Danielle Amy

Dr. Moshe Greenberger

One of the earliest volunteers to join the first Covid-19 ward in March 2020, Dr. Greenberger an internist doctor distanced himself for two months in a housing unit away from his home in order to protect the safety of the family as the virus reached Israel. 

It was a dark rainy night when Dr. Moshe Grinberger, an experienced internist doctor arrived at his first shift at the closed Covid-19 ward in the Shaare Zedek hospital in Jerusalem. An isolated ward with no windows which had opened up only a few days earlier. Dr. Grinberger who was one of the first to volunteer and treat Covid-19 patients heard about the disease only a week prior.

After a nurse helped him gear up in a white protective zippered jumpsuit from head to toe, an N95 mask, face shield, and two gloves he entered alone into the ward. As the two protective doors locked behind him and his face shield started to fog up, feeling completely bewildered he stood there and thought to himself “Where am I?” A moment that keeps lingering in his memory.

“It was a difficult night.” Dr. Grinberger described, “I didn’t do anything wrong, everyone received treatment but I remember myself circling, running around in this mental stress of ‘ok, what will happen if I don’t know what to do with someone here.”

Patients who arrived mostly with severe shortness of breath could not understand what was happening to them. Beyond the respiratory distress they experienced because of the virus, the emotional distress affected them as well, they were all alone.

They set up a video phone by each bed and monitors outside the ward in an operating room. Suddenly they were doing telemedicine inside the hospital to minimize any risks. Every medical procedure became difficult, the most basic action transformed into an entire operation.

After that same shift, Dr. Grinberger did not return home for two months. He and his family had decided that it would be best for him not to live at home to protect the health of the family. They found a simple and quiet residential unit in Jerusalem where he would return to at the end of each shift and lockdown, another parallel universe.

The two months that Dr. Grinberger spent alone at his new residential unit were pretty fitting for him. The silence and serenity provided time to reflect and process it all. The public space in contrast scares him, not adhering to wearing masks or breaking social distancing pushes him to try and avoid spending time in the space as much as possible. And when he does enters it, in the street, people ask him if he believes the virus is real. “Yes, it is real.” He replies. “I work inside of it every day, I see people die.”

“I’m an internist doctor, in the internal wards death is part of the day-to-day. Here it was different, for the first few months, they died alone with no family, no one by their side except us. So each one of us had the chance to hold the hand of a Covid-19 patient during their last moments. Sometimes we were able to connect a family member through the phone or video phone, as much as it was possible.”

Dr. Grinberger holds a type of ceremony after a patient dies or is released from the hospital. He writes a summary letter for their medical file which describes the hospitalization. For the ones who have passed he writes at the end “Despite all attempts the patient had lapsed and died.” Each time he arrives at the end of the sentence he stops before he presses the final period. He says to himself “That’s it, here is the final period of this person. This period I write right now, with this I close the file.” Before he presses the period on the keyboard he always takes a moment and tries to give it meaning.

Each death is a meaningful event for Dr. Grinberger, events which he remembers and reconstructs with vivid details for the family members who could not come and visit.

Events like these are not, however, something he experiences every day. What he does experience daily is the distress of people, the panic, the fear in their big eyes.

“I know it already. It is very similar in different people, from different backgrounds, various religions, Arabs, Jews. The fearful look in their eyes crosses culture, religion, gender, ages.”

Dr. Grinberger can decompress from the experiences and sights he sees in the hospital only after he opens his car door, sits down, turns on the engine, and breathes. First, for a minute or two, he just breathes. Only then is he able to start driving towards his home in Beit Shemesh. The thirty-minute drive is an essential time for Dr. Grinberger. As he drives on a small winding road with few cars through the picturesque village of Ein Karem, a narrow river surrounded by lush green forests of the Sorek reserve and mountain views with crispy air, which at times resemble landscapes of Switzerland he can feel the stress leaving him slowly.

During the Metiv workshop, each participant was asked to draw about a moment or feeling that has been imprinted in their mind. 

“This is a long hall with the entrance to the ward in the far end. There is a door or two.

Three medical staff personnel are rolling a patient on a bed and these medical personnel are dressed in a spacesuit. I drew an incident that happened in the first few days. 

Every time we had to transfer a patient inside the hospital, let’s say for a CT or anything else that required us to transition, the security department would close the hospital down and empty all the halls and elevators. They would take all the people out and only when everything was empty and sterile it would be possible to roll the patient to wherever they needed to go. 

I encountered this type of situation in the middle of the night. I was standing at the end of the hall when they shut everything down. I saw it happening, it was very strange. I mean, it’s the middle of the night, only the fluorescent light was shining. Suddenly there is no one in the hospital and these three astronauts come out rolling a patient in the hallway in this sterile silence. Everything is sterile but there was also silence. Something about it was very clean. These three white figures taking a patient and nothing else. It was like a fictional film, cause a hospital is open 24/7, it’s always filled with people at all hours of the night, but then suddenly silence. Just three people pushing a bed with a sick person, it all aligned to an outer space experience of this disease. “

Nurse Rachel Gemara

An oncology nurse, Gemara treated and took care of the first patient to die of Covid-19 in Israel. 

From the first moment he arrived at the hospital, Arie Even, an 88 year old holocaust survivor, touched her heart and the hearts of the staff and fellow patients.

