There are moments here at Hadassah Hospital Ein Kerem in Jerusalem when words are unnecessary. Moments of a pained sigh or strained breath.
It’s already a few weeks now that our daily lives are comprised of these moments.
Moments of the coronavirus.
Some are harder, others more optimistic.
All suspected of being sick, those displaying the symptoms are brought here. The symptomatic. That’s what everyone calls them.
We move among our patients, from bed to bed, in the biological trauma unit apart from our regular trauma area. Their conditions vary in severity, including serious. Treating, supporting, calming, empathizing, and mainly waiting for the test results. Positive or negative? Their faces question us each time we’re near.
This war belongs to us all—Arabs, Jews, religious, secular. In Israel and abroad. This plague doesn’t take root in origin or nationality. It doesn’t consider whom you believe in. It attacks everyone. And this everyone? This everyone includes those fighting it—Arabs, Jews, religious, secular.
Our team at Hadassah Medical Organization includes them all. Treats all. We don’t distinguish between language, customs, or skullcap.
For now, we’re covered from head to toe, moving from bed to bed. Our patients are suffering from fever or breathlessness, and all that I hope is that they can see our eyes. Reflected there is everything we want to tell them.
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