Our Jewish brothers and sisters tell the story of a very devout Talmud
scholar known as the Chazon Ish, who died in Palestine in 1953. This
man, greatly revered and loved by his people, was bedridden at the end
of his life, but continued to study and teach from his bed.
One
day, a married couple and their child, who had Down Syndrome, came to
the beloved scholar's bedside for a blessing. The students present in
the sick man's room were surprised to see their teacher struggle to his
feet to give the little family his blessing.
After the visitors
left, the students asked the scholar if he had gotten to his feet to
honor the parents, who obviously were having to put forth heroic effort
in raising a child with disabilities.
The Chazon Ish told them no — he had stood to honor the child.
In
Judaism, people with disabilities are sometimes referred to as
tzadikim. In the Jewish tradition, a tzadik is a special soul whose
purpose on Earth is to inspire and bring about good in the lives of
others.
My heart says “yes” to this teaching.
Our loving Father
has given our family our very own little tzadik. I’ve told you before
about Benjamin, my beloved little sister Marie's youngest son, who’s
almost five now. This curious, happy little boy, who loves music and is
wild about horses, was born with Down Syndrome.
Ben is one of my favorite people on this earth.
Everybody
who has the privilege of knowing Ben knows he is a special soul. When
he looks at you with his twinkly brown eyes and crosses his hands over
his heart in the sign for "I love you," you feel like you've been
blessed. When he climbs up in your lap and gives you a hug and pats
your cheeks with his chubby little hands, you feel like you've been
brushed by angel wings.
Ben has changed all of us, from his
unbelievably patient and unselfish mama and daddy, Marie and Steve, to
his two big brothers, to his aunts and uncles and cousins and
grandparents and friends. He's helped make us better people. We've
learned important lessons from this valiant little soul who loves life
and loves us, as he struggles every day to overcome physical and
cognitive challenges that would overwhelm most of us.
My frail
mother, chronically ill with lung disease and on oxygen, has recently
moved in with Marie's family. Her bedroom is next-door to Ben's. Every
morning, he climbs out of his bed that he shares with 11 toy horses,
runs into his grandmother's room in his footie pajamas, and climbs up
into bed with her. He gives her a big hug and snuggles with her for a
few minutes before he goes downstairs for his oatmeal. He’s trying to
learn to say “Mom-Mom,” which is what her other grandchildren call her,
but right now, he just calls her “Bob-Bob,” which makes her smile.
The love — and the courage — of this little grandson are deep blessings to my mother as she struggles with her own challenges.
Because
she was nearing 40 when she was carrying Ben, Marie’s obstetrician
urged her to have the prenatal testing that can identify some genetic
abnormalities. When the tests showed that her baby had Down syndrome,
the doctor who explained the test results to my shocked sister and
brother-in-law, assumed they would want to abort their baby. That was
not an option for them.
Right now in the United States, there's an
estimated 85 to 90 percent abortion rate among cases of prenatally
diagnosed Down Syndrome.
In the Detroit News, Dec. 3, 2005, Rabbi
Aaron Bergman writes: "In Jewish tradition, there is a blessing we say
when we see people who have different physical and intellectual
abilities. It reminds us that God created each person for a reason and
that every person has something to contribute if we only take the time
to develop that person's abilities and give them a life of dignity and
purpose."
We have much to learn from Bergman here: "A society must
be judged by how it treats its most vulnerable populations," the rabbi
writes. "The future of the individuals with disabilities and their
families is at risk. More important, our souls are at stake."
I
think I’m a better person for knowing and being loved by Ben. We’re
being blessed by him. We’re learning from him. We’re grateful for him.
I'm sorry for people who haven't had the opportunity to be brushed by the warm wings of a bright soul like his.
I’m
saddened for parents who, being offered a little tzadik, are not able
to recognize their child as a good and precious gift from the loving
hand of the Father of Lights.
(By Celia DeWoody
Published in the Harrison (Ark.) Daily Times Jan. 22, 2007
Copyright CPI, Inc.)
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