Defibrillator. It took me a long time to learn to say that word, but in the end I learned. Thank God, I haven't come across that word, which means a device that restores a heart rate with an electric shock. Not from personal experience as a patient, and to my shame not even as a therapist. My introduction to the instrument takes place, surprisingly, on a stage.
I love United Hatzalah very much, and the organization loves me, so in recent years I have become a semi-"house artist", and I often perform stand-up comedy and host events in various United Hatzalah frameworks. Salute to volunteers, farewell and team-building events and more.
When you perform a lot in such settings, besides the usual reward, you also get a bonus: an hour before the performance, you sit in the hall, watch experience videos showing horror scenes, and hear terrifying descriptions on stage that for those sitting in the hall are bread of the law and for this purpose they gathered, while for you - any such story is a good reason to meet with the psychologist.
I can't get used to the stories, and they stress me out and terrorize me. What is more, I learn to say "defibrillator", because in almost every such event, at some point there is a ceremony whose purpose is to give benefits or tie crowns to the heads of outstanding volunteers. The volunteer is invited to the stage, is awarded a certificate, and then he also receives a gift. The gift is usually - a defibrillator.
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And every time it amazes me all over again. What a strange gift is that? It's like buying a police officer handcuffs as a gift. It's not a gift, it's a tool. At a bar mitzvah party, I once heard a sermon delivered by the late Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz, the great thinker and commentator I also got to know personally. He turned to the bar mitzvah and said: The gift we give you when you become a bar mitzvah is a very strange gift. Basically, that's 613 rules and restrictions and tasks. What kind of gift is this?
Then he explained: The reason is that everyone is given as a gift what he loves. A child is given an iPad, and an extreme athlete, a mountaineer, for example, is given a new challenging peak that he did not know, because he loves challenges, so they give him challenges. And we are a nation of challenges, so we give the Bar Mitzvah a package of challenges. So said the rabbi, and everyone smiled – except for the Bar Mitzvah itself, who I thought would have preferred an iPad.
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I have already made a note several times that this spectacle at United Hatzalah events is amazing: the volunteers desire this gift. They compete among themselves over who will receive it, and all in all, as mentioned, it is a tool that allows them to work hard to save the life of another. It's amazing how this tool became the most coveted gift. The volunteers walk off the stage and hug the orange box as if it contained all the world's mechanics. And this little picture teaches me more about the volunteer engine than the activity videos, which I actually make sure to miss.
At this week's event, which was intended for Ashdod volunteers and their spouses, the distribution of defibrillators was longer than usual, and also had a completely different character: the devices were donated and given to the chosen volunteers bereaved families who lost their loved ones in the last campaign, on Black Saturday and during the fighting.
Family-by-family They showed up, spoke, mentioned their loved ones, wore the device as a jewel on the shoulder of the chosen volunteer, hugged and took pictures. From story to story, the eyes grew with tears, and the heart shrank with pain and the desire to help and hug. And so it went on and on. Another family and another family, another volunteer and another volunteer, another defibrillator and another defibrillator. Then, when the last instrument was distributed and the entire hall was a mass of tears and excitement, I heard the host solemnly announce: "And now, ladies and gentlemen, dear audience, for the artistic part, accept Kobi Arieli!"
Well, what now? Where do you start? The truth is, I was lucky. Luckily, it wasn't the first time. When you're both a stand-up comedian and a religious, you sometimes encounter line-up accidents of this kind. In 2013, my friend MK Shuli Moalem-Rafaeli was elected to the Knesset. This was great news. Shuli was known even earlier for her public activities, and for being the widow of Col. Moshe Mualem z"l, who fell in the helicopter disaster, so her friends and supporters decided to throw her a party on the occasion of her election.
A hall was chosen in Kfar Saba, all the important and loving people were invited, and the artistic program was entrusted to Nablus your servant, both because Jerry Seinfeld was just occupied and because of my acquaintance and appreciation for the bride of the party. Since I do know Shuli, and I would probably be invited to this party even if I didn't show up, I came early and attended the party from the beginning.
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Well, here is the program of speeches and greetings that evening, word for word, a mental life that I do not miss or change a thing: First, the moderator Dr. Avi Rath began, noting that he had just returned from a visit with a group to Auschwitz-Birkenau, and went on to explain that a thin religious and national thread connects the site from which he returned and the party held tonight.
Immediately after the short visit to Auschwitz, which brought the audience into the right atmosphere, the first speaker was invited to the stage, a representative of Yad Labanim, who on behalf of the bereaved family described Shuli's blessed work in this field, and concluded with a moving and tearful greeting, with her the entire hall tearing up and cheering with enthusiasm full of pain.
The moderator warmly thanked the greeter and invited the next greeter, who is a representative of Shuli's friends from the oncology department (Shuli Mualem dealt with cancer in the past - and recovered), those who are with us and those who unfortunately are no more. And every time she called Shuli "our sister," a wave of tears swept through the hall.
Only then did Shuli's daughter, who gave a wonderful and heartbreaking speech, take the stage. Then, when groans of sorrow were clearly heard from all sides as at a funeral, and everyone in the hall, including the waiters, the soundman, one who arrived by mistake and the kashrut supervisor, touched the tears, the moderator returned to his seat and invited – the exact wording was, if I'm not mistaken, "and in the spirit of these things" – Mr. K. Arieli for stand-up.
I went up to the stage, took the microphone and said, "For those of you who are not religious, welcome to a party of doss. Don't be angry – that's how happy we are."
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