“Help me.” Those are the words that stung me today.
"Help me." And so I did. I walked her to the sanctuary so that she can sit with her community, get some lunch, and feel nourished by both. At least, I hope that is what happened.
In the time it took me to walk her to a seat, she told me the following:
- She is 94 years old.
- She is a survivor of the Holocaust and came to LA in 1957.
- She was a manicurist and facialist.
- She asked me to open her medicine because her hands can no longer open those child proof caps. I then poured the medicine into the spoon and fed it to her.
- A 94 year old woman yelling “Help me.”
- A 94 year old woman with enough strength (or whatever you call it) to get in a cab to come to a place of worship.
- A 94 year old woman alone.
- People asked me if I needed help helping her.
- She said she didn’t want to live like this.
- She wanted to cry and I comforted her so that she wouldn’t.
I am overwhelmed by this experience. Will I do something? Yes, I will speak to someone at my synagogue because I know that she is not the only one. And if I never see her again, I know that I helped her today.