When
I was twelve, on Saturdays, I went up to the Acme Market with my wagon, stood
outside, and asked the shoppers if I could haul their groceries home for them. One
Saturday in early December 1950 it was bitter cold. The wind was blowing and it
started to snow. Usually we received a dime for each load of groceries. That
Saturday I got something else. I came down with a fever and a sore throat.
After
several days I was no better and I had sharp pains in my joints. My father called
a doctor, making it clear to him that he had no money to pay him. Doctor Levin
drove to the housing project where we lived and examined me. He gave my mother
sulpha pills for my sore throat and fever. He came back every several days.
After a week or so, he told my parents that I had rheumatic fever and that I
would have to go to a hospital. He arranged for me to go to Sinai Hospital in
Baltimore, Maryland.
Sinai
Hospital was across the street from Johns Hopkin’s Hospital and was a research
and teaching hospital like Hopkins. Most of its doctors and nurses were Jewish.
I was in the children’s ward, a charity ward. Children whose parents could pay
were in semi-private rooms.
At
twelve years of age I was older than most, if not all, of the two dozen
children in the ward. I was in the hospital a couple weeks. When the doctor
came around each morning, he was accompanied by a nurse carrying my chart and
over a dozen interns. He would explain how my case of rheumatic fever was
unique, would show them my joints and the tape from the electrocardiograph
machine which showed the anomalies in my heart.
As
it drew near to Christmas, the little ones kept asking the nurses, “Will Santa
Claus know where I am? Will he leave my present at home?” When no nurses were
around we would talk quietly. The kids would ask why there were no Christmas
tree or Christmas decorations. With all the sophistication of my twelve years I
would say, “You dummies. This is a Jewish hospital. Jews don’t believe in Jesus
or celebrate Christmas.”
The
day before Christmas all of the children in the ward were taken into a large
room. In it were a huge Christmas tree, tables with Christmas decorations, and
chairs. First, we had a special Christmas dinner. Then one of the Jewish nurses
led us in singing Christmas songs and carols. One of the Jewish doctors played
lively piano accompaniment while also singing. Finally, Santa himself came in, dragging a bag too large to carry. Each of us received three or four toys or
games or dolls. There were no inexpensive gifts. They were the best dolls, best
toys, and best games.
God
bless those Jewish doctors and nurses who gave two dozen poor Gentile children
the best Christmas they ever had! For a few it was the last Christmas they had.
