THERE WAS A TORAH IN AUSCHWITZ

Torah2_3
On Sunday, more than a hundred people stood in the aisles of their gathering place, most of them weeping.  It wasn’t a funeral, at least in the usual sense of the word, but it was an event so profoundly moving that few were left untouched.  We all stood, in our synagogue, on the final day of Passover, in the presence of a Torah that had been hidden in Auschwitz and has only now been recovered and restored.  [First though, it’s important that you know that the Torah is the central road map of Judaism – all traditions and laws, ideals and values, emerge from these five books: Genesis (B’reshit), Exodus (Sh’mot), Leviticus ( Vayyikra), Numbers (Bemidbar) and Deuteronomy (D’varim.)] It’s an amazing story and best told by our rabbi, who is responsible for bringing this moment to us. The story, in his words, appears at the bottom of this post.

Even the most spiritual person – one who easily connects to G-d, needs help sometimes.  Praying, feeling any connection at all, takes work and concentration.  But this day — this day — we were in the presence of something so remarkable that the sense of holiness was everywhere.  I know this sounds way over the top – but stay with me.  Here’s what happened:

On Sabbath (Saturday), Monday, Thursday and holidays, we always read from the Torah during services.  On Regular Sabbaths and weekdays we make our way through the five books; on holidays we re-read selected excerpts that relate to that particular festival.  On this day, closing Passover, we read the prescribed passages, and then, a dear, gentle member of our congregation who is himself a Holocaust survivor took this special Torah, which contained four panels that had been hidden in Auschwitz and began to walk slowly up one aisle and down the other so that everyone who wished to could reach it.  As he walked, another congregant – with an exquisite and soulful voice, sang  Ani Mamin, the prayer that, witnesses told his family, his own great-grandfather (as had so many other Shoah victims) sang as he marched to his death at the hands of the Nazis.  Orthodox services include no musical instruments, just voices, so only this sole, mournful chant swept our friend along as he made his way through the synagogue. 

There was no other sound in the room.  Silently, each of us moved to the aisle to touch this sacred representation of so much pain and so much faith.  Silently, we watched as it passed and made its way to the stand where it would rest as it was unrolled, and read.  As its cover was being removed, our rabbi urged us all to "move closer" – leave our seats and, from each side of the mechitza (room divider), gather near.  He was right.  Imagine looking at, seeing before you, a Torah panel that had been smuggled into Auschwitz and hidden there as long as it was a death camp.  It’s such a feeling of reverence, sadness, mourning and privilege that you need to imagine it for yourself; it’s not possible to describe.  I will tell you ,though, that almost everyone was either teary-eyed or weeping openly.  And so it went as the Torah was read, wrapped, silently marched through the congregation one more time and placed in the Ark until it could be returned to those who gave us the privilege of being in its presence.

This all sounds VERY melodramatic, I know. I myself had often argued that our identity as Jews can’t be built upon the suffering of those murdered six million – that we must feel our faith as a positive force, not only as a continuation that honors their suffering.  But not this day.  This day we all shared a connection with those who died, many who must have been our ancestors, whose grandchildren would have been at our weddings and bar mitzvahs, who really did belong to us – and who read from the thousands of Torahs that, unlike this one, did not survive the pillage and flames.  Every time the Torah is returned to the Ark, the congregation sings a song about it that ends:

It
is a tree of life to those who hold it fast and all who cling to it find
happiness.  Its ways are ways of pleasantness, and all its paths are
peace.

This day – we all heard these words in such a different way, understanding what these few pages must have meant to those who had hidden them for so long.

I can’t tell, if you weren’t there – if it’s possible to understand the experience — at least at the hands of my limited skills as a writer.  But I wanted you to know about it — that it’s possible still to find such a moment of clarity and understanding.  That even someone like me, so reluctant to place meaning in things — even articles representing faith like prayer books or even Torahs, can be shaken to the bone in the presence of something that bears witness both to the pain of our ancestors and, so powerfully, to the power of the faith we share with them.

Here’s our Rabbi’s story of the history of this Torah (I’ve included links to clarify a couple words):

The Torah is a Tree of Life The Last Day of Pesach, 5768 
Shmuel Herzfeld, Ohev Sholom, the National Synagogue, Washington DC
 
This past Sunday, as we prepared to recite Yizkor*, we first gave honor to a
special Torah that was visiting with our congregation.
 
