O pinion
I Am a Rabbi in a Hospital ICU. This Is What the COVID Surge
Looks Like to Our Exhausted Staff
BY RABBI MIKE HARVEY
AS A RABBI who works as
a chaplain at a hospital in
Indianapolis, I’ve held my
tongue a lot when it comes to
COVID-19 and the emotional
strain it puts on medical staff.

But now — as my team at
Indiana University Health is
responsible for pastoral care in
the Medical ICU and its associ-
ated unit — is the right time to
speak about it.

My unit is where the sickest
of the sick in the state come for
care. Our ICU houses patients
that other hospitals can’t
handle. When it’s a last-ditch
effort, they send them to us.

Most of the patients I see in
the ICU are COVID-19 positive.

Yes, there are other units that
hold COVID-positive patients
who have less severe symptoms
— mainly vaccinated patients
with strong working immune
systems. Other patients are
suffering illnesses unrelated to
the coronavirus. But the vast
majority on my patient lists are
COVID-positive. What is it like walking down
the halls of the pods of the ICU?
It’s cold, it’s dark and it’s quiet.

The patients are all intubated,
hooked up to massive amounts
of equipment, with machines
breathing for them and feeding
them through tubes.

Heavy blankets cover their
bodies. Some of the machines
are so big that you can’t see
anything but their legs.

Families aren’t around much:
It’s dangerous to visit the
14 JANUARY 20, 2022
hospital these days. COVID has
spread to the staff, with over
1,000 staff members out state-
wide. Nurses are overworked,
covering two to three patients
each — far more than what’s
typical in the ICU.

COVID-19 is an especially
cruel disease. To those who
have overcome adversity,
cancer, multiple sclerosis,
bone marrow transplants
and the like, COVID swoops
in and takes them away from
their families. They may have
finished chemo just months
ago, their diabetes was under
control, and yes, they did
everything right. They got
vaccinated (if they could,
as sometimes it’s useless for
those with compromised or
no immune systems). They
by the unvaccinated wife to
pray for an unvaccinated
husband as he lays dying.

What prayer is appro-
priate? Prayer in these cases
is no substitute for action —
preemptive action that would
have said louder than any
psalm or supplication, “My
faith compelled me to appre-
ciate the miracle of vaccination
and act on behalf of the elderly
and the vulnerable.”
An old Yiddish tale tells of
an exhausted Chasid who came
running to his rabbi. “Rebbe,
help. Take pity. My house is
burning.” The rebbe calmed
the Hasid. Then, fetching his
stick from a corner of the
room, he said, “Here take my
stick. Run back to your house.

Draw circles around it with my
the Shulchan Aruch, the book
that forms the foundation of
Jewish law: “One must refrain
from putting coins in one’s
mouth, lest it’s covered with
dried saliva of those afflicted
with boils” (Yoreh De’ah 116).

The code of Jewish law lists
other certain and suspected
dangers, including precautions
to take in the face of plague, but
concludes with this from Rabbi
Moshe Isserles: “A person who
guards his soul will distance
himself from [dangers], and
it is prohibited to rely on a
miracle in all of these matters.”
Those last words accom-
pany me as I see nurses setting
up feeding tubes and ECMO
oxygenation machines: “It is
prohibited to rely on a miracle
in all of these matters.”
I’ve been at this since August. The doctors and nurses have been at
this for years. How they manage, I’ll never know. But even a hello and
asking how they’re holding up makes a difference. If you know a nurse
or doctor, give them a hug, tell them they matter, thank them.

overcame great odds, and yet
they come to my unit to die.

“Teach us to number our
days,” Psalm 90 tells me, “that
we may get a heart of wisdom.”
There are far more who
come who are unvaccinated.

The numbers don’t lie.

We are swarmed with the
unvaccinated. Their family
members tell us, “He/she was
so stubborn.” They tell us,
“Well, I’m going to get vacci-
nated now” (all it took was the
death of a loved one). They tell
us they didn’t believe “it” was
real, referring to a virus that is
soon on track to take 6 million
lives worldwide.

They tell us to try to pray.

Can you imagine? Sitting in
my PPE gear, my M95 mask
pinching my face, my face
shield fogging up, my gloves
tight on my hands, I am asked
stick, each circle some seven
handbreadths from the other.

At the seventh circle, step back
seven handbreadths, then lay
my stick down at the east end
of the fire. God will help you.”
The Hasid grabbed the
stick and started off. “Listen,”
the rebbe called after him, “it
wouldn’t hurt also to pour
water. Yes, in God’s name,
pour water. As much water as
you can.”
A nurse walks by as I stand
in the doorway of another
patient. Their family has
moved them to comfort care,
with a do-not-resuscitate order.

