A Hand to Hold Onto

I find myself laughing inside as the Rabbi leading today’s prayer asks a room full of business people to hold hands. Apparently she’s known for doing this as my new friend Bob (to my left) pre-empts the request by whispering “looks like we’re going to be holding hands…”

So, there we are. A roomful of strangers. Singing a Yiddish song none of us have ever heard of, holding hands.

I survey the room and see that there are people who have actually left the lunch, to avoid holding their neighbor’s hand. There are other tables that have “opted out” altogether and yet others, like ours, who play along – loosely joining hands.

I read a story recently about an elderly couple that was in a car accident. As they lay in hospital beds next to one another, they held hands. Long after her husband had passed away, his wife’s heartbeat registered on his heart monitor – because she continued to hold his hand.

Over the years, I have held a lot of hands. And only now, in this roomful of people, do I realize this. In churches, where I’ve always been somewhat uneasy, to funerals - same song, different dance, to fundraising events, weddings and birthdays to death beds. It’s only this time that I am struck by the irony of it all.

You see, I believe there is something magic that happens when we reach for someone else’s hand. It is earnest. And caring. And our way as people of showing – through a simple touch that we care.

The song is coming to an end, but my mind continues to wander. And to think about the people who left – rather than hold someone else’s hand. And in that moment, I am both happy and sad. Happy that I’ve recognized the magnificence in this one small act, and sad that it has to end so soon.