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The ESP of the Jewish Way of Life 
Roll your mouse over each circle to find the questions. Click on circles for more about Jewish ESP!
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| Don't Give
Me No Easy Job! by Carole Goldstein |
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As the Volunteer Director for a psychiatric hospital my
life
was touched forever by the lesson imparted by one of the
many unsung heroes who volunteer at our hospital. Harry entered my office one cold January morning. Unbeknownst to me, in his Yiddish accented English, he had asked the guard at the front of the building for the outpatient department. The guard had difficulty understanding him and so Harry was ushered into my office. In my extroverted manner, I welcomed him in and discussed all kinds of volunteer possibilities with him. Since Harry was elderly, I assumed he would want an easy job."No!"Harry declared in a boisterous voice,"I do not want a sissy job. I want to do a real job." He had worked in a kitchen before and asked if he could do the same for us one or two days a week. I informed Dietary that a new volunteer was on his way down, I explained how frail he appeared and asked that they treat him with "kid gloves." And so it was that Harry was welcomed into the hospital’s Dietary department. With each hour that passed, I anticipated him returning to my office or receiving a phone call from Dietary saying that Harry could not handle the job. But neither happened. The next morning, Harry appeared bright and early and so I invited him to sit down and talk. I expected he’d come to complain about his job assignment, but Harry said there was nothing to talk about, he had a job to do. They needed him in the kitchen. He returned to my office several hours later, no complaints, no requests to be transferred. Harry just picked up his free volunteer meal pass, and in his unique English said to me, "May God bless you for placing me as a volunteer." Daily, Harry came to my office and bestowed God’s blessings upon me. His original two-day-a-week volunteer assignment turned into five, six and sometimes seven days a week. I called Dietary about Harry’s performance. I expected to hear that they didn’t want to hurt an old man’s feelings and therefore, kept him on board. Again, I was wrong! Harry was a real asset to the kitchen crew and a true team player. Rather than sit and relax, he found other areas where he could assist: cooking at the grill, serving food, or placing trays and silverware in bins. Harry was one of the best workers in the department! Weeks later, I received three phone calls concerning him: one from a psychiatrist and two from social workers. The psychiatrist informed me that Harry had recently been an inpatient. My stomach turned — the hospital has a policy prohibiting recent patients from becoming volunteers. I expected a reprimand. Instead, in the sweetest of tones, this doctor said to me, "I don’t know what you did to Harry, but he is a new man and is no longer an active patient." Two phone calls from social workers produced similar comments. These calls made me reflect upon my original meeting with Harry. In his heavily accented English, Harry had asked for the outpatient department. However, in error, he had been directed to my office. That was the beginning of his experience as a volunteer rather than an outpatient. Days had turned into weeks and weeks into months, still Harry could be found daily in the kitchen. And late each morning, Harry would appear in my office to bless me. It seemed to me, with each passing day, he appeared full of life. Summer came, and one day, I received a call from Dietary asking if I knew where Harry was — he hadn’t shown up for two days. We weren’t too concerned; after all, it was summertime, and he was certainly entitled to a vacation. I called his home, but no one answered. I tried for several days, but still no answer and still no Harry. Finally, I called Harry’s son’s office. His secretary said that her boss was unavailable for the week, so I explained the reason for my call. The secretary gasped. She told me of Harry’s death and that her boss, Harry’s son, was at home sitting Shiva for the week. I ran to Dietary to share the sad news. We hugged. We cried. What a loss we felt. Harry’s bright demeanor and helpful attitude were now only memories. I wrote to Harry’s son, extending our condolences, but I expected no further contact. Then, a week later, I received a moving letter from him. "I want to thank you and the wonderful staff who were so kind to my father. Dad often spoke of the nice people with whom he had volunteered. Working in the kitchen helped him feel important and worthwhile. His volunteering became an important part of his life and helped him overcome the loneliness, grief and depression he felt after the death of my mother. He lived a productive, active, and busy life until the very day of his death. A special thank you to all the lovely people in the kitchen. God bless all of you." A week after that, another elderly man with a heavy Yiddish accent appeared in my office and said, "I am here to replace Harry in the kitchen." I gave a start. Could this be another one of Harry’s blessings? Who knew? And so, I welcomed this gentleman and sent him directly to the kitchen. To this day, I still wonder who gained more from our mutual experience — Harry or the hospital? Carole Goldstein’s article will be in the upcoming Chicken Soup for the Jewish Soul edited by Dov Peretz Elkins, author of Melodies From My Father’s House. To submit your TRUE story, 1200 words or less, for consideration in the upcoming book Chicken Soup for the Jewish Soul, mail to Chicken Soup for the Soul Enterprise ™, Inc. P.O. Box 30880, Santa Barbara, CA 93130.
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Being
a more ETHICAL person.
