Elky Handler

I recently found myself on the phone with the automated representative of a health-care provider. I learned that for quality and training purposes my call may be randomly monitored or recorded. I listened to a list of options which had recently changed. I chose Option 1 for English. Then Option 3 to speak to a receptionist. Then Option 2 for the correct receptionist. That was when I heard about the high call volume, that my call is important to them, and that they appreciate my patience.

I appreciated their optimism.

When Eileen finally picked up the phone, she told me I really needed to speak to Monica. Monica also appreciated my patience, and she advised me that I’d actually reached the right person, and could I possibly provide some insurance information?

It turned out I could possibly provide said information. It also turned out that that insurance company does not pay for their services. Would I like to opt out of insurance and pay out of pocket for $40,000 or so? No? Well, was there anything else they could help me with? No? Well then, I should be well and have myself a nice day.

I took my nice day to the insurance company’s website to see which providers they were, in fact, willing to compensate, and I found approximately…none.

I decided to panic.

It didn’t help.

I sought some advice. The advisor advised me to first stop panicking.

That helped.

And to make a short story shorter, Josh from the insurance company asked his supervisor who advised me to talk to Evan who told me that they did pay for the services of that particular provider, and I should probably call them back.

I did, and Eileen and Monica consulted Melissa (all while presumably randomly monitoring or recording my call for quality assurance), who confirmed that that insurance would be perfectly acceptable.

Are you following? Neither did I.

But at least that provider could provide, so I thanked Hashem sincerely.

***

I once came home from Evergreen with my groceries but without my wallet. I ran back…but it was gone. Oh, noooo. This is 10 minutes on the phone with the bank, 10 hours at the DMV, 10 weeks trying to remember which automatic payments would need updated information…

But it wasn’t. Because not long after I got home, a lovely teenage girl called my house. She’d found a wallet in a shopping cart in Evergreen so she took it home and called me. Bless her.

I thanked Hashem sincerely.

***

These things…they keep happening, don’t they? Minor car accidents…light injuries…lost items that aren’t really lost…

Why, though? Hashem is fairly good at what He does, so there is certainly a reason.

May I guess?

My guess is that we need to explore not only what He may be trying to tell us…but why, and therefore how. What is His actual Objective in this, so to speak, conversation.

Come with me back to Evergreen for a moment, please. Suppose you and some cute little children are standing in line for eons and the kids are getting cranky (so are you, come to think of it), and finally your turn is next. That’s when I come up to you, hold up a hairbrush and a bunch of bananas, tell you that I’m in a mad rush, and can I maybe check out ahead of you? Look, it’s just two things.

You’re a nice person, so you agree, and I thank you so much, really, thanks a million; you’re saving my life and my neshamah. However…those kids, while also nice, are just kids, so they protest with the subtlety of a chicken by kapparos. I hear this and, fishing my most magnanimous smile out of my pocket, I say, wow, these children look so tired…why don’t you take my place in line?

Are you grateful to me? Do you thank me so much for saving your life and soul? Or are you completely confused because if I hadn’t taken your place, you wouldn’t have needed me to offer you mine?

Let’s try another angle. Let’s focus on those cute little children for a moment. Suppose I act like a sane human being and do not try to take your place. Suppose, instead, I start chatting with the toddler in your shopping cart. I admire his lollipop, tell him it looks yummy, ask what color it is.

Are you concerned about my lack of knowledge when I do that? I imagine you aren’t. Because in that situation it is clear that I am not seeking information. I am seeking interaction.

And if you are a kind and understanding soul, you may realize that the hypothetical (I promise!) me who cut in front of you in line only to step back is doing the same thing—seeking interaction.

It’s why we make small talk with strangers. It’s why we play Jewish Geography as if the world can only spin on its axis if we discover that your niece’s neighbor went to school with my sister-in-law in Brooklyn. It’s why we ask toddlers for colors and primary kids what parshah it is. It’s why we listen avidly when a little girl tells us that her doll had a hard day. It’s why we chat with the people we love about nothing at all.

And it’s why we do none of those things when we need time alone. That’s when we avoid interaction.

Therein lies my guess. I think He’s looking for interaction.

***

When I was about six or seven, I found out it was my mother’s birthday. Birthdays meant presents to me.

So I carefully decorated an envelope with which to wrap my gift: a Band-Aid.

My mother didn’t need a Band-Aid. She hugged me anyway.

Several weeks ago, my little girl carefully put one of her favorite stickers on her oldest brother’s grave.

My Yitzy doesn’t need a sticker. I think he’s grateful anyway.

Hashem doesn’t need things from us. But I think He wants something.

I think He wants interaction. A relationship. So, when I’m distracted and forget Who’s running everything, He reminds me. Sometimes He’ll wave and I’ll find my keys in only the second place I look. Sometimes He’ll hug me and I’ll switch on the radio in my car just in time to hear my favorite song. Sometimes He’ll openly catch me as I start to fall.

Sometimes He’ll shake me. Sometimes He takes people I love and I don’t understand why. Sometimes He sends an earthquake to rock my entire world.

I think He’s saying, Don’t forget Me, zeeskeit.

I think He’s reminding me, I’m in charge, I’ve got this, I’m good at it, and I don’t need your help.

I think He’s bidding me, Just tell Me what you need, sweetheart, because I have the keys to every vault.

I think He’s showing me He’s here. With me. In me. Every second. Of every day.

Which leads me to my next question. And this one, Hashem…I’m directing to You.

Because I see You. And I hear You. And I feel You here with me.

And…and it hurts so much, this galus.

***

Once, when my Yitzy was 12, he took his bike out on Route 9—and then got stuck. He couldn’t cross the street; the cars kept coming. A nice frum couple stopped their car and offered to drive him home. He said, “I’m not allowed in a stranger’s car; may I use your phone?” Then he called me.

I didn’t say, “Wait a bit longer, honey, it’s bound to clear up.”

I didn’t say, “Well, I knew that would happen, why’d you insist on going?”

I didn’t say, “Keep trying, sweetie, you’ve gotta learn sometime!”

I didn’t say, “Make a run for it, I’ll come if you get hurt.”

I didn’t say any of that because Yitzy was scared and alone and just…out there on Route 9. And he asked for help, despite being the physical manifestation of independence. It wasn’t the time for chinuch.

All I said was, “I’m on my way, Tzaddik.”

Hashem…we are stuck on a street corner somewhere on Route 9. The cars are flying past us. There is no traffic light. There isn’t even a streetlight. We know You have a Perfect Plan, we know You want us to be close to You.

That’s why I’m asking You now. Please come get us. Pick us up. Take us home.

There’s a time for chinuch but…we’re scared. All these tragedies are driving well over the speed limit; there’s just no room for us to cross.

We’re alone. The world is not exactly subtle about its opinion of us, and we simply don’t belong here.

And we’re asking You for help because we see our independence is a mirage at best.

We see You. We hear You. We feel You.

And We miss being Home.

We miss interacting with You so closely.

Can You please just answer us with what we want to hear?

I’m on My way, Tzaddik…