Harav Dovid Schochet OBM Declined The Injection

Each morning I face my new reality again as if for the first time….a world without my father.

 So I write yet another incredible story-there are thousands.

“I decline the injection,” my father said politely to the nurse. “Not today.”

It was Shabbos morning. A few family members were gathered in my father’s room in Memorial Sloan Kettring on Manhattan’s Upper East Side. Patients understandably want to get treated close to home but it was impossible to get the care he needed in Toronto we therefore had to travel to New York. The top-notch nursing staff at MSK mirrored the incredible doctors and medical care. This particular nurse was actually our family’s favorite. She understood that the experience as a patient is humbling. The comfort and compassion that she extended to us coupled with her commitment and competence went a long way to mitigate our fear during this time of pain and uncertainty.

My father explained his refusal when she questioned his decision. “It’s Shabbat and you are Jewish. You can’t give me the shot today.” It took every bit of her professionalism to remain composed, but the nurse left the room visibly insulted and upset.

At the beginning of the week the doctor had started my father on daily heparin shots. Heparin is an anticoagulant, a blood thinner, used to help prevent harmful clots from forming in blood vessels. When the injection caused some bleeding at the injection site those around him were concerned with the blood staining his hospital gown or his skin, my father instead saw a shayla in Hilchos (laws) Shabbos. He immediately asked the doctor if it was possible for him to receive the heparin in pill form. The doctor responded that it is not absorbed well orally. My father then asked if it was vital for him to receive the heparin injection daily or if it would cause him serious harm to skip a day. The doctor admitted that although it was very important for him to get it nothing would happen if one day was missed.

My brother-in-law immediately understood exactly why my father had not allowed the Jewish nurse to give him the injection. He began offering my father a variety of kulas, leniencies from stringent halachic observance, that might be applicable in this situation which he rejected. My father with his wry humor and a twinkle in his deep blue eyes smiled and said, “After being a Rav for decades you don’t think I know all the kulas? No one calls me asking for Chumrahs (more than what the Halacha requires one to do).”

When the nurse returned a few minutes later with a solemn poker-face my father turned to her and said, “I just paid you a huge compliment but I realize that you may not have understood it.” She raised her eyebrows and turned to him questioningly. My father continued, “You and I are the same. I am not holier than you. You have the same piece of G-d that is your Jewish soul within you. If I can’t do something on Shabbat then you can’t do it for me. You are just as Jewish and holy as I am.”

A smile spread over the nurse’s face as she peered at my righteous saintly father and saw her own G-dliness reflected back at her. She straightened her shoulders, held her head up high and walked a little prouder. Beaming she left the room looking as if someone had just presented her with a most precious gift.

All of us, need to place in the forefront of our relationship with others, the Torah’s profound truth that the Rebbe exemplified: One Jew is not better than another regardless of his Torah observance. Every Jew, no matter how seemingly secular or far removed from G-d, has within him or her a spark of the Divine. All we need to do is to feed that flame and like the bush in which G-d first appeared to Moses, it will burn so strongly with the fire of faith that it will never  be consumed.