Here is the story of the Torah and how we came to have it with us on this
one occasion.
 
Two days before Pesach I stopped in the Silver Spring Jewish Book Store to
buy some gifts for Pesach, when I saw this Torah which said on the mantle,
“Rescued from Auschwitz.” 
 
The owner of the store is a sofer and a rabbi and a very good friend by the
name of Menachem Youlis.  Rabbi Youlis told me that the Torah was being given to
the Central Synagogue in New York City on Wednesday April 30.  The Torah was
being donated to them by Alice and David Rubenstein and had been lovingly
restored by Rabbi Youlis through his Save a Torah Foundation.
 
I was overwhelmed by being in the presence of this Torah.  I couldn’t stop
thinking about it.  Here was living proof that our Torah is eternal.  The Nazis
tried to destroy us physically but they could not destroy the Torah.
 
The next week I mentioned the beauty of this Torah to my friends, Secretary
William Cohen and his wife Janet Langhart Cohen
and they graciously offered to
ask David Rubenstein to lend us the Torah so that we could read it in our shul
before it went to New York.  David Rubenstein generously agreed.
 
And so we had the honor of reading from the Torah in our synagogue on the
last day of Pesach.
 
Before Yizkor I told the congregation the story of this Torah.
 
The Torah was recently found in the city of Oswiecim which is where the
death camp of Auschwitz was located.
 
I had learned about this city and its Jewish life from my rebbe, Rabbi Avi
Weiss.  He knew this town well because his father lived there till he was 16. 
It is likely that Rabbi Weiss’ father had actually heard this Torah being
read.
 
There was a tradition amongst the survivors of Oswiecim that two days
before the Nazis came to burn down the synagogue of Oswiecim the Torahs of the
synagogue were taken and buried in separate metal boxes in the Jewish cemetery. 
The Nazis took a perverse pleasure in destroying Sifrei Torah in terrible ways
that purposefully desecrated the Torah.
 
Many had tried to find these Torahs and indeed, the spot where the
synagogue stood was excavated but no Sifrei Torah were ever found.
 
So Rabbi Menachem Youlis thought that perhaps the tradition told over the
years was correct.  Maybe there really was a Torah buried in the cemetery. 
 
He traveled to Oswiecim to check the cemetery but he did not find even one
Torah.
 
When he returned home he was despondent.  But then his son told him, “Maybe
the cemetery was bigger back then…”  Lo and behold the original cemetery was
built over and today it is just twenty-five percent of the size that it once
was.
 
So Rabbi Youlis took his metal detector and started searching the original
cemetery by looking under the homes where the cemetery originally was.
 
Lo and behold, he found a metal box.  He opened up the metal box and found
a Torah scroll. 
 
There was only one problem…the Torah scroll was missing four panels. 
Without these four panels, the Torah scroll could not be kosher….  Where could
these panels be?
 
He took out an ad in the local paper and asked if anyone had panels of a
Torah from before the war.
 
The next day he received a call from a Priest who said he had four panels. 
 
The panels were an exact match in pagination, style and content.  Obviously
they were originally from the Torah he had found buried in the cemetery.
 
Rabbi Youlis learned that the Priest was born a Jew—named Zeev—and was sent
to Auschwitz.  Before the Torah had been buried in the Oswiecim cemetery these
four panels had been removed and smuggled through Auscwitz by four different
people.
 
As each person who had a panel was about to die they passed along the
panels.  Eventually the four panels made it into the hands of Zeev who guarded
them as a Priest for over 60 years.
 
Rabbi Youlis lovingly restored the Torah and made it kosher once again.  He
added these four panels to the entire Torah.  The four panels were all selected
for a good reason:
 
The first panel contained the Ten Commandments from the book of Exodus. 
The Ten Commandments contain with it the word Zachor—the obligation to always
remember.
 
The second panel spoke about the curses that will befall the Jewish people
on the day the God hides His face from us.  These curses came true during the
dark days of the Holocaust.  But we know that since these curses came true, the
blessings that Hashem promises us will also come true.
 
The third panel contained the section from Parshat Pinchas that spoke about
korbanot—sacrifices, burnt offerings—that were offered to God. 
 
The last panel contained the Shema from Deuteronomy.  In that same panel
was also found the Ten Commandments from Deuteronomy.
 
