"Though sad at heart, sing joyfully." – Elif Shafak

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“Can we take a shower together?” my husband asks. “I need help to wash my hair and scrub my body.” 

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“Sure,” I respond, compassion filling my heart. Since he was diagnosed with Parkinson’s four years ago, he has been slowly losing his capacity to do the everyday tasks he once took for granted. Dressing, cooking, eating, walking, and washing all now require a tremendous effort.

My husband and I used to shower together regularly, enjoying the intimacy of being together while we each cared for our own body. With his diagnosis, we stopped. Though being there together again is nourishing, it also evokes sorrow and grief. Each person’s Parkinson’s progression is unique, and I often don’t know what the next moment is going to bring. My husband’s body is often filled with pain, his movements slow and staggered. Sometimes, it’s as if he is frozen and cannot move at all, his next step or reach or lift demanding his focused attention.

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When I step into the shower, he is already there, the water on. I maneuver under the spray for a dousing, then turn to him. After lathering the shampoo into his hair and scalp, I soak a cloth with water and lay it gently over his face. Slowly I make soft circles around his forehead, cheeks, and mouth. I love doing this for myself when I shower alone.

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“Don’t forget my nose,” he nudges. 

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After scrubbing the rest of his body, I scratch his head, which makes him purr. A half hour later, having helped him dry off and dress, I return to shower for myself. As I douse my hair under the spout, a familiar impulse arises. This time the song is “Eli, Eli.”

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Eli, Eli

She-lo yigamer le-olam

Hakhol ve-ha-yam

Rishrush shel ha-mayim

Berak ha-shamayim

Tfilat ha-adam

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Oh God, my God,

I pray that these things never end —

the sand and the sea

the rush of the waters

the crash of the heavens

the prayer of the heart

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I first learned to sing in Hebrew at the Jewish elementary school I attended from kindergarten to sixth grade. In Mr. Vineberg’s music class every season and holiday on the Jewish calendar was celebrated with song. For five decades I have been singing the familiar tunes: in synagogue and at summer camp and, in my exploratory twenties and thirties, in sweat lodges and women’s circles. Then, a few years ago, I started to improvise new melodies.

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Focusing on the feeling of lightness, I let my soul make its unique sounds. As I stand under the shower in my helplessness and grief, the words of “Eli, Eli” transport me to the natural world where I feel inspired and content. Although I may not be able to interrupt the slow erosion of my husband’s dexterity and autonomy, nor to erase his frustration or my fears, I can call out to a divine presence in the sea and the sand and waves that crash at the beach a short walk from my home. I can ask for help to be patient and find solace.

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As the song comes out of me, my heart feels less afraid, more alive.

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I sing to honor his vulnerability and encourage my own surrender. 

I sing to soften the raw reality of his illness. 

I sing to release the grief, both current and anticipated.

I sing to celebrate the intimacy of caring for my beloved husband of 23 years. 

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As we walk this path I never imagined would be ours, this song I know so well brings courage and pleasure into this difficult moment. Singing like this, I am hugging myself, tending myself.  

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Sometimes the old tunes are what help shift me from sadness into joy. They connect me to my childhood and offer a continuity with myself and my community that nourishes me deeply. Other times, it’s the new tunes that soften the loneliness, uncertainty, terror. Like a meditation, they return me to the present moment when I feel stuck in a head full of worry and fear. My throat opens, my belly engages, my heart expands. As if my lungs are smiling, even laughing. 

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At The Well uplifts many approaches to Jewish practice. Our community draws on ancient Jewish wisdom, sometimes adapting longstanding practices to more deeply support the well-being of women and nonbinary people. See this article’s sources below. We believe Torah (sacred teachings) are always unfolding to help answer the needs of the present moment.

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Sources

Eli, Eli, performed by Sophie Milman

Chants & Practices, Rabbi Shefa Gold

Music Albums (Hebrew Song), David Zeller

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