In a time when there is no open Divine Revelation, there are whispers of it that can be heard here and there. And we are told prophecy occurs now in our age through the babble of children and mentally impaired persons.
My father is on a ventilator. I can’t begin to describe the pain and mistakes along the way. In fact he has two holes, one where the trach tube is placed and one that the person doing the surgery erroneously made in the wrong place. I’m wiped emotionally and teetering in that vast expanse of spiritual searching.
My curly-topped nephew happened to be near me today. He is a year and change in age, at that stage of beginning communication and at that place where he observes and mimics. He pulled a little book off the shelf, opened it, then handed it to me and said, “daven” [Yiddish term for pray]. I blinked. He stared me down, willing me to defy him. And so I took book in hand and I prayed, my friends. He kept staring at me, making sure I was crunching up my forehead in concentration as does his mother, making sure I was looking in the book and swaying, making sure his order of “pray” was being heeded.
Now, I don’t have to tell you that this little, not yet two, moppet had no inkling of the angst inside or of the logistics of “Zaidy’s” health. But G-d willed him to share the message, pray.
And tonight, I stumbled upon this beautiful song:
Small kindness in every step of pain, messages of hope sent from Above. I think I will heed my nephew’s directive directed by G-d.