The Ten Commandments from Exodus say, Zakhor et hashabbat, remember
the Shabbat. 
 
Explain the rabbis, Zakhor ve-shamor bedibbur echad neemru, at the
same time that remember was said, so was the word
shamor, to guard.
 
At the same time that we have an obligation to remember the past we also
have an obligation to guard the memory of the
korbanot of the shoah—the
victims of the Holocaust.
 
When Rabbi Youlis looked at this Torah he noticed that the word
shamor (in Deuteronomy) was missing the letter, vav.  The Torah
had been originally written without this letter included in it.  The
vav,
has a numerical value of 6, but it also represents the six million.  Rabbi
Youlis added the
vav to the Torah and thereby made it kosher.  By adding
the
vav to this Torah he also symbolically made an eternal memorial to
the memory of all those who perished from the town of Oswiecim and in
Auschwitz.
 
Now that the Torah is kosher it will be guarded and watched by the Central
Synagogue, where it will be read from every Yom Kippur.  And every other year it
will be taken by 10,000 students as they march through Auschwitz on March of the
Living.  And every time it is used the six million will be guarded (shamor) and
remembered (zachor). 
 
*That’s a memorial prayer for loved ones recited on several holidays each year.

SHABBAT IN JERUSALEM – HATS – AND SHABBAT SHALOM

Ruthie_and_naomi_tightThese two lovelies, Ruthie (R) and Naomi (L), run a wonderful hat shop on King George St. in Jerusalem (#14  if you want to stop by…)  I met them last year and loved both the hats (if you live an observant life you wear a hat to services and many women wear them all or almost all the time) and the two of them.  A women-owned, sister-run company, their shop is my favorite – partly because Ruthie works on the hats right there in front of us – but also because they are such a great story. 

What better day than Shabbat to think about two wonderful women making us happy to wear our hats to shul?  I took two friends with me when I went there this time and among us I think we bought five hats!  Here’s mine:

Le_hat
A little stardust never hurt anyone, right?  I really love it and am now going to have to demonstrate enormous discipline by waiting until spring to wear it.  Let’s hear it for the girls, right?  And Shabbat Shalom. 

NOTE: this post was created Thursday night and set to be posted on Saturday morning.  NO WORK on it was done on Shabbat.

JUST A WORD OR TWO FROM SAN FRANCISCO

It’s almost Shabbos and I have to be quick – I’ll write more tomorrow.  This city is so remarkable in its diversity of people, ideas and lifestyles.  Our kids thrive in the variety and we’re enjoying seeing them in their element.  We got back so late though that that’s all I can write for now.  More after Shabbos – tomorrow’s post, like this one, will go up automatically on a timer.

JERUSALEM DIARY 2.0: DAY TWELVE TEL AVIV DAY TWO

Tav_breakfast_cafe_4
Breakfast in our little cafe surrounded by locals with dogs and newspapers.  This is a wonderful neighborhood – the kind people move into until those who created it have to go someplace else because it’s become too expensive.  You can see it happening all around us.  But it’s fun for now and the Mediterranean is literally five or six blocks away. 

On our way out we passed this noodle stand  — I guess these people want fresh ones for Shabbat soupNoodles_for_shabbat_vertical

Recruiting_organ_donorsThese kids in the Carmel Market are canvassing to get people to sign up as organ donors.  In Israel it is still difficult to convince people to participate because of Halachic rules about burial.  Much has been done to change the rules, but the squeamishness has not abated.  They were charming kids, and very committed to this issue –  and they had quite a stack of cards of new registrants to the organ bank here.

It’s almost Shabbat so my post for tomorrow is written and ready; this is the last one from here.  I’m hoping we can go tonight to the beach for the drums that welcome Shabbat then to our friends for Shabbat dinner.

JERUSALEM DIARY 2.0 – DAY FOUR – THE SOTAH AND MEA SHEARIM

2_mea_sharimThursday morning I sent myself an email that said this:  We are just leaving Mea Shearim, the ultra-Orthodox neighborhood and I am so freaked out. Maybe the SOTAH story had more impact than I realized.   I told my husband that I was close to tears, that my chest was tight and I was someplace between scared and angry and he said – "You mean you felt like the Sotah, huh?"  Well. 

