Full Circle
Every Thursday morning, a few volunteers gather around carts filled with coffee, café hafuch, popcorn, waffles on a stick, slushies, and other treats. Together, we wheel them into the center of Hadassah’s rehabilitation hospital, where, before long, people begin to gather.
A patient carefully makes their way over with a walker. Another arrives in a wheelchair. A nurse grabs a quick coffee between patients. A worried daughter, after hours at her father’s bedside, accepts a waffle with a grateful smile. A therapist pauses for just a moment before returning to the next patient.
For a few precious moments, the hallway feels a little less like a hospital.
It feels a little more like life.
If there is one clear favorite at our volunteer station, it’s the café hafuch. It has become our unofficial “best seller.” Time and again, it’s the first request we hear, followed closely by popcorn, waffles, and slushies. It’s amazing how something so simple can bring such genuine joy.
As an olah chadashah, volunteering at Hadassah’s rehabilitation hospital has become one of the highlights of my week. What began as an opportunity to give back has become one of the greatest gifts I have received.
Every week, I hear the same heartfelt words.
“You’ve made my day.”
“Thank you so much.”
“You have no idea what this means to us.”
And one blessing I hear over and over again is, “Tizku l’mitzvot.” May you merit many more mitzvot.
The blessings, the smiles, and the genuine gratitude never cease to amaze me.
The funny thing is, I leave feeling exactly the same way about them.
Watching patients slowly make their way toward our volunteer station often takes me back many years—to a rehabilitation hospital in Toronto.
After my accident, I spent a year and a half in rehabilitation. I entered in a wheelchair. I left with a cane.
I still remember taking my first step.
It sounds so simple—one step.
Yet after my accident, it became one of the hardest things I had ever done. I remember wondering how something I had learned as a one-year-old had suddenly become so difficult at forty-five. Every step demanded determination, trust, and more energy than I thought I possessed. It wasn’t just about taking the first step. It was finding the strength to keep taking the next one.
My days revolved around physiotherapy, hydrotherapy, exercises between parallel bars, climbing stairs one painful step at a time, and slowly teaching my body to do what it had once done without a second thought.
I was incredibly blessed. My family and friends surrounded me with love, encouragement, and unwavering support. I never walked that journey alone.
Yet standing behind a cart of coffee and popcorn today, I realize something I couldn’t have understood back then.
Sometimes healing comes in unexpected forms.
Sometimes it arrives as a warm smile.
Sometimes as a conversation.
Sometimes as someone simply asking, “Would you like a coffee?”
What may look like a short walk down the hallway to reach our volunteer station may actually represent weeks of painful therapy, countless setbacks, and extraordinary courage. I know that because I’ve lived it.
But what has surprised me most is realizing that our little volunteer station isn’t only for the patients.
It’s for the husband who hasn’t left his wife’s side.
It’s for the daughter trying to stay strong while speaking with doctors.
It’s for the nurses, therapists, physicians, and support staff who devote themselves, day after day, to helping others heal.
Each person arrives carrying something different.
Each person leaves, I hope, carrying something just a little lighter.
People often tell us that we’ve brightened their day with something as simple as a cappuccino, a slushie, a waffle, or a bag of popcorn.
Perhaps they’re right.
But the truth is, they brighten mine.
Looking back, I no longer see my year and a half in rehabilitation as only a chapter of recovery.
I see it as Hashem’s preparation.
At the time, I thought He was simply teaching me how to walk again.
Years later, I realize He was doing so much more.
He was quietly preparing my heart to recognize the courage behind every slow step, the determination hidden behind every smile, and the profound impact that even the smallest act of kindness can have on another person.
Only Hashem could have written a story like this.
Years after leaving a rehabilitation hospital in Toronto, He brought me to Jerusalem, where I now have the privilege of standing on the other side—not as the patient, but as the volunteer.
There is a beautiful full circle in that.
Every Thursday, I am reminded that healing doesn’t happen only through medicine, surgeries, or therapy.
Sometimes healing begins with kindness.
Sometimes healing begins with being seen.
Sometimes healing begins with a simple cup of coffee.
And sometimes, healing begins when Hashem allows us to transform the comfort we once received into comfort we can now give.
For that privilege, I whisper a quiet prayer of gratitude every Thursday as I wheel those carts into the hallway, knowing that while we may be serving coffee, popcorn, and waffles, what we’re really serving is hope.