There’s nothing else to do.

“Was he vaccinated?” I ask.

“I’ve stopped asking,” she
says. “Either answer makes me
upset.” As I walk from room to
room I think of the words of
JEWISH EXPONENT
Patients are afraid. Families
are heartbroken. They cry and
argue in the “quiet rooms,”
wondering who brought
COVID into the house, which
aunt refused to get vaccinated
and spread the virus that is
now killing the grandfather.

There’s guilt, there’s shame,
there’s anger.

And then there’s us.

Some people drink, some
people eat, to cope with what
has become a sort of horror
show on repeat: When one
body is taken out of the room,
another patient takes their
place. I experience fatigue. At
any point in my work day I
could close my eyes and go to
sleep right where I sit or stand.

“Modeh ani l’ fanecha,
melech chai v’kayam, shehe-
chezarta bi nishmati, b’chemla
raba emunatecha,” I revive
myself with the prayer that
is traditionally spoken each
morning upon
waking. “I thank You, living and
enduring sovereign, for You
have graciously returned my
soul within me. Great is Your
faithfulness.” I’ve got to stay awake,
provide care for the crying and
stressed nurses, provide care
for the families, vaccinated and
unvaccinated, provide prayer
for those dying alone, with
only the sound of the machines
to accompany them. Why?
Because as a Jew I am obligated
to do so, as the Torah teaches
me: “You shall not stand idly by
the blood of another.”
Indeed, people’s lives are
in danger. I’ve been at this
since August. The doctors and
nurses have been at this for
years. How they manage, I’ll
never know. But even a hello
and asking how they’re holding
up makes a difference. If you
know a nurse or doctor, give
them a hug, tell them they
matter, thank them.

We seem to be fighting a
losing battle. People are dying
every day. And when we return
to our staff meetings we hear
the words “surge,” again and
again. It’s scary. It’s exhausting.

Gam zeh yaavor: This
too shall end. Until then, I
remember the words of another
sage, F. Scott Fitzgerald:
“Tomorrow we will run faster,
stretch out our arms farther ...

And then one fine morning —
So we beat on, boats against the
current, borne back ceaselessly
into the past.” l
Rabbi Mike Harvey is a resident
chaplain within the Indiana
University Health system in
Indianapolis. Ordained by Hebrew
Union College–Jewish Institute of
Religion in 2015, he is the author
of “Let’s Talk: A Rabbi Speaks to
Christians,” to be published by
Fortress Press in summer 2022.

JEWISHEXPONENT.COM



O pinion
Jews and Muslims Can Walk a Common Path.

Martin Luther King Jr. Showed Us How
BY EBOO PATEL AND
JOSHUA STANTON
IN 1957, AT Dexter Avenue
Baptist Church, the Rev. Dr.

Martin Luther King, Jr. deliv-
ered words whose wisdom
continue to resound today:
“For the person who hates,
the true becomes false and the
false becomes true. That’s what
hate does. You can’t see right.

The symbol of objectivity is
lost. Hate destroys the very
structure of the personality of
the hater.”
When a weekend meant to
commemorate Dr. King was
shattered by the hostage-taking
at Congregation Beth Israel in
Colleyville, Texas, we called
upon each other as longtime
friends and colleagues to find
a better path forward for our
respective communities. We
feared that hate could disrupt
the relationship that we had
long shared and held dear.

Because the hostage-taker
was a Muslim man appar-
ently intent on freeing a
Muslim woman convicted on
terrorism charges, opportun-
ists are already hard at work
exploiting our trauma in
order to pit Muslims and Jews
against each other. In the spirit
of Dr. King, equally embodied
in the tireless bridge-building
of Rabbi Charles Cytron-
Walker of Congregation Beth
Israel, we feel called to explore
a new blueprint for how we
can resist the temptation to
allow hate to beget hate. This is
JEWISHEXPONENT.COM but an initial sketch, no doubt
with much input needed from
lay leaders and clergy from
across the Muslim and Jewish
communities. First, we need to change
the story. Extremists are of no
faith tradition but their own:
extremism. We need to stop
framing the conversation as
community against commu-
nity, so much as Muslims
and Jews together against a
common enemy. We need to
call out and sideline extrem-
ists, leaving them isolated in
their own camp. To that end,
we suggest reflecting on the
hostage-taker at Beth Israel as
an extremist from the United
Kingdom with heinous goals
unbefitting any faith.