She does haunt me.  Even now, when I have learned so much that mitigates the horrors of her treatment, I can see her, standing there, as they pull off her hair covering and stand her before God (and the priests), forced to drink the waters full of dirt and ashes.  And what does that have to do with Mea Shearim?  I’m the intruder there; the very Orthodox residents who choose to remain largely on the outskirts of the rest of the world and  live a highly structured and mostly literal interpretation of every law and passage in the Torah – didn’t invite me to go wandering around looking at them while my husband bought a new Tallit (prayer shawl.)  Even so, for some reason every time I go there I get so sad.

At_the_bus_stop_mea_sharim_3My husband once accused me of "overidentification with the oppressed."  Maybe that’s it.  The men are so clearly the ones with the power here, walking by in 2’s and 3’s while harried mothers and kids run errands and see to 3 or 4 children under 5.  I have no right to consider them opressed.  Or unhappy. Or anything else.  What happens is that I imagine myself – stubborn, curious, eager to see and know everything – growing up here and wonder what would have become of me.  Maybe I would have had a peaceful and loving life, but my projections won’t let me think about that.  I just struggle with the stories I write in my mind about these families (these women) and their lives.

I have always loved The Chosen, and I have great respect for Chassidic Jews, for the most part.  But there is something about this infinitely old, infinitely tired part of Jerusalem that just breaks my heart.  As I write this, I suddenly wonder if perhaps it has more to do with me and my issues — that their lives are their own and I’m not sure that’s true of mine.

I’m writing this Thursday night in case I can’t finish it before Shabbat tomorrow — so Shabbat Shalom.

WELCOME TO NABLOPOMO! HOW I SOLVED THE SABBATH PROBLEM

Sabbath_candles_2This is a very exciting undertaking – a blog post a day for thirty days!  A little scary, but exciting.  For me though, it offered an extra challenge, one that forced me to drop out last year.  I can’t work on the Sabbath.  Every Saturday I observe Orthodox rules about the kindling of light, whether it be a spark plug in a car, a doorbell or a reading lamp.  God told us to rest, and every Sabbath we pray the He be "please with our rest."  It’s a pretty big thing.  And it’s lovely; beginning with the lighting of Sabbath candles on Friday night and then a festive dinner.  I’ve come to love the peace of it even though before we began our observant life I thought it was nuts.  It was a great lesson in not prejudging.  Ever.

So of course, there was no way that I could post on Saturdays.  I can’t use the computer.  Fortunately, technology solved the problem.  I figured out that if it’s ok to use timers for the dining room lights (it is) then I could set a timer for my post.  I’m writing each Saturday post in advance and setting it to be posted on Saturday morning.  And I’ll be in Israel for almost half the month so this will also be a great diar.  I’m looking forward to this.

SUKKOT, HOLIDAYS, IS GOD AROUND HERE SOMEPLACE?, ENOUGH IS ENOUGH

Sukkah
This is a Sukkah.  More on that in a minute.

My mother always used to tell me that it was better leave a party before you wanted to.  "Leave while it’s still fun" she would say, "and you’ll have loved every minute you were there."  I always thought that was a rationalization for wanting me home at a decent hour, but I think, as in many things, she was right.  We are now awaiting the last three days of what will be, in September and this week of October, ELEVEN days of limited activity and expected entertaining.  OH – and religious services, of course:  Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur and the first and then final days of Sukkot.  All of which fell on Thursday and Friday.  Leading into Saturday.  Which is the Sabbath.  SO.  No TV.  No phones.  No computers.  No e-mail even. No cooking for many of those days and ONLY for the day in question the rest of those days. 

Remember, these are very holy days, too.  You have to be sure to keep that in your mind; go to services and try to connect.  Our services are very uplifting and moving; we’re there all day and there’s lots of singing  and shared emotion.  You really know you’ve been praying and it’s a time when it’s easier to connect with one’s faith (at least for me.)

It also means, however,  that on Rosh Hashanah (the New Year) there was dinner Wednesday night, Thursday night and Friday night and lunch on Thursday, Friday and Saturday.  On Yom Kippur, a fast day, there was just preparation of a meal the night before.  That’s 7 meals.  We got through this fine – hosting three meals; and going to others for the other four.  It was a lot of cooking and enormous anxiety but it all was in the service of sharing and honoring these remarkable holidays with those we care about; our older son and his girl friend were even there for part of it; all worked out well. 

