Part II
Synopsis: The writer has become involved in setting up
shifts of visitors for Sara Katz (wife of a Kohen),
hospitalized after surgery. Things go wrong and things go
right...
With each passing day, Sara was slowly on the mend. In
speaking to her on Thursday, she sounded pretty good and in
high spirits. Hopefully, it will be onwards and upwards
from here, I thought.
No one was prepared for what happened on Friday morning.
I was in the middle of making my weekly challa dough
when the phone rang. It was Rabbi Katz. He sounded strained.
"Mrs. Hirsh? I'm very sorry to bother you but I just spoke to
the hospital. It seems they are rushing my wife into
emergency surgery for the third time. I'm not even sure what
it is. I didn't catch what the doctor said."
I barely found my tongue. "Everything will be okay. Someone
will be there with her within fifteen minutes." I hung up and
fell apart. All the stress and pressure of the past week just
hit me like a ton of bricks. It was too unbelievable to be
true. I called Chaya, my tower of strength. Through my choked
sobs, I gave her the news.
"Hang on the line," said Chaya. "I'm calling Sara." I was so
glad someone could stay practical at a time like this. Soon I
heard Sara's weak, frightened voice on the conference call.
"Chaya, I'm going into surgery... again!!!"
Chaya's calm and reassuring voice came over loud and clear.
"I know. Everything will turn out fine, b'ezras
Hashem. You won't be left alone for one minute. Someone
will be there soon. We're all davening for you, Sara.
You'll be fine." I so much wanted to add something but
couldn't talk through my tears. Our 9:00 a.m. lady arrived at
Sara's side as we hung up.
Chaya called Shiffy to arrange group Tehillim at eleven.
Meanwhile, I tried to calm myself down by finishing my dough.
I do not recall any of the ingredients I put in. The dough
came out stiff and dry, though it was liberally sprinkled
with my tears. I kneaded it with a vengeance. On the spot, I
decided to take challa with a bracha and
transfer the merit to Sara.
Pacing the kitchen, I felt so helpless. I decided to call
Sara's sister on her cell phone. She was just entering the
hospital. I alerted her that someone had already been with
Sara for the past half hour and that we would send people all
day so that she, Rochel, wouldn't be left alone outside the
operating room. There was a pause, then we both broke
down.
"What's going to be?" Rochel cried. Our tears mingled. I
tried Chaya's words. "It will be fine. Don't worry. You're
not alone. We're all davening over here. Please keep
me posted." Hanging up, I went to join my daughter in saying
Tehillim but I didn't get too far. The phone didn't stop
ringing all day Friday, right up to candle lighting. Apart
from the regular Shabbos preparations, the day was busy with
arranging Tehillim, women to sit with Sara's sister,
answering questions with non-answers and finally giving over
the good news late that afternoon that the surgery had been
successful.
The next week was one long blur as Sara went from Intensive
Care back to the regular ward. We had shifts around the
clock, even at night. There were so many offers that some had
to be turned down. Each lady who went was given explicit
instructions what to do and what not to do, and was told who
was before and after her on shift. Each one called me to
update me on Sara's condition and to relate any pertinent
information which the next visitors would need to know. The
hospital staff was duly impressed, as they were slowly
convinced they were treating some VIP or visiting
dignitary.
Later on, Sara herself kept thanking me profusely for what I
did. "I really didn't do anything," I exclaimed. "It was all
your friends out here who really showed their true colors. I
was absolutely inundated with offers, believe me. All I had
to do was organize everything."
In the course of our conversation, Sara proceeded to tell me
some incident that happened in the hospital with one of the
women who were on shift. Interestingly, in all the phone
exchanges, people referred to the shifts as toranut,
or on-duty. Sara, in talking, used the alternate Hebrew word
mishmeret. Suddenly, it hit me. The remaining puzzle
pieces fell into place.
Thirteen years before, a group of ladies in our neighborhood
formed a concerted effort at eradicating loshon hora.
The idea: each lady would take upon herself two hours of the
24-hour-day which she would make an extra effort to keep
loshon hora-free. All these round-the-clock merits
would go towards someone needing a salvation: a couple
married ten years without children, an older bochur
seeking a shidduch, a young wife diagnosed with a
potentially fatal disease.
Every two weeks, the names would change, thus producing much
needed merit for the suffering and needy among our people.
The project took shape and gradually expanded. From those
original eighteen members, it now numbers over two hundred in
our area alone. The idea has spread worldwide and is commonly
known as the Mishmeres Shemiras Haloshon, or in the
local vernacular, simply as the Mishmeres.
About ten years ago, Dena, who was in charge of giving out
the names of those needing a salvation to the
Mishmeres members every two weeks, moved away. Sara
was chosen to fill the gap and she has done the job with
dedication and perseverence. Since then, for over ten years,
Sara's name has become synonymous with the local
mishmeres. Not only does she arrange the new names
every two weeks but she also runs the collating of all the
little note- reminders that are subsequently handed out to
the over two hundred members once a month.
This is no small feat, as it has to run like clockwork, and
must be accomplished all times of year: before the Yomim
Noraim, Erev Pesach, during the summer vacation. Through all
kinds of weather and under all circumstances, the
Mishmeres has continued operating under the devoted
and capable hands of Sara Katz.
And now, in His infinte mercy, Hashem has seen fit to repay
Sara in her time of need, measure for measure. For two weeks,
the standard time slot for each mishmeres, He provided
caring, devoted women who would give Sara the physical and
emotional support she needed throughout her harrowing
experience. The women came on mishmeres, each one for
an average turn of two hours, which corresponds to the amount
of time each mishmeres member takes upon herself each
day to guard her tongue -- to sit by Sara's bedside in the
hospital. This could only have been accomplished by a Master
Planner, One Who, in His great wisdom and endless mercy,
prepares the solution before the problem.
We are so small and cannot claim to understand Hashem's ways,
but certainly Sara's dedication to the mishmeres
throughout the years has been a great merit for her and her
family, and something we can all learn from. And surely, the
pure prayers that poured out of the hearts of the local
mishmeres members on Sara's behalf played a great role
in her recovery as well.
The wisest of all men once said: "Life and death are in the
power of the tongue." Perhaps it is time we truly
internalized this concept.
(Anyone interested in knowing more about starting or joining
a Mishmeres can contact Suri at 02-586-1398.)
