When I was a young boy of six, my sister Nora was born three months premature. After months in the hospital our family was saddened to discover that she was severely disabled, both physically and mentally. Due to the severity of her challenges the doctors advised my family to place her in the loving hands of a local facility for the severely disabled. For reasons too numerous to go into, my sister Nora and I rarely saw one another over the course of the next 40 years.
One can only imagine the pain, guilt and anguish that results from this kind of situation. No matter where I went in the world, the sister I hardly knew always found her way into my thoughts and my heart. Throughout the last 40 years I have always felt an insatiable need to establish a relationship with Nora. But like many self-involved young people, I always found a selfish reason why something else took priority over her. When I finally felt ready to pursue a relationship, I didn't even know where to begin.
This past Rosh Hashanah, as I prayed at the Chabad of Oregon shul in Portland, I couldn't help but wonder that despite the joy and peace I had found in my life, there was always a deep, agonizing hurt that refused to go away. As I stood before G-d asking for a bright, sweet year, I realized that it was time to summon the courage to face my innermost fears and end the pain. It was time to go see my sister.
Before heading off for Connecticut I called my friend and mentor Rabbi Chuni Vogel of Chabad of Delaware and asked him how, even though my sister could barely hear and could hardly see, I could bring a little Yiddishkeit into her life. I knew that no matter what the circumstance, though she had never been exposed to any kind of Jewish experience in her life, she was a Jewish woman.
Without hesitation he instructed me to recite the Shema to her when I went to see her. He said that despite her disabilities, this most holy of Jewish prayers would speak directly to her Neshoma, her soul. He told me that Jewish teachings have always expressed the belief that physically and mentally challenged individuals have unique, elevated neshamot that have been purposely placed in their special bodies. He assured me the Shema would be a wonderful way to bring the first bits of Yiddishkeit into her life.
Shortly after I arrived in Connecticut I met with my cousin Jennifer, who has had a long term, loving relationship with my sister; together we went to see Nora. When we parked the car and stepped onto the steps leading to the group home where my sister resides, my heart was pumping like a bass drum in my chest. I was excited, nervous and electrified all
at the same time.
Before I knew what was happening we had walked through the front door, proceeded into the warm and comfortable living room and Jennifer was introducing me to my sister. In one explosive moment all of the guilt, all of the anguish, all of the pain flew out of my body as I put my arms around her and hugged her for the first time in 40 years!
It was amazing to see her. Despite her physical problems she looked instantly familiar. She was the spitting image of many of the women in my family; same face, same eyes, same smile. We spent the next hour and a half renewing a long-lost relationship. Communication was a challenge but where there is a will there is always a way. We took photographs together, sat next to each other and in general, enjoyed precious moments together. When it was time to go, my heart soared. After all these many years Nora and I had started on a new journey together, one that I was determined would last a lifetime.
As my cousin Jennifer was talking to the administrator of the facility I bent down next to Nora, who was watching television, and whispered the Shema into her ear.
"Shema Yisroel...Hear, O Israel, the L-rd is our G-d, the L-rd is One."
As I concluded this brief but oh so important prayer, my sister-a woman who can barely hear a sound-turned her head, looked me right in the eye, gently grabbed my face with her two hands and kissed me affectionately on the cheek.
When the moment had passed she gave me a gentle nudge and went back to watching the television show. I was absolutely stunned by her reaction. I was sure that deep inside, these powerful few words had reached the very essence of her being.
When I related this to my cousin Jennifer she told me that there was something else I might find interesting about my sister. She said that throughout the years, Nora would eat anything put on her plate, anything, that is, but pork. She said that no matter how it was
prepared, Nora would look at it, push it away, and refuse to eat it.
As I walked out the door it was clear to me that the spiritual journey I had embarked upon the day I walked into my first Chabad House had taken me to some incredible places. None, however, was more powerful, more meaningful and more satisfying than the journey to my sister's front door.
For 3311 years the Jewish people have survived whatever the world tried to throw at them. In a few short, powerful moments I saw first-hand how they've managed to do so. For in every Jew there burns a fire so bright that no matter the circumstance, no matter the obstacle, it cannot be extinguished. On one memorable day in Connecticut, in a little obscure house near the sea shore, I saw first-hand the power of the Jewish soul!
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