So where’s the BUT?  You know there’s one coming.  Well, five days later we hit Sukkot — the holiday where you have to eat outside in a "booth" (you can see the commandment here and an explanation at the bottom of this post)– to commemorate the Jewish people’s time living in booths in the desert during the Exodus.   That’s ours in the photo (undecorated because I can’t take photos on the holidays when it IS all set up.)   Again, two meals for two days at the beginning running into the Sabbath and two more at the end next week running into ANOTHER Sabbath.  AND you have people over the in the days in between too, at least a little bit. 

Most people I think are exhausted – hardly any have issued meal invitations although I hosted one lunch last Friday and we went to another family for dinner.  That still left three of the five uninvited.  That’s as stressful as cooking for the ones we host.  Where were we going – who was going where we weren’t?  Why did it matter?  What about praying – why is this temporal stuff  on our minds at all? 

I have to admit it bothers me a little; others I know are supremely troubled by it. I feel like such a whiny little brat.  Here we are just celebrating our
third year as active participants in this life and almost into our
third living in this community – having gained and learned so much –
and I’m complaining.  It’s so not what faith is supposed to be about but it’s still a real issue – especially when you haven’t been doing this long.

This is the first year we’ve really hosted people in our Sukkah and so we wanted all to be just right; mostly we have done great except for those invitation gaps.  I’m disappointed about that.  And I’m ashamed of us for caring at all.  These holidays are supposed to bring us closer to God but after seven days with three more coming all I feel close to is exhaustion.  I’ve spoken to many friends about this; the women, upon whom the cooking seems to fall, are more pissed but the guys are also tired.  Everyone is a little cranky. (My husband suggests that he is both tired AND cranky and the one doing most of the "taking inventory.") That’s probably true but it’s contagious!

Worst of all, it’s so anticlimactic.  I wish you could have been with us on Yom Kippur.  This holy day, which I had always experienced as solemn and sad, is, in our synagogue, a day of happiness.  We are there because of the gift of repentance, we are participating in a service that is thousands of years old, the music is just extraordinary and the ritual moving and humbling.  The young doctor who leads our service is profoundly spiritual and an amazing musician – here’s a sample of my favorite.

;   I call him the Bruce Springsteen of prayer because of the energy and depth he offers us, and we leave uplifted and inspired. 

So maybe the rapid slide into STILL MORE holiday after something so profound robs us of the full celebration of our Yom Kippur prayers – cutting off our feelings from that day but, as I write this, perhaps reminding us that one day’s repentance isn’t going to carry us through the year – or even the week – and that we must continue to try to find ways to follow our faith each moment, not just revel in past moments of spiritual ascendance.  And I guess each emotion is a brick in the road to where ever we’re bound – this though is certainly not one I’m proud of.

***One rabbi explains:
THE SUKKA reminds us of Israel’s honeymoon with God in the hostile desert (of
cruel history– there must be more shade than sun in the sukka), and of Divine
clouds hovering over them (= eventual redemption; stars must be visible thru
the sukka roof– Rav Riskin); God’s protection against forces of evil, when the
Jews seem most vulnerable (e.g. 1948, 1991 and Purim), climaxes in the pre-
Messianic battles of our Haftarot. Then God will raise up David’s fallen
"sukka"– the 3rd Temple, preceded by the rediscovered tabernacle. Discomfort,
e.g. rain, exempts one from Sukka– but those truly great stay, experiencing
no discomfort when surrounded by God’s glory (The Berditchever). The sukka is
a symbol of peace, for it is open— to the elements of nature, to the heavens
above and, foremost, to guests, far and near (Rav Avigdor Hacohen). As we
invite guests to our sukka, not only do we do a good deed of kindness and
spread holiday cheer, but we also imitate God Himself, the Ultimate Model Host,
Who constantly feeds, clothes and houses all His creatures; we thus develop our
own Divine Image.
 

THE END OF MATZO MANIA – FOR NOW

HaggadahWell it’s finally over. All that’s left now is to move all the Passover stuff (dishes, pots, flat ware, utensils, pot holders, dish towels, condiments, coffee pot, etc) down to the basement and reinstitute the usual kitchen — including replacing a pantry full of cereal, rice, Tasty Bites instant Indian food, cous cous, brownie mixes, pasta sauce, olives, capers, and all the rest.)

