We’d heard of a Jewish woman in a nearby nursing home, so, one sunny March day, we went to visit her.
To our dismay - and embarrassment - the woman suffered from dementia and began yelling abuse at us the second she saw us.
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We extricated ourselves from the situation as quickly as we could and headed out.
As we turned down one hallway, I heard someone say, “Shalom, Rabbi!”
“Shalom to you, too!” I answered the elderly man. “Are you Jewish?”
“Yes!” he answered.
I searched for something in Judaism that could be relatable and spark a connection. “Do you know it’s almost Purim?” I asked. “What’s your favorite hamantash flavor?”
I could tell I’d hit gold. His eyes lit up, and a wide smile took over his face. “I love poppy hamantashen!” he answered. “I remember eating them as a kid and I couldn’t get enough. What I would do for another poppy hamantash...!”
“I’m going to get you your hamantash!” I promised.
True to my word, I brought a tray of the delicious pastries a couple of weeks later. As I was about to head in, a woman stopped me.
“Excuse me, Rabbi - did you meet my husband, Aaron*, a couple of weeks ago?”
“Yes! I’m actually on my way to deliver these poppy hamantashen to him right now!” I answered, lifting the tray.
“Excellent! I’ve been looking for a rabbi for a long time! Aaron and I have been married for many years, but religion was never part of our life. However, Aaron’s often told me that he wants to be buried as a Jew. I’d like to honor his wishes, but I have no idea what that even means! Does a rabbi sprinkle water over the coffin and bless it? What’s involved?”
I was happy to explain the entire process to her, and to offer my assistance. They’d already purchased a plot in a cemetery, but sold it to purchase one in the Jewish section.
I was with Aaron in his final moments, and was able to say Shema and Viduy with him.
Thanks to a dementia patient and tray of hamantashen, a Yiddishe neshama received a kevuras Yisroel.
*Names changed to protect privacy
