In 1989 I had never looked after an orthodox Jewish patient, let alone supervised the care of one recently deceased. My patient had a large extended family with various male spokesmen who centred their interactions with the one male doctor on duty as well as myself.
As a gauche young man and an inexperienced nurse, I knew enough to be respectful and open to the family’s needs and was introduced to Benesh just before my patient died.
Benesh was a Shomer . A mature Jewish man of faith and seriousness, who had been asked to attend as a watchman over my patient from death to burial. He was quiet and respectful, but was keen to explain his role to me as I provided a link with the clinical side of the ward.
He explained his job of reciting Tehillim ( psalms ) as he physically guarded the void , left by the departing soul. His patient was therefore not abandoned in anyway, and I remember feeling the power of the support quietly being emitted by these respectful young men as they went along with their work.
Is there anything else I should be doing ?
I remember asking Benesh as I entered the single ward.
Be quiet and deliberate and respectful he said with a smile and in my 60s that respect for stillness and tradition remains with me .
It shows in a need for an unhurried quietness which seems innate and normal to me.
