Community Service
Note: it was actually called "volunteering," but since everyone is required to do it, I am instead calling it community service.
We began today community service, where we assist those in our surroundings. Almost all of the work is done with children, either in schools or at homes. My kid is a six-year old boy, Ohr Bezeq, from Gesher, a nearby kibbutz. He has a learning disability, has behavioral issues, and cannot speak; his father, who he never sees, is suicidal and is in a mental hospital, while his mother was described to me by the project coordinator as "a simple woman." A tough case.
Now, I have done community service before, and I have worked with kids before, and I have worked with kids with learning disabilities before. Ohr is far and away the hardest case I've ever dealt with. For our first "meeting," we played with trains, and I wrote the digits 1-9 with a crayon over and over and over. I tried reading him a book, but he kept yanking the book away and replacing it with another. We also played on a seesaw. All he wanted to do was eat candy and cause trouble. It is so difficult to relate to a kid like this. You want to talk to him, but all he can say is "ahh" and "uhh." Sometimes he'll smile at you, but that's about it. A sad and humbling experience.
Initially, I did not want to participate in community service. This may seem selfish, and initially, I did feel a bit selfish. Why should I help someone in another country, in another kibbutz, in another family, teaching a child in a language that is not my first and best? Even during the meeting, I kept looking at my watch, praying for it to end. But on the way back, I was humbled by what I did, and what I have. I was able, for a short while, to influence a kid, and a family, with a severe disability, a disability that will forever hamper his, and his family's, ability to live a normal life in this world. I was able to contribute, to participate in Tikun Olam, making the world a better place, in a very real way. I was able to take the abstract Torah that we learn on our mountaintop and put it to a very practical use.
Maybe more importantly, I appreciated, if not for a brief moment, what I have: health, mental facilites, a non-fractured family, and a relatively normal life. Dealing with a disability for an hour was difficult; I cannot imagine what it would be like to live permanently with one, either my own or my child's. This experience taught me tolerance, understanding, and a greater appreciation for what I have.
And now... I don't want to call it a prayer, though I do end in an "amen." It is more of a hope, a request, that we all come to see things in a new way, and be able to apply this to our lives. Then, actually, maybe it is a prayer. Call it what you want, here it is:
"May we all better appreciate God's gifts that he gave and continues to give to us, and may we have the understanding and compassion to deal with those who are less fortunate than us. May we all be healed physically, mentally, and spiritually, speedily in our days, amen."
We began today community service, where we assist those in our surroundings. Almost all of the work is done with children, either in schools or at homes. My kid is a six-year old boy, Ohr Bezeq, from Gesher, a nearby kibbutz. He has a learning disability, has behavioral issues, and cannot speak; his father, who he never sees, is suicidal and is in a mental hospital, while his mother was described to me by the project coordinator as "a simple woman." A tough case.
Now, I have done community service before, and I have worked with kids before, and I have worked with kids with learning disabilities before. Ohr is far and away the hardest case I've ever dealt with. For our first "meeting," we played with trains, and I wrote the digits 1-9 with a crayon over and over and over. I tried reading him a book, but he kept yanking the book away and replacing it with another. We also played on a seesaw. All he wanted to do was eat candy and cause trouble. It is so difficult to relate to a kid like this. You want to talk to him, but all he can say is "ahh" and "uhh." Sometimes he'll smile at you, but that's about it. A sad and humbling experience.
Initially, I did not want to participate in community service. This may seem selfish, and initially, I did feel a bit selfish. Why should I help someone in another country, in another kibbutz, in another family, teaching a child in a language that is not my first and best? Even during the meeting, I kept looking at my watch, praying for it to end. But on the way back, I was humbled by what I did, and what I have. I was able, for a short while, to influence a kid, and a family, with a severe disability, a disability that will forever hamper his, and his family's, ability to live a normal life in this world. I was able to contribute, to participate in Tikun Olam, making the world a better place, in a very real way. I was able to take the abstract Torah that we learn on our mountaintop and put it to a very practical use.
Maybe more importantly, I appreciated, if not for a brief moment, what I have: health, mental facilites, a non-fractured family, and a relatively normal life. Dealing with a disability for an hour was difficult; I cannot imagine what it would be like to live permanently with one, either my own or my child's. This experience taught me tolerance, understanding, and a greater appreciation for what I have.
And now... I don't want to call it a prayer, though I do end in an "amen." It is more of a hope, a request, that we all come to see things in a new way, and be able to apply this to our lives. Then, actually, maybe it is a prayer. Call it what you want, here it is:
"May we all better appreciate God's gifts that he gave and continues to give to us, and may we have the understanding and compassion to deal with those who are less fortunate than us. May we all be healed physically, mentally, and spiritually, speedily in our days, amen."
posted by Yoni Bain | 11:27 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home