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 By Rabbi Dayle A. Friedman
Over the course of the time I worked in the nursing home, all kinds of things happened in my life. I bought a home; I got married. My congregants shared the events in my life with avid interest and great enthusiasm. When my first daughter, Anya, was born, I felt like she had hundreds of bubbes and zaydes, grandmas and grandpas, many of whom were intensely interested in her every developmental milestone
and adorable antic.
And then I got divorced. How could I tell my loving congregants that my heart was broken, my faith shaken, my world turned upside down? I could not figure out a way, so I did not tell them. People would ask how my family was, and I would say, “Fine.”
Except for Fanny. Fanny was one hundred years old. We had known each other for nine years, and there was a loving, knowing way about her that just made me feel good in her presence. We had been through so much together: the death of her son-in-law, the conversion of her granddaughter’s husband, who found Judaism through attending services with her, and her worries about her daughters’ declining health. So when Fanny asked shortly after my husband and I had separated, “How are you, how’s your husband, how’s the baby?” I just could not lie or evade. So I told her.
Fanny said, “To tell you the truth, I never thought he was your type! But I want to tell you something.... When you were born, God made a bashert [destined one] for you. You’ll find him in a vinkl, a corner.” Fanny’s blessing cheered me enormously. She had joined me in my suffering and offered me a vision of hope. And, it turned out, she was right. I did find my hashert, my beloved husband David, for whom I thank God every day!
It wasn’t just Fanny who gave me blessings. Early in my work in the nursing home, I noticed that this was a kind of pay that I received daily. In nearly every interaction—casual conversation, hospital visit, exchanged greetings after Shabbat or holiday services—at some point, the person I was with would offer me a blessing.
Some of them were quite simple: “You should be well;” “God should let you live to be my age, but healthy;” “I wish you everything you wish yourself.”
Others were amazingly profound: “May God grant you the happiness I’ve known;” “May we live and be well and be here together next year;” “May God bless you with a future that is unprecedented, and may your congregants appreciate the meaning of your message.”
Some blessings used the language of faith, and others were simply offered as loving, sincere wishes. However they were articulated, these blessings were abundant and powerful. They shifted the nature of my relationship to my congregants. They made our encounter explicitly reciprocal; we were each giving to the other in a holy way. Moreover, these blessings connected us to the Transcendent, the Source of life and love. Privileged to receive these blessings on a daily basis, I felt rich, full, sated.
The above excerpt “One Hundred Blessings a Day” by Rabbi Dayle A. Friedman, is from Jewish Visions for Aging: A Professional Guide for Fostering Wholeness © 2008 by Dayle A. Friedman. Permission granted by Jewish Lights Publishing, P.O. Box 237, Woodstock, VT 05091; www.jewishlights.com.
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Rabbi Dayle A. Friedman, MSW, MAJCS, BCC, is the editor of Jewish Pastoral Care: A Practical Handbook from Traditional and Contemporary Sources and author of Jewish Visions for Aging: A Professional Guide for Fostering Wholeness (both Jewish Lights), among other publications. Rabbi Friedman has pioneered the development of Jewish spiritual resources for aging, healing and spiritual care. She has taught and mentored chaplains and clergy from all movements in Judaism across North America and in Israel. She is the founding director of Hiddur: The Center for Aging and Judaism of the Reconstructionist Rabbinical College. She provides spiritual direction on the path of later life through Provisions for the Journey, a private practice in Philadelphia.
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