A Guten Chodesh!

This is not a political story or analysis.

It’s about something that I just experienced that really impacted me.

It is about one word, and what that word can do to a human heart.

Recently, I needed to undergo a medical procedure. Thank G-d, it was planned and somewhat routine, but even planned, somewhat routine procedures come with a certain level of nervousness. There is the paperwork, the bracelets, the monitors, the steady hum of machines, and the quiet parade of medical personnel moving in and out of the room. Everyone was kind. Everyone was professional. But they were strangers.

My husband was sitting next to me in the pre-op room. We were speaking softly, each of us trying to project calm for the other. (He did a better job than me).

Then the door opened.

A young resident walked in. She was an Israeli young lady, a medical resident, here from Israel for a 4-year residency. She was warm and composed. She looked at us, smiled, and said one word:

“Mishpacha!”

Family.

That was the moment I felt myself soften (and cry).

Until then, I had been holding it together. I was being practical and focused, and adrenaline(ly) positive.  But when she said “Mishpacha,” something shifted inside me. I suddenly felt that I was not walking into an operating room alone. I felt that I was walking in with family.

I do not know her.
She does not know me.
And yet, in that moment, we were family.

In a sterile hospital room, surrounded by machines and masked faces, I felt taken care of. I felt seen. I felt loved.

Before the anesthesia took effect, she asked me in Hebrew where I am going to picture myself as I fall asleep. “In Eretz Yisrael of course!” I answered. “Where in Eretz Yisrael?” she asked me.

“In Yerushalayim” I replied.

She laughed and asked, “How about Netivot?!”

“Of course! Netivot!”, I answered.

I drifted off holding her warm hand.

Later that day, I saw her again and asked for her contact information. I also asked who I could write to at the hospital administration to share how much her presence meant to me.

Of course, she was professional and skilled, but what stayed with me most was not a technical detail. It was the way she made me feel.

She reminded me of something that applies to every area of life:

We create atmosphere.

A teacher creates atmosphere in a classroom.
An employer creates atmosphere in a workplace.
A parent creates atmosphere in a home.
A spouse creates atmosphere in a marriage.

Often, it is not the grand gestures that shape people’s experiences. It is the small, consistent signals that say, “You belong here. You matter. You are safe with me.”

When a teacher greets a student with warmth, that student walks into learning differently.
When an employer speaks to an employee with respect, that employee works differently.
When a husband or wife speaks in a tone that conveys warmth, and unity, the entire marriage feels different.

That young resident did not change my medical outcome with that one word. However, she completely changed my emotional experience.

And emotional experience matters.

As we build our homes and our relationships, we can stay tuned into the fact that people are not only looking for competence, efficiency, or organization. They are looking for connection.

They are looking for someone who communicates, in words or in presence:

“You are not alone.”
“You belong.”
“You are mishpacha.”

May we all strive to be the kind of people who give others that feeling.

Wishing you a wonderful, simchadik month!