10:30 p.m. Lights out in the dormitory. What an annoying
hour! What annoying counselors. Until 10:00, the counselors
are nice. Gila gathers everyone together with an enchanting
story about a talented cheder boy.
Gila doesn't even notice that they're enthralled by her story
because of the simple way in which she tells about the boy's
family: he has a normal, healthy mother and father and he,
himself, is healthy.
As for talent? Who cares about that?
Tehilla, for example, is a math whiz. She can add multiple-
digit numbers as if she's adding two and two. But . . . she
has neither mother nor father to pinch her gaunt cheek with
pride. At most, she can figure out how the money that they
get for support each month is divided among seven orphans and
realize that realistically speaking, she's in this dormitory
on chesed. Talent shmalent. The most remarkable thing
in the story is that the boy doesn't have any problems! But
Gila finishes the story at ten exactly.
*
The girls in the third room show no signs of readiness for
sleep and don't look tired at Lights Out. The four girls
continue talking long into the night: Miriam, Chemda, Ruth
and Merav.
Ruth was the first to go to sleep. She hopped carefully to
bed over her negel vasser. She felt for the direction
of the bed and landed on it. No. Not on the bed, but on its
unyielding metal frame.
Chemda had been gripped by a silly mood and played a prank.
She thought it would be funny for Ruth to fall on the floor
instead of on the soft bed. Despite Chemda's quickness, she
wasn't able to pull the whole length of the bed to another
place in the room. The position in which Ruth fell on the
iron frame caused her sharp pain and an immediate lights-
out.
A deep darkness; light forever extinguished.
Her eyes remained in that darkness. Poor Ruth. No father.
Only a mother confined to a bed with no possibility of
communicating with her. A broken home and ruined eyesight.
Attempts at rehabilitating her vision weren't successful.
Operations made things worse instead of better. Doctors in
colored gowns whom she never saw surrounded her day and night
until they despaired.
The third room in the dormitory was a sad one. Ruth's bed was
empty. In the next bed, Chemda wrapped herself in many tears
and heavy sobs. Miriam and Merav would walk around on tiptoe,
trying not to confront the helplessness in the sorrow-filled
room. The counselors' meetings centered around Room Three. No
counselor suggested changing around the rooms or transfering
the girls to different rooms in the dormitory.
The lights in the room were out long before the appointed
hour. Until one day, Chemda left the dormitory.
Ruth was sent from one hospital to another, flown from one
country to another from specialist to specialist, from
treatment to treatment, whereas Chemda went from dormitory to
dormitory, wandered from one foster family to another, flung
from deep despair to profound depression.
In one of her moves, she ended up at the Greenfields, a kind
of present respite and future springboard. The Greenfields
gave her everything a family could provide her with and
perhaps even more. They also taught her. They taught her that
she could give herself a lot — a lot of satisfaction, a
lot of depth, a lot of happiness. They taught her to find
herself.
Chemda was an obedient student. Something took shape inside
her: The laying of a deep foundation of the correct outlook,
bricks of deeds, cement of good deeds and a decor of
chesed. A wonderful building of character. Chemda felt
grateful to the Greenfields and the Greenfields spared no
effort until Chemda was led to the chuppah.
If the building of her character was wonderful, the building
of her home was laid on the same foundations and
chesed festooned the walls of her home. Chemda gave
herself over to chesed. She volunteered in one of the
local organizations and continued her blessed work without
pause. Chemda was an efficient volunteer, consistent in her
activities and when something seemed to her irregular, she
let her supervisor know. She proffered both her hand and
heart. She inclined her ear and her mind. Chemda was a
volunteer to be relied upon.
Chemda was someone you could trust with responsibility. She
loved everyone and gave them her all. It was no wonder that
when there was an important job that required perseverance,
dedication, responsibility, seriousness, Chemda was the one
to turn to. That's how she was assigned the new project.
Ruth Rosen. A woman in her thirties, blind, depressed
bordering on utter hopelessness: She gets up in the morning,
goes to her armchair, dozes till the evening, screams
sometimes until she has no strength and then returns to
sleep. She doesn't even dress in the mornings. She doesn't
eat regular meals. More precisely, she doesn't eat and when
her stomach cramps from hunger, she takes something to quell
it.
It was strange how she was only on the verge of depression.
From her routine alone, one could become really depressed.
The supervisor turned to Chemda, presented her with the
problem from all its angles as Ruth's neighbor had described
in detail and from the inquiries she had made. As expected,
Chemda took on the challenge.
Chemda filled her bag with a newspaper, a tape, a chocolate
bar . . . she was on a packing spree, with every moment a new
idea for another thing to put in.
