“Just show up!” This is a lesson a rabbi of mine repeated to me over and again in rabbinical school. I didn’t understand what he meant until I met Jonathan over the summer of 2017 while serving as a hospice unit chaplain.
My role that summer was to visit individuals at least once a week and listen to their stories and concerns, pray with them, and provide presence and companionship. I met weekly with around 30 or so patients.
As you might imagine, it was a grueling summer, packed with a whirlwind of emotions; but it was extremely rewarding as well. I felt honored that people shared with me their most intimate secrets, fears and reflections on life. Our shared prayers were powerful and raw, from the bottom of our hearts. It was extremely moving, often to the point of tears.
This is why I was so taken aback upon my first visit with Jonathan, a man in his early 70s who had just arrived in our unit due to an extreme decline in his health.
With his permission, I entered his room and slowly sat down. He was in bed. It was dark, the blinds were drawn and the TV was on. I drew a bit closer and introduced myself. We chatted for a bit about his family, where he grew up and my role as a chaplain. I even talked with him about the TV show he apparently didn’t like. So far, nothing out of the ordinary.
Shortly after, however, things took a sharp turn. A long silence ensued. I attempted to break it with small talk, like I would with my other patients, but to no avail. I ended up sitting there next to him, in silence, for what seemed like forever!
When our 20-minute visit was up, I said goodbye and found myself rushing out of his room. I was used to people opening up, sharing, praying. This was nothing of that sort! When I spoke about it the next day with my chaplaincy advisor, she told me to just keep visiting Jonathan. So that’s what I did.
The next meeting was no less awkward. I came in, chatted a bit and then … deafening silence.
I continued going back, week after week, per the guidance of my advisor. However, the silence was really getting to me. I started feeling like a failure. I felt like I was not making headway and was not being useful. I begged my advisor to switch me with another chaplain, but she urged me to keep up the weekly connection.
When the summer came to an end and my training neared its conclusion, Jonathan’s family asked to meet with me. I didn’t know what to expect. They opened up by asking, “Are you the one that visited Jonathan each week?” I answered in the positive.
They then shared with me something that blew my mind.
They told me that Jonathan really appreciated my visits throughout the summer! The weekly visits had brought him much comfort and he even looked forward to them!
I couldn’t believe it. What did I do? I just sat there! That’s when I understood my rabbi’s three words: just show up.
People need people. Sometimes it’s just a smile, check-in call or text. Sometimes it’s just the quiet, calming presence of a caring person.
We often get caught up in the perfect thing to say or do for those in need. What’s the right thing to say at a shiva house? What’s the perfect present to bring to a recovering friend? What is the best manner to conduct a chaplaincy visit? But what my rabbi, and chaplaincy advisor, were showing me is that the important thing is to just show up.
There are so many people who need our help these days. Just show up for them and offer your presence.
Many times, this can make all the difference!
Rabbi Dr. Eli Yoggev serves Pikesville’s Beth Tfiloh Congregation.
Cruel, inappropriate, egomanical, outrageous and bullying are all attributes that pass for presidential these days, writes Michael Olesker.
Commemorations of the Holocaust must transcend the past to include concerns about the present and future, writes Menachem Z. Rosensaft.
Someone needed to tell Donald Trump that his appearance at a UFC fight over the weekend was not a good look, writes Michael Olesker.