Transitions and angels

ARNONA, JERUSALEM: We have just experienced a very sad and major life passage, unrelated to our location. Nonetheless, being here in Yerushalayim impacts our ability to do what we would normally choose to do, to attend the funeral and burial.

As of this loss, we have now transitioned, at ages 87 and 88, to becoming the oldest members of our family. Until two days ago we were certainly seniors on our blooming family tree, but there was another, someone else, several years ahead of us. He was our inspiration, separating us from the invisible line dangling from the angel of death and keeping us functioning and alive, if not thriving and growing. We could savor the example of his vigor. We were not young, but we were, at least, younger. And now, he is gone. And I wonder whether our inability to attend his memorial service will lessen the blow and allow us the delusion that he is still golfing in Boca Raton, driving his fancy car, and living his life to the fullest, far beyond what a 96-year-old normally expects of his time on Earth.

A short few years ago, when my husband’s sister quickly died at age 90, it was her severance from this man, her adored husband of almost 70 years. Our thoughts went to him. After such an enduring marriage, lived in harmony with never a hint of serious dissonance, in good health, affluence, and with no terrible challenges or tragedies, she preceded him to the grave. He was bereft but strong and determined to go on. And he did, remarkably, with grace and gusto. He was our brother-in-law, and we loved him very much. And he was our fence, our gvul, the border of our lives. There was someone older than we who was continuing to enjoy life. That was a sign to us that we could exist, even as the trappings of our own dotage continued to take their unrelenting toll.

Now, abruptly, since he left life on an express train, healthy until almost his final hours, we are shocked and saddened by his passing, burdened with the challenges awaiting us as the newly classified oldest. Yes, we shall mourn and remember him, for he was, above all, a mensch, a kind, generous, loving, successful, smart man. But we will also now need to reposition ourselves, to accept that we are very old, and the rivers of life are very swift and deep. We will not swim forever. Certainly.

But on Friday morning, here in this city we love, we ancients were guided by two angels who gave us comfort, support, and sustenance. They could not bring back our youth or remove the sad reality of our loss, but they could lead us on our pathways. And so they did.

One was our own daughter #3, who as an experienced occupational therapist has long realized our disabilities, even as we proclaim them, especially to our children, to be non-existent. Thus, when we told her this morning that we would take the bus for our Shabbat shopping outing, she urged us to continue as we had been and take a taxi. She explained that the bus would have high steps, which we would have trouble navigating, and that it would continue on its route while we were still engaging with the stairs.

This reminded me of an incident that happened to my friend Rose in Rehovot years ago. While she was slowly climbing onto a bus, the driver impatiently began pulling out, causing Rose to fly down the aisle, causing serious injuries and requiring surgery and hospitalization.

Our angel’s name is Pam, and she saved us! We took a cab.

And then we met the second angel, a stranger, appearing to us as a miracle on the gritty streets outside the Hadar Mall in Talpiot. We two would-be stalwarts had finished our Shabbat shopping and were armed with multiple bags of delicious food, including the wonder that is fresh honey-coated sesame-covered challah, plus our usual Friday edition of an English newspaper, prepared to quietly welcome the Sabbath Queen in peace. We left the mall, exiting to the construction site that is presently much of the city, and realized that we would never succeed in getting ourselves and our many purchases into a taxi, since there was not a taxi in sight. Taxis don’t generally cruise in frenetic areas of thick traffic and harried pedestrians, surrounded by hard hats and heavy equipment.

I had the pathetic idea to walk a bit across the street so we could use our Gett app and order a cab. We struggled mightily across the torn-up street, trying to stay upright, firmly gripping our purchases and my cane, and ultimately got to the other side, crossed the side street, and dragged ourselves up a bit of the very steep hill. Exhausted and leaning on an old stone wall, I went to the app, where I was horrified to see that its automatic login showed us back at the mall. We could order a cab but we would have to retrace our steps and deal with the greater challenge of possibly falling down the hill we had just climbed. There was no way that that app was going to hear my plea and change the address. It was the mall or nothing.

We tried to hitchhike up the hill but Israel is no longer a place where hitchhiking is routine. We were ignored and desperate, simply without the energy to return to the mall.

Suddenly our second angel appeared. He did not look like an angel at all. No flowing white robes or celestial gaze. He looked totally normal, like an old man in simple attire, a black kippah affixed. The next thing we knew was that he had obtained a taxi for us. From where, I don’t know and I never shall, but he was clearly more skilled than we seemingly sophisticated nearly New Yorkers who should have coolly and arrogantly swaggered into an immediate cab, leaving a stream of desert dust blowing behind us. But we couldn’t, and didn’t, and before we could even extend our gratitude, he was gone, not in a puff of smoke or up a ladder, just gone. We can never say todah, but clearly he guarded us and protected us and saved us.

Thus we welcomed Shabbat with the guidance of two ministering angels of peace.

Shalom aleichem, malachey hashalom.

Rosanne Skopp of West Orange is a wife, mother of four, grandmother of 14, and great-grandmother of 12. She is a graduate of Rutgers University and a dual citizen of the United States and Israel. She is a lifelong blogger, writing blogs before anyone knew what a blog was! She welcomes email at rosanne.skopp@gmail.com