There was a paper on the door on which was scrawled "Rosen."
She knocked on the door once, twice, three times and when no
one answered, she turned the handle.
What armchair? A broken down chair and on it a miserable
woman. "Hi," Chemda said with a big smile, even if no one
saw. Ms. Rosen wrinkled her forehead and didn't answer the
greeting.
"Hi, Miss Rosen," Chemda repeated looking for a chair on
which to sit and asking permission from the lady of the
house. The latter nodded her head as if to say, "Sit, only
don't disturb my concentration."
Chemda looked at the woman's features, at the wrinkled
forehead. Was that how she always sat? Or was she really
trying to concentrate on something important?
Suddenly Miss Rosen smiled a small smile, "Why, you're
Chemda!" She said.
"That's right." So Ruth had just then remembered the name
that the supervisor had given her . . .
Sometimes you wrongly assume something and build a whole
edifice on the foundation of the wrong assumption. Chemda
didn't understand that this was the Ruth from the dormitory
whose blindness she was responsible for. So she didn't
understand why Ruth was treating her coolly while she was
giving her a lot of warmth and dedication. After a week of
attempts and goodwill, the ice melted a bit. Weeks full of
patience and encouragement bore positive fruit. Ruth was
skillfully navigating her house and even peeling
vegetables.
And then, in one frightening moment, Chemda suddenly
understood that Ruth was "Ruth" and the next moment she
realized that Ruth had known that this was Chemda from the
first day she had arrived. She chewed on the knowledge,
digested the meaning and started to act accordingly.
She suddenly felt that she was truly on a mission. She wanted
to apologize but didn't know how. Chemda assisted her friend
at every step and with every request. Something inside her
came alive. She offered all help with enthusiasm. She
strained her brain trying to think of ways to help. A ton of
creativity that had been locked inside her broke forth from
her, accompanied by a feeling of begging forgiveness and the
love of lovingkindness.
Chemda sat beside Ruth, reading her the mail, enunciating
every word. She tried to interest Ruth with her opinions on
what was written. "A letter from the Aglomir Institute?
Something like that. It's written in English. I wonder what
they're writing about. Who are they, anyway?" That's how
Chemda read the envelope.
Ruth heard the envelope being opened. Chemda read the
contents in a clear voice: "A pair of corneas have arrived
from abroad!" What an amazing letter. For over a decade Ruth
Rosen's name had been on a waiting list for corneas from
abroad. And here were the pair meant for her! Ruth dialed the
number herself, acknowledged receipt of the letter and her
readiness to receive the corneas.
A period of tests, tension and hope, at the end of which it
was determined that everything matched and the transplant was
possible.
And the significance of the treatment? That when it ended
successfully, there was a chance to see. To really see.
*
Chemda murmured Tehillim behind a closed door. And on the
other side was the surgeon, Ruth, the procedure —
transplant and hope.
Chemda continued reciting the chapters of Tehillim, weeping
them, pleading with them to nullify decrees. While Ruth
recovered alone in a room, Chemda was releasing tears that
had been locked inside her for years.
The door of the room opened. Ruth entered, accompanied by a
doctor, leaning on a nurse with a bandage over her eyes.
The doctor detailed the continuing treatment. He explained
and clarified that at this stage, they hoped that the
transplant was a success but only at the end of the whole
process would they be able to determine how successful it
was. The management and care to come was significant to the
future. Improper treatment could undo the success of the
transplant. The treatment and healing would take place
gradually, in stages, in order to ensure success. Chemda
listened responsibly. She was the one who would be doing the
exercises with Ruth.
In the first week, she changed the sterile bandages. The eye
is a sensitive organ. Who knew better than her?
At the next stage, they took off the bandages at night.
Patience. What a difficult attribute. It was good practice
for Ruth's eyes. She was so fearful that . . . that a doctor
would come and contradict all her investment. Let him not
give up completely, let him say, at worst, that they had to
repeat the exercises from the beginning.
Let it be successsful, she prayed. Let all our efforts not be
in vain . . . Let it work . . . .
How long will this go on? Will the doctor tell us to repeat
all these exercises, starting from scratch? G-d forbid! But
time was running out.
The doctor followed up and authorized to continue with the
next series of treatments.
After a month, there was a difficult period of exercises
between light and shadow. Practicing alternating with one
bandage on the eye and no bandage at all. Light widens,
shadow narrows. A slow tortuous process. Chemda didn't
despair. Another exercise before moving on to differentiating
between different objects. One last exercise of light and
shadow.
Ruth raised her eyes to Chemda. Yes, she was able to see a
lot of light in her face.
