smile was dazzling.<\/p>\n

\u201cI’ve been home since Thursday. I just got back here this morning. I hung the laundry<\/i> yesterday!\u201d She giggled, as if confiding a scrumptious secret. \u201cAnd did the Shobbos dishes! And<\/i>\u2026! \u201d She paused dramatically. \u201cI changed my baby’s diaper!<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd I took a walk! Oh, that reminds me! I didn’t introduce you. This is George.\u201d<\/p>\n

I looked around.<\/p>\n

\u201cHere!\u201d She pointed to the intravenous machine with a delighted smirk. \u201cFollows me everywhere. Not a very good dancer, though.<\/p>\n

\u201cI ate a chicken sandwich this morning. I want meat<\/i>!\u201d She made two fists as if in a boxing match. \u201dDo you know how amazing it is to have an appetite again? Having an appetite is a miracle.<\/p>\n

\u201cOn Thursday when we were going home, Shlomo Zalman was just pushing me out of the elevator door when my doctor passed by, and he looked at me and said, \u2018Why are you in the wheelchair?’ I was so surprised. What do you mean, why the wheelchair<\/i>? That’s when it hit me, I don’t need this! And that’s what got me started doing things again. I’ve just been saying to myself every minute, \u2018Go ahead, Chaya Rivkah! You can do it!’<\/p>\n

\u201cAll my friends\u2026.The community has been so incredible. The women at Mattisyahu. They have all our meals organized. They’ve gotten someone good for the children in the afternoon, and they’re looking for someone to come in and clean.<\/p>\n

\u201cEverything is just so beautiful.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt’s an incredible thing, regular daily life.<\/p>\n

\u201cI’m so thankful for the times I’m not in pain. When I feel all right.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe children\u2026they want me to be the way I’ve always been and it’s very hard for them to understand. Sometimes it’s — hard. I’m still weak. I can’t\u2026I’m working on myself. Trying not to be impatient.\u201d<\/p>\n

She closed her eyes. \u201cHashem, I make a commitment, bli neder<\/i>. Not! To be! Impatient! Hashem, help me.<\/p>\n

\u201cI feel I’m a member now of some kind of elite club I never knew about before, of women. It’s amazing what women can do, working together. I never realized. I have a new respect for who we are. For what we can be.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cEverything is just so beautiful.<\/p>\n

\u201cThere’s one thing I’m scared of, though\u2026death. I’m working on it. I spoke to Rabbi Leff. I’ve been reading different books about Olam HaBa<\/i> (the World to Come).<\/p>\n

\u201cPeople talk about fighting the illness. But that’s not it. It’s about surrender. Not giving up, or resigning yourself, but to open yourself totally to whatever Hashem wants for you.<\/p>\n

\u201cI’m the one in this position right now but we’re all in the same situation. None of us knows when our time is up. It could be today. It could be tomorrow. It could be ten minutes from now.<\/p>\n

\u201cI see now that I’ve always \u2013 I don’t know how to describe it exactly \u2013 dismissed my friends’ love. On some level I used to discount it. As if it wasn’t\u2026real. Maybe I felt something like, They don’t really know me<\/i>.<\/p>\n

She looked off to the side for a moment, thinking, then brightened, as if overhead, a cloud had drifted by, placing her in a column of sunlight. \u201cYou know what the last psalm in Sefer Tehilim<\/i> is?\u201d<\/p>\n

I shook my head.<\/p>\n

She reached for the book on the end-table. \u201cListen to this!\u201d She raised a forefinger as if to say, Just wait<\/i>!<\/p>\n

She found the page and began reading aloud:<\/p>\n

Praise God in His sanctuary, praise Him in the firmament of His power. Praise Him with the blast of the shofar\u2026 Praise Him with drum and dance\u2026<\/em><\/p>\n

She glanced up with a laugh. (Had I ever seen those blue eyes?) \u201cDo you get it?\u201d I didn’t know what to say. I wasn’t getting it the way she was getting it, that’s for sure.<\/p>\n

Praise Hashem with drum and dance. Praise Him with lyre and harp. Praise Him with organ and flute. Praise Him with cymbals clanging. Praise Him with trumpets resounding. Let all souls praise God.<\/em><\/p>\n

Chaya Rivkah shut the book, kissed it, and leaned back upon the headrest. She looked tired now, but her face bloomed into a triumphant grin. \u201cYou see that? That’s it.\u201d In the light from the window, I suddenly noticed her face was streaming tears. \u201dThat’s how Dovid HaMelech ended his Tehillim.<\/i>\u201d<\/p>\n

A nurse came by to say that the morning blood-test was inconclusive; they needed another one done immediately in such-and-such a department. Various tubes were disconnected, the nurse moved on to the next patient, and Chaya Rivkah lifted herself from the chair. She stood, fixed her scarf with a look of steady deliberateness, and in her eyes there was jubilance as she said, \u201cWhat it all boils down to is love.\u201d<\/p>\n

In memory of Chaya Rivkah Jessel, z\u201dl bas Muriel, niftara Yud Bet Tevet, Jan 6 th, 2004 <\/i><\/p>\n

\n

Sarah Shapiro’s most recent books are<\/i> “Wish I Were Here” [Artscroll], and<\/i> “The Mother in Our Lives”[Targum\/Feldheim]. This article is reprinted with the author’s permission. Sarah Shapiro teaches writing in Israel and the United States.<\/i><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

At the hospital, Chaya Rivkah wasn’t in her usual bed. I’d arrived late, and it took several more minutes to find a nurse who could locate her. In the doorway of the Outpatients Ward, I glanced around apprehensively. When it had last been my turn with her, about a week before, Chaya Rivkah had been<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":129,"featured_media":42828,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[85],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-11384","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-inspiration"],"yoast_head":"\nPraise Him With Cymbals - OU Life<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"People talk about fighting illness. 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