Saturday, March 05, 2005

Life-Giving Emergencies

By Rabbi Mark S. Glickman

Special to The Seattle Times

Maybe I should have apologized to Carla for having made her wait, but it was for only a few seconds. And, after all, you can't really blame me, because I had just seen a miracle.

Here's what happened: One afternoon not long ago, I was cruising in my minivan up Interstate 5 toward Seattle. It had just stopped raining, and I saw that the brightening sky had taken on a weird, orangey-purple hue. It was an ominous, exciting color — the color the clouds turn when you know they are about to do something big and awesome, the meteorological equivalent of the music from "Jaws" (DUN-dun, DUN-dun, DUN-dun ... ). I knew something impressive was coming, but I didn't know exactly when it would hit. It was a pre-rainbow sky, and its hues were deepening in the afternoon sunlight.

To Jews, rainbows are an important sign of God's presence in the world. The Bible tells us that after Noah climbed out of the ark, God pledged never to destroy the world again, and set the rainbow in the clouds as a reminder of the promise. In fact, whenever we Jews see a rainbow, our tradition calls upon us to recite a short Hebrew blessing beginning with the words, "Blessed are You, Adonai our God, Ruler of the universe, who remembers the covenant."

What I was about to see, therefore, wasn't just a strip of refracted light. No, what I was about to see was a piece of divine handiwork, a symbol of God's trustworthiness and of the everlasting nature of the world. What I was about to see, in other words, was God's signature emblazoned across the heavens. Right here in front of me. In the skies above Tukwila.

If there was ever a moment for me to say that rainbow blessing, I knew it was coming up.

DUN-dun, DUN-dun, DUN-dun ...

The problem was that I needed to make a phone call. I had a doctor's appointment to confirm, and the office was about to close. Maybe, if I called real quick, I could be off the phone before miracle time.

DUN-dun, DUN-dun, DUN-dun ...

I snatched the phone and dialed the number.

"Hello, and thank you for calling the office of Dr. Frederick Bernstein. If this is a life-threatening emergency ... "

DUN-dun, DUN-dun, DUN-dun ...

I pressed "0." "Hello, Dr. Bernstein's office, this is Carla. How may I ... ?"

Da-da-daaaahhhh!

There it was! The rainbow! In the skies over Tukwila, brilliantly shining above my minivan, was a spectacular, multicolored sign from on high — God and God's world are here to stay. It was as if God was saying, "Hey, you down there. Yeah, you in the Odyssey. Just in case you forgot I was here — just in case you started to think I didn't care anymore — look at this! Pretty impressive, eh?"

Impressive, it was. My heart raced; the rainbow grew brighter, and I still had a blessing to recite.

I almost screamed into the phone, "Carla, hang on a sec!" I pulled the phone away from my mouth, and glancing alternately up at the rainbow for glory and down to the road for safety, I recited the ancient Hebrew blessing as quickly and as clearly as I could, " 'Blessed are You, Adonai our God, Ruler of the universe, who remembers the covenant.' Yes, Carla. I'd like to confirm an appointment."

I'd been gone for about three seconds.

How many thousands of my fellow Jews through history, I wondered, living in how many different times and in how many different lands, had recited those very same words to acknowledge God's miraculous presence around them? And had any of them ever done so while doing 60 on I-5 near Tukwila?

Carla's voice sounded a bit puzzled when we began speaking, so maybe I should have explained what was going on. But then I realized that over the years Dr. Bernstein's office has kept me waiting for far, far longer than Carla had to wait for me, so they still owe plenty of time. Plus, that rainbow was a miracle — a "life-giving emergency" if there ever was one.

So from now on, I guess the doctor's office will have to bear with me when these emergencies occur. When they do, I won't hang up and dial 911. I'll just stop for a moment, take in the miracle, and say blessings instead.