Day 546: On Escapism and Freedom
It's volunteering, but it's also escapism. And coming next week, a "Holiday of Freedom" that is just as much about captivity and loss as it is about the hope for redemption.
Yesterday marked five months since my friend Alon (who has been several volunteering efforts for two decades) took me with him on a “tour” of various rehabilitation wards at Sheba Medical Center, one of the places where he has brought musical instruments after collecting them from donors around the country.
I remember walking around the orthopedic and “general war injuries” wards, wondering whether this was a good idea after all. Because I don’t have any background in physiotherapy, medicine, social work or any other therapeutic discipline, I gave out home-made flyers for the one thing I might be qualified to do: tutoring war veterans in English and Spanish. But would anyone want that?
It took a couple of visits to start gaining traction, but slowly I began getting messages. Either by seeing me in the hallway or by word of mouth, word spread, and by the end of the month, I had six students. I now have nearly a dozen (though one is scheduled to be discharged next week - the fourth such student so far.)
My students range in age from 20 to 55 years. They are single and married; from Tel Aviv and from the periphery; Jewish and Druze; and fully secular, traditionalist, observant and datlash (formerly observant.) Some speak almost perfect English but want to gain more confidence when speaking with visitors from abroad. Two are almost complete beginners.
Here’s what I say at the start of every first meeting: I’m not a therapist, or even a real teacher, just a tech worker playing the role of a teacher.
And here’ s what I don’t say but hope they understand: for the next 45 minutes, the only role you need to play is that of student. Not soldier or former soldier. Not patient. Not temporarily or permanently disabled person. And certainly not “hero” or any other title society feels they need to bestow upon you.
So far, four additional friends have joined me as volunteers, each tutoring her own set of students. Most of us use it as a coping mechanism against the craziness dominating our country (well, the world…) and especially, as a distraction against the paralyzing fear of having kids in the army.
What I thought would be good way to spend a few afternoons each month quickly grew into 12-15 hours of lessons per week, plus the time it takes to plan lessons and arrange the schedules (given that each student’s therapies vary daily, and are only sent to them the night before.) And what I feared would quickly tire me has been a lifesaver: because for large swaths of my days, I don’t think about the never-ending war, or about the fate of the hostages, or the ineptitude of my government.
When I’m volunteering, I don’t doom scroll the latest takes on the tariffs, or worry about the attack on democracy around the world. I am satisfied with a headline here and a news update there; and don’t feel a need to understand the full story of Qatargate or keep up with the saga of the attempt to fire the head of the Shin Bet, Ronen Bar. I don’t need to watch Bibi’s videos, especially when he has the chutzpah to say his advisors, who are suspect of receiving money from the state that also funds Hamas in exchange of good press coverage , are being held “hostage” by the justice system. These are the world of a man who is clearly willing to sacrifice 59 actual hostages by focusing on saving his coalition instead of ending the war.
The Holiday of Freedom
We spent most of today cleaning for Passover (how did so many packages of pasta make it to my pantry?) and cooking for the weekend (using as much flour, lasagna, oats, breadcrumbs and other chametz as we could.) I admit I’m not particularly stressed out about Passover this year, maybe because the kids are older or maybe because this week I ticked off two major items from my to-do list: grocery shopping and taking both cars to be cleaned.
This morning, in the plaza outside the supermarket, there was a stand for the Hostages Families Forum filled to the brim with “merch:” keychains with dog-tags and yellow plastic chairs. Lapel pins of red poppies. Ten different kinds of bracelets and pendants. Baseball caps with embroidered yellow ribbons. Six different types of t-shirts, including one with a bandaged hand (in honor of Emily Damari.)
On the stand, of course, was also the new Passover Haggadah, “The Haggadah of Freedom,” which features writings by returnees and families of hostages alongside the traditional text (which, like everything else, is also available on their US & Canada store, or their European store, in addition to the Israel-based website.)
Only yesterday, when S had to bring a Haggadah to school for a “class seder” before school was out for Passover break, she took with her the original Haggadah issued by the Hostages Families Forum a full year ago. How can it be that we now have a second edition?
This morning, while what will possibly be one of the last time I’m able to run in good weather until next winter, I saw the minyan that gathers every week in the “empty chairs” display in my city. After they finished the traditional services, they embraced in front of the large poster, and sang Acheinu Beit Israel and Ose Shalom Bimromav.
May those prayers be answered soon. Shabbat Shalom.