DishesIt’s a real pain in the neck. I started this post Tuesday night and should have taken photos but suffice it to say we stopped and started and it’s now 7AM Thursday and everything is back where it was. I’m kind of embarassed by how hostile this long long holiday has made me. In the time from the Monday night it started until Wednesday evening of the next week, we spent five days living “Sabbath rules” — no driving, no cooking, no turning lights on /off, no shopping etc. In addition to all the stuff we weren’t allowed to eat (Passover rules forbid anything that isn’t “kosher for Passover” — nothing that has been leavened (bread, cereal, pasta etc). plus lots of other products without Kosher for Passover lables) we used different dishes, pots, utensils, napkins, dish towels etc etc etc. (Those were some of what I had to store at the close of the holiday.)

I used to really love Passover and very early on some of our Orthodox friends (women) warned me that it was so much work I might never feel the same way about it despite the magnificent religious and political messages of freedom and justice it contains.

It’s the enormous amout of work that changes things. For some reason it really set me off – I’ve been pissed for days, even though, unlike our friends, I didn’t do any entertaining to speak of. Since this was the first year we’ve observed the holiday in this way, we only bought a few “Pesach” articles; figured next year we’d do it up right. One of my friends told me I might have been less upset if I’d just invited people and used paper plates…. that not entertaining for some of the TEN!! “festive meals” – (Sabbath eve and lunch — as well as two seders, two other dinners on the last two days and four lunches i addition to Shabbat) — just made me feel more anxious. We did enjoy each of the meals to which we were invited, and were grateful to be asked, but who knows?

Anyway it’s over now until next year; I have some time to get used to yet another set of obligations. Some days it seems that there are so many and I’m nowhere near all the way there yet…. They say this religion is a journey not a destination. Last week was one where I really felt I still have a long way to go!

OH THOSE CANDLES

Candles One of the great gifts of an observant Jewish life is the lighting of Sabbath candles.  At a prescribed time each Friday, 18 minutes before sundown, it is the obligation of the Jewish woman to light candles as a symbolic acceptance of the Sabbath upon herself.  The prayer is said AFTER you light the candles because once they’re lit, the Sabbath rules – ignite no fire, do no work etc. preclude the lighting of a match.

Here’s how it works: you light the candles, move your hands above the candles three times to bring their warmth toward you, then cover your eyes and say a simple blessing.  It’s in Hebrew, but it means “Blessed are You, Lord, our God, King of the Universe, who sanctifies us with his commandments, and enjoins us to light the candles of Shabbat.”  Yes,the words of the prayer are plain; women say them in every corner of the earth – educated or not, every week and have been doing so for thousands of years.  Many of us add prayers of our own, for those we love, for peace, for the lifting of burdens, for a better world.

I always take a very deep breath — the kind they taught us when I was quitting smoking — and exhale very slowly, releasing a lot of the stress of the week before I begin.  One of my friends told me that when she was in medical school and having babies at the same time, she’d weep, every week, as she felt the burdens fall from her in the glow of the flame.

Makes sense to me.  Something about this ritual is transporting.  I also love the idea that this is a woman’s privilege.  Much has been written about what observant Jewish women are NOT permitted to do – and much of it is true.  That’s another conversation.  But the impact of this particular duty is profound, beautiful and serene and I am grateful for it.  So, as we move toward the close of this day and toward what I have found to be the true peace of the sabbath – I send to you, whatever your faith – a peaceful wish — Shabbat Shalom.

MY BAD

Nablopomo_yoda_120x90 All you NABLOPOMO visitors — my deepest apologies.  I blithely signed up for NABLOPOMO and promptly ended up in the hospital for two days (just a scare – I’m fine) which right away made me fail my pledge.  But I also forgot – or didn’t think about — the fact that I can’t use a computer on Shabbat.  Saturdays are no writing, no typing, no computers, TV, radio, telephone days (I know, it sounds weird if you’re not into it and before I started doing it I thought it totally bizarre.  It turns out to be a real pleasure – but I digress.)  Anyway I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to bait and switch.  I just didn’t think.

Oh – and I promise to post AT LEAST 30 posts this month -just not on Saturdays. — And to stay out of the hospital — at least this month.