blogs/brentspodek

Over the course of the Days of Awe, different members of our community taught us about people in their lives who embody certain middot, or character traits. As part of our communal study of Musar, or character development, we are focusing on patience, or סבלנות this month. These are the words that BHA member Dan Fisherman shared about his father, Karl.

-- Rabbi Brent Spodek

It would seem that our fundamental understanding of patience is intimately tied up with time.  When we patiently wait for young children to finish tying their shoes, we accept that they may not get the job done as quickly as we would like.  Or when we patiently wait for the late Metro North train, we keep ourselves from getting all riled up about the poor service and high cost of a train ride to NYC.  Even when we fail to be patient with others, as Brent just described, it is because we have given up on waiting for their actions to meet our expectations or desires.  Indeed, it would seem that at a basic level patience is about waiting - waiting for time to pass, so that we may get to some better or desired place.

What, then, might we say of patience when time is endless – when we have acknowledged or accepted that we may, or likely will, wait forever.  Can we be patient in such a situation?  That is, does it make sense to speak of patience when we expect that what we desire is out of reach?  Perhaps patience does not apply in here – that, in these cases, there is only a grudging resignation, or at best, an acceptance.

Here is where I think of my dad, Karl Fisherman.  By most measures, my dad has lived a fulfilling, if not outwardly extraordinary, life.   He has a masters degree in psychology and left Columbia after almost finishing his doctorate.  He spent more than 30 years as a psychologist for the NYC Board of Education, raised a family, patiently endured the tumultuous early years of his marriage to reach a place where he could say that he was happily married for 46 years.  And he has spent the past 25 years traveling the world, most recently in Iran, Oman, and Azerbajian.

As you might imagine, though, he has started to feel the effects of his age.  While he still lives on his own, still shops on his own, drives, and completely manages his own affairs – all, I think, non-trivial accomplishments for an 87-year-old - his mind has started to out-run his body.  He is only tenuously mobile, has no sensation in most of his fingers, and has a number of other fairly significant physical ailments, all of which have caused a general slowing down of his life.  Indeed, he spends a significant portion of his morning simply getting ready for the day, from showering to dressing to eating breakfast.  And a recently broken arm left him feeling, paradoxically, unwilling to put forth the effort to evacuate his home before hurricane Irma (he ended up being fine).

It used to be the case that my dad would talk of working toward improved mobility and seeking medical help to restore sensation in his fingers - that is, of waiting to get to a better physical place.  But that’s no longer part of his dialog with each me.  He’s lost that expectation and, even, hope.  Rather than complain of his situation, though, he has taken to joking and laughing about it.  “I’m taking advantage of the free ride,” he declares as an attendant wheels him toward me when he arrives at Stewart airport.  “Laceless sneakers – best invention ever,” he says as he slips on his shoes.  We laugh about it, and I’ve taken to joking with him about all the workarounds he has created to navigate his daily routine – like using pliers to pull up his jacket zipper.

It seems then, that my dad has accepted his situation.  For unlike my grandmother, who complained regularly about her infirmities as she aged, my dad is not grudgingly resigned to forever being physically constrained.  But I would also venture that my father has more than just accepted his situation.  He is being patient with life – understanding, and even appreciative of, the nature of old age, and raring to keep going despite permanent and expanding physical limitations.  It is his constant laughter in the face of waiting to get things done that expresses this appreciation.  It is what I would call a “forever-patience,” an attitude of appreciation for a situation that he can’t wait out.  Such an attitude is essentially an act of existential gratitude, some combination of that “wow” and “thank you” of the Amidah, and an acknowledgement of the personal meaning afforded by one’s being. 

Patience, when there is the expectation of change may be a form of “waiting it out.”  But patience without such expectation requires an appreciation of the waiting itself.