When Visiting the Sick is Visiting a Friend

Ever since my friend Jo lined up behind me during middle school gym class, we've managed to giggle our way through some of life's tough lessons. In 21 years of friendship, there have been many. Yet just last month the toughest lesson unexpectedly came our way.

I don't think there is anything that prepares you for hearing a friend say: "I have cancer." For Jo, the challenge was clear: fight this disease and live. As her friend, I was at a loss. I didn't know what to do.

Not unlike any other Sunday afternoon, Jo and I made plans to get together. For the first time, I was not looking forward to seeing her. I was afraid to hear about chemotherapy. I was afraid to give bad wig advice. I was afraid I'd cry when I saw her. But I also knew that for all the reasons why I was afraid, were all the reasons why it was important to see her.

We met at Starbucks and ordered our usual: two grande skim peppermint hot chocolates with whip. Jo talked about her plans to shave her head in advance of her hair falling out. "And I need to find a good stylist to make my wig hair look good," she told me. Even sick, you're still the vainest person I know, I said. Instantly, we started laughing until our eyes filled with tears. Later, as we scurried out, the barista smiled at us.

The Jewish tradition of bikkur cholim, visiting the sick, is an act of great kindness because it is so difficult. As friends, human beings and Jews, to offer others comfort and to face illness with acceptance and humor is to experience healing. Wishing my friend a "Refuah Shleimah" was more than blessing her with a speedy recovery; it was blessing our friendship with the strength to go on.

- Suzanne Kurtz

Hillel the Foundation, Hillel the Man

As the holy months of Ramadan and Tishrei converged this year, campuses across the country paid homage to shared holidays -- an occurrence that happens every thirty years for a period of just three years. For college students, it also brought an opportunity for serious interfaith dialogue and some serious noshing. After speaking to many campuses this week, it seemed only fitting I attend an interfaith event myself. So, in the spirit of lunar convergence, I accepted an invitation to accompany a friend to an iftar, a Ramadan break-fast.

A prominent Pakistani businessman hosted the event, billed as an interfaith iftar. We were guests of the rabbi. The informal (and very spicy) meal was followed by a formal (and not very spicy) program with a speakers lineup including: the rabbi, a pastor, an imam and several government official-types.

When the dinner was over, my friend and I got up to leave. Our host, Mr. Mahmoud, was at the door saying goodbye to each of his 200 guests. When it was my turn to convey to him my thanks, he asked how I heard about the iftar.

"We are guests of the rabbi, Mr. Mahmoud," I said. "And thank you so much for this lovely evening in your lovely home."

"Before you go, I want to show you something," he said, taking a crumpled piece of notepaper out of his pocket. On it he had scribbled the quote: "What is hateful to you, do not to your fellow man. This is the law: all the rest is commentary." - Hillel, 30 B.C.

"Isn't it amazing?" he asked. "It's something I learned today and it was written in 30 B.C.!"

I nodded in agreement and handed him my business card. "It is amazing," I said. "And the foundation I work for is named for that man."

As he smiled at me, I knew; the significance of Hillel, the foundation, was not lost on Mr. Mahmoud.

- Suzanne Kurtz