Dumiyah – A Fictional Tale of Terminal Lucidity
Published in Issue #17 subscribe to unlock the full story“Jew?!” menacingly intoned the desperate-looking man who was blocking my exit from the elevator to the apartment building’s lobby.
Was that a question or a threat? I asked myself.
Fearing the latter, I braced my body and began considering the possible ways that my medical bag could be used as a defensive weapon. I became acutely aware that, among the deficits in my education from a prestigious medical school, was a failure to teach that particular skill. Sure, I could probably disable my adversary with some of the bag’s contents, but my potential assailant did not look like the kind of person who would stand around waiting for me to draw up a sedative into a syringe. I contemplated beating him with my Queen Square reflex hammer, but he interrupted my thoughts.
“Doctor, I see that you attend to the sick in their homes. There is a bedridden man upstairs who needs to participate in the recitation of kaddish. We need a tenth man for a minyan. Will you be him?”
Almost every fibre of my being just wanted to go home and rest after a long day of work. However, my fibre of Jewish responsibility got the better of my judgment.
I stepped to the back of the elevator and nodded to my tormentor to join me inside.
He pressed the button for the 18th floor and silently guided me to apartment 1818. This is, after all, a Jewish story.
Upon entering the unit, I was surprised that I recognized many of those present as being health-care professionals, but I could not put names...
Subscribe now to keep reading
Please enter your email to log in or create a new account.