How does one ‘cleave’ to Hashem,” ask Chazal in the Talmud Sotah 14a, “when He is described as an eish ochlah, consuming fire?” (Devarim 4:24). Chazal answer that the Torah enjoins us to cleave to Hashem’s ways. Mah Hu – af atah: Just as He supplies clothes for the unclothed, visits the sick, comforts mourners and buries the dead, so should you do the same. I wonder. It should be easy – especially if doing so is considered following in the footsteps of the Almighty. We do not, however, see people lining up to clothe the needy, visit the ill and infirm, bury the dead and comfort those who are left behind. No! It is not easy. It is not geshmak, pleasant. Very little kavod, honor, accompanies these tasks. It is not pleasant going to a nursing home. It is not pleasant going to a hospital. It is surely not pleasant preparing the dead for burial. It is difficult to find the right words to comfort a mourner. There are no plaques given out to acknowledge these acts of kindness. I guess that is why Hashem does it. Those few who do not need their lives to be pleasant at all times follow in His footsteps. The rest of us wait for the plaques.
Having said that, I was thinking about what motivation could prompt those who really want to act kindly to be able to overcome the discomfort. The Jewish community is blessed with a host of well-meaning organizations that perform all sorts of kindness for the unfortunate. The same people are always involved. Can we change this lamentable reality?
I recently read about a gentleman who, although he was a successful businessman, gave up literally every minute of his spare time to assist in building the Sephardic Bikur Cholim in New York. He wrote in his diary shortly before his untimely passing what it was that inspired him to become so involved: “I went on a Bikur Cholim visit last week. The lady had cancer. Her husband could not handle it and left her. One of her children was autistic.
While I sat with her and talked, she held her autistic son in her loving arms and described her nightmare of a life to me. While she was talking, her healthy three-year-old daughter began to cry. ‘Why was she crying?’ I asked myself. ‘Was it because her mommy was spending so much time with her brother? Was it because she knew that mommy was sick and might one day die? Was it because she missed her daddy who ran off one day – never to return? Or was she simply hungry or tired?’ I did not know why she was crying, but I did know one thing for sure – her mother could not help her. She had more than her hands full. I tried to calm down the little girl and tell her, ‘It will be all right.’ I was lying. That night as I lay down in bed, I could not sleep. The memory of the little three-year-old girl’s crying kept me awake. My mind just would not let go of her, I could hear her crying.
“I knew then that I had to do something to alleviate those cries. I could not let her cry forever. As I write these sentences, I am crying. I am not sure if I am crying with her or for her, but, I cannot stop hearing the cries.”
So wrote Joseph Beyda. We must listen to the cries. Of course, it is not pleasant to go where the cries are overwhelming, where the pain is constant and debilitating. However, if we allow ourselves to hear the cries, we will eventually become the people we could be – the people Hashem wants us to be. After all, He wants us to cleave to Him, to follow in His ways. He always hears the cries.
It is the great people who are involved in acts of kindness. Perhaps it is the acts of kindness that make them great. Horav Yosef Chaim Sonnenfeld, z.l., was exemplary in applying the principle of mah Hu af atah to his own life. His acts of kindness were legendary. He did not merely delegate others to act; he personally participated in all areas of assistance to others. Already in his younger years he had become a gabbai, official, of the Chevra Kadisha, sacred burial society. Before long, he became the yosheiv rosh, head, of the Chevra. In his position, he fought energetically and faithfully to see to it that the burial traditions of the Yerushalayim community were upheld. Although he was the head of the Chevra, he did not see this office as a ceremonial position of honor or prestige. He continued to personally participate in the taharah, purification, and burial of the deceased. Mah Hu af atah.
There was one area which Rav Yosef Chaim exemplified: visiting and giving solace to the terminally ill. In one of the small, vaulted alleyways of the Old City, there was a hospice for the terminally ill. Medicine in those days was not what it is today. The miserable, emaciated patients – who were relegated to a living purgatory in this world – had no reprieve from their unrelenting pain and depression. Even their relatives found visits to this institution too much to bear. To observe a loved one in overwhelming pain and suffering can be a devastating experience. The only ray of sunshine these pitiful souls could look forward to was a visit from Rav Yosef Chaim. He made it his business to frequent the hospice regularly and to sit by the bedside of each patient, providing much-needed words of comfort and encouragement. He found the time; he found the strength; he found the right words, because he was following in Hashem’s footsteps.
