"To the depressed and downtrodden
whos cases were never even heard
in the courtrooms of our mind"
Once outside, however, Rivkie’s courage waned. Of all the times to be left on her own! Her husband had flown to the States the night before for his brother’s wedding. Even before the present crisis, she had felt incompetent dealing with the normal rigors of daily existence without her husband’s patience, calmness and fluency in Hebrew. She had never been so completely alone before.
Rivkie had come to Israel for the same reason many of her peers had: she wanted her husband to ascend in learning, and there is not Torah like that of Israel. Attaining that goal entailed a sacrifice on her part in terms of separation from family and friends, but she was sure it was worth it. Besides, it was sort of a tradition. Hadn’t Rabbi Akiva’s wife, and all of the wives of great scholars before and after her, made sacrifices for Torah’s sake?
Because of budgetary considerations, Rivkie had not traveled with her husband, but she no longer regretted having remained behind. The thought of toxins attacking her baby in mid-flight with no proper medical attention available was even worse than the current state of affairs, as bad as it was. Rivkie raced through her apartment, stuffing into a bag whatever she thought Deena would need in the hospital. Just when time was so critical she found everything disorganized and nothing in its place! Frantically scurrying from the baby’s room to hers, she improvised, settling for anything that was clean and serviceable. She grabbed pajamas for Deena and a denims skirt for herself, as her fingers fumbled for the Tehillim (psalms) on the shelf. Grasping the little book tightly, she reassured herself “I’m not really alone,” in an effort to fight off the terrible thought that Deena might never return to their apartment. To complicate matters, one of the pediatricians forms had to be stamped by the Kupat Cholim (“Health Fund”) office in downtown Jerusalem before Deena could be admitted by the hospital. Rivkie’s few encounters with Kupat Cholim led her to fear a protracted process involving several offices and interminable lines. But even if it were to go quickly this time, how could she take Deena with her? On the other hand, how could she leave her very sick and contagious baby with a sitter or a neighbor? The walls of her apartment seemed to be closing in on her. There were no doors in sight. Rivkie’s instincts impelled her to get the baby to a hospital without delay. If necessary, she would turn on the charm and hope for the best. If a womanly approach failed to get her any medical attention, she would…she would…she’d just scream! Rivkie dialed for a taxi and explained that it was urgent. But the problem with taxis is that every caller feigns urgency, desperation, or the like in order to receive a cab quickly. Waiting for a taxi at any time is a trial of patience; waiting for one in an emergency is a test of nerves. Rivkie failed both. But the mother was not the worse off. While Rivkie and her daughter were waiting for the cab to arrive, Deena began to convulse. Her fingers kept clenching and unclenching. Her eyes rolled wildly and she hissed through her closed mouth. Rivkie clutched her baby tightly in her arms, her eyes darting up and down the street frantically. Just then the taxi pulled up at the curb. As they sped away, Rivkie implored the cabbie to drive as fast as possible. She nearly screamed each time he slowed down for another red light. Her body tightened like a spring around her baby’s contorted form, and she prayed that the hospital would soon be in sight…. Deena’s grave condition circumvented the admission procedure. When the taxi finally arrived, it went straight to the emergency room entrance. Layers of red tape fell away when the medical personnel saw the agonized baby and her panic-stricken mother. The convulsion passed but its effects lingered. The insidious toxins attacking Dena’s brain had turned her into a baby her mother couldn’t recognize. An alert attendant in the ward sized up the situation at once and rushed to notify a doctor. Within seconds Deena was injected with a tranquilizer. The baby was placed in a crib, and a medical team huddled around. One nurse inserted an IV tube into Deena’s tiny wrist, while another left to arrange a spinal tap and a third took her blood pressure. The doctors prepared a stool sample and ordered a battery of other tests. Rivkie was unable to comprehend the Hebrew words flying back and forth, but the word ”shigella” cut into practically every sentence. “What’s happening with my baby?” she pleaded several times, but the doctors were too intent on their work to respond. They motioned for a nurse to remove her so that they could continue unhampered. “Not to vorry,” a nurse tried to assure Rivkie in broken English, “you baby go upstair to qvarantine and get good care.” Not worry?! Rivkie was terrified! The doctors’ looks of concern and the pediatrician’s earlier warning about fatality converged like cymbals crashing in her ears. She trembled and began to cry hysterically. Rivkie loved her baby more than anything in the world, and the thought of her demise was…God forbid! She refused to allow that unimaginable thought in her head; it was too horrible even to contemplate. The death of a child was the kind of tragedy no one ever thought could befall his or her own family; it only struck hapless strangers and was only discussed in dark whispers that hovered somewhere between sympathy, shock and Lashon hara (slander) It was astounding that in just a few short months one could grow from a teenaged bride into a mother willing to endure the worst tortures ever conceived in order to save her child. Rivkie would have gladly changed places with little Deena if only to spare the baby even a second of pain. She chastised herself for having earlier indulged in homesick thoughts of Brooklyn, and wasting precious seconds-seconds that might have meant the difference between life and death. As helpless as she felt, Rivkie was determined to do anything to save her Deena. But for the time being, her lonely crib-side vigil, her constant prayers, and her continuous loving caresses were all she had to offer.