Second, we need to tirelessly
build bridges among the rest of
us. We are all feeling isolated
after two years of pandemic.

We need to go out of our
way to call friends, neigh-
sacred texts, learn how people
live out the tenets of their faith
and culture, understand how
each tradition inspires Jews
and Muslims to serve others,
and how we all struggle with
challenging concepts and ideas
in our respective faiths.

Fourth, we need to expand
our existing infrastructure of
collaboration. The American
Jewish Committee’s Muslim-
Jewish Advisory Council
holds the potential to expand
its regional reach and engage
hundreds more leaders across
the country. Local collabora-
tions, such as that which exists
between New York’s Cordoba
House and East End Temple,
should welcome new partners
and look into opportunities
for larger-scale programing.

College campuses are ideal
spaces for interfaith cooper-
ation, especially through
projects that combine service,
learning and dialogue.

We need to develop a knowledge and
appreciation of each other’s traditions. It is
easy to fear an “other” that you do not
understand. bors and relatives across lines
of faith just to reaffirm the
significance of relationship.

Today, in the wake of Jan.

15’s trauma, Muslims should
call their Jewish friends.

Tomorrow, unfortunately, in a
world brimming with hate, it
may need to be the other way
around. The rest of the time,
both should call — and call
upon — each other.

Third, we need to develop
a knowledge and appreciation
of each other’s traditions. It is
easy to fear an “other” that you
do not understand. We need
to visit each other’s houses
of worship, read each other’s
Fifth, we need to build
entirely new paths to connec-
tion. We are working with
Rabbi Benjamin Spratt of
Congregation Rodeph Sholom
in Manhattan to gather a book
group for clergy, so that we can
study deeply and reflect upon
social issues that we can best
address together. We need to
establish advocacy coalitions
to push together for better
governmental monitoring
of Islamophobia and the
overdue confirmation of
Dr. Deborah Lipstadt as U.S.

Special Envoy to Combat and
Monitor Antisemitism. We
need to dream about more
JEWISH EXPONENT
Muslim-Jewish community
centers and shared spaces for
gathering. We need to create a
joint fundraising mechanism to
seed new ventures and increase
resources for grassroots organi-
zations like the Muslim-Jewish
Solidarity Committee and the
Sisterhood of Salaam Shalom.

We have countless common
causes, but have underbuilt
mechanisms to act upon them.

In honor of Rabbi Cytron-
Walker’s heroism
and longstanding
commitment are vibrant, empowered and
open-minded. In the wake of
Colleyville, we need to build as
never before. Together, we can. l
Eboo Patel is the founder and
president of the Interfaith Youth
Core and author of the forthcoming
book, “We Need to Build.” Joshua
Stanton is the rabbi of East End
Temple in Manhattan, Senior
Fellow of CLAL – The National
Jewish Center for Learning and
Leadership, and coauthor of the
forthcoming book, “Awakenings.”
KVETCH ’N’ KVELL
Article Appreciated, WRN Warranted a Mention
I WAS DELIGHTED AND PROUD to see so many of our local
colleagues highlighted in Jarrad Saffren’s article, “Female Rabbis
at 50: Challenges Remain” (Jan. 13). It is inspiring to see at this
half-century mark, that there are so many women rabbis leading
our spiritual communities here in Philadelphia.

In this tribute to the history and future of women in the
rabbinate, I was hoping Saffren would mention the tremendous
impact of the Women’s Rabbinic Network, founded in the late
1970s to support that first generation of women rabbis.

Since its founding, the WRN has created gathering spaces
— in person and virtual — for women rabbis to draw strength
from each other as we face the many frustrations mentioned in
Saffren’s article. The WRN has provided me and countless other
rabbis with mentorship, opportunities for professional develop-
ment and resources that help us to navigate the challenges of the
rabbinate. While the network is affiliated with the Reform movement,
the impact of our advocacy work regarding pay equity, family
and medical leave, and safe and respectful workplaces extends
far beyond our movement.

In honor of the 50th anniversary, the WRN has devel-
oped a four-part curriculum on the history of women in
the rabbinate called, “Scouts, Trailblazers, Pathfinders, and
Explorers.” Congregation Kol Ami will offer the course online
on four Thursdays starting Feb. 10. For details, contact rabbi@
kolamielkinspark.org. l
Rabbi Leah R. Berkowitz | Congregation Kol Am and immediate
past president, Women’s Rabbinic Network
FROM THE PUBLISHER
to STATEMENT
interfaith collaboration;
in We are a diverse community. The views expressed in the signed opinion columns and let-
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for Exponent are those of the authors. They do
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JANUARY 20, 2022
15