For a few days Even’s health condition continued to worsen and remained critical. When the staff noticed him deteriorating and realized that this could be the end, a nurse and doctor entered into the ward immediately but only after they fully suited up in protective gear. Gemara and another doctor stayed in the operational room which was built outside of the ward and for the final minutes of his life explained to the rest of the patients what was happening. They watched on the screen how the patients held his hand, stayed by his side, calmed him until the staff arrived. And in the end as he took his final breathes Gemara and the doctor watched as they said the Hebrew prayer of Shma Israel until he passed.

This was only the first difficult part of that evening. As part of her work as an oncology nurse, Gemara has treated bodies in the past. This time it was different, she knew Even wouldn’t received a proper Jewish burial with Tahara, a Jewish law of washing the dead prior to burial due to the special procedure that was created in order to prevent any contamination and risk. After reading the new regulation which was released by the health department only days prior she realized that she is going to be the first person in Israel to perform the new cleansing burial. Gemara did all she could to provide for Even the greatest dignity, she wrapped him gently and knew she will be the last to see him. Never did she imagine she would have to do this. 

“To think about someone who survived the holocaust, all he has done and went through in his life and suddenly know that Covid-19 practically stole this part which is important to so many jews. Especially in relation to the holocaust, to those who didn’t receive a proper jewish burial, and here we are in 2020 and people during Covid-19 won’t have a proper burial.” 

“I drew an image of the department and of the moment after we wrapped and prepared Arie Even for burial. We had to take him out of the corona department through the doors into the hospital. We had to make sure that it was prepped and organized. The moment when they opened the doors and there we were in our jumpsuits inside the “contaminated” ward letting him go outside. That was the moment when suddenly you leave the stretcher, take a breathe and realize ‘wow, this is life now.’” 

All her feelings and experiences at the ward Gemara releases into her writings, she did not want to forget, she wanted to convey a positive message, to shed a light on the touching stories that happen in the ward, to describe a world not everyone exists in.

All the support and gratitude she received after posting her stories on Facebook she greatly appreciates, she is thankful for all the support her staff received and wants like everyone else for this to be over. She wants to return to her routine as well and wishes for a normative life again but that is just not possible right now for her colleagues and her. 

“All the world went back to their daily routine but suddenly I am still with all of the protective gear, with the jumpsuit, the mask, and it is a bit upsetting because it is as if “wow I am here, I am inside and everyone outside moved on.’ It is a bit hard, I feel as if I am living in two separate worlds.”

Dr. Bashar Fteiha

A Gastroenterology and Hepatology fellow, Dr. Fteiha treated and took care of the first patient to die of Covid-19 in Israel. 

Dr. Bashar Fteiha always had a dream since his childhood days in Silwan of east Jerusalem, he dreamed of becoming a doctor. After graduating high school with honors he immediately enrolled in medical school. Today at the age of 30 he has specialized in internal medicine and has started an apprenticeship in Gastroenterology and Hepatology at Shaare Zedek hospital in Jerusalem. 

When the shielded doors closed behind him during his first shift in the Covid-19 ward he wore only a robe, N95 mask and a pair of gloves. During those days the regulations were not clear, the protective gear not defined, but what he did clearly understand was that this was the point of no return. He volunteered for this, he wanted it, and knew he will give it all.

Before his shift on Friday just a few weeks after the ward had opened up, Dr. Fteiha had a feeling that something will go wrong. The address was on the wall for a number of days and it arrived on his duty. Dr. Fteiha had to announce the death of the first Covid-19 patient in Israel, 88 year old holocaust survivor, Arie Even, a moment he remembers as if it just had happened. “The entire world stopped, I felt as if time halted, it was me and him in this room.” After he declared the time of death Dr. Fteiha looked at the nurse beside him, Rachel Gemara, and together they wondered what is required from them next. When Dr. Fteiha helped Gemara wrapped Even’s body he understood that this is serious business, from then on he knew more people would die. When he left the ward that day, he was surprised to discover that the event he just participated in was officially released to all the media outlets in the country. He unfortunately had to relay the message to the family by phone, a moment which he describes as a very difficult and traumatic experience. 

When he entered his car after each shift and began to drive back home, he could feel a sense of relief, he could take a break, disconnect for just a moment. Once he arrived at his apartment at the edge of the city right in front of the separation wall in east Jerusalem, he would make sure to leave his belongings outside by the door and immediately take a shower. He was fearful, afraid to infect his pregnant wife and especially his mother and father who has underlying conditions. However this fear did not stop him from continuing to work in the Covid-19 ward. 

He had an intense desire to tell his patients that he was there for them. Dr. Fteiha did not want to rely on the video phone conversations that occurred outside of the ward in the operational room, he wanted to hold the hand of his patient, he wanted to help, to express compassion, to provide the best care he could provide.

“When I would see patients getting discharged from the ward, some came back to hand out gifts and give us hugs, it inspired me to think ‘ok there is light in the end of the tunnel.’”

Dr. Fteiha does not regret, not even for a moment, the entire six months he worked to fight against Covid-19. “If there is a will, there is a way.” Dr. Ftieha learned. Suddenly, he found himself in the front line of a war in which he’d seen a lot. By leaving his comfort zone he found himself doing things he’d never done before, whether it’s handing out meals to patients or preparing a deceased body for the first time, Dr. Fteiha feels that not only is he a better doctor now but a better person.

“This is a supermarket with people standing in line. This basically brings us back to the first wave before the lockdown. When they wanted to implement the lockdown people just flocked to the markets. I wanted to enter, to buy things for the house, food. I saw people standing in line and thought it was dangerous, especially while they were calling out for social distancing, I actually saw a hundred, hundred and fifty people in line, close to one another. On one hand I understand the psychology of it, I understand that every individual wants to take care of their family and his home. If I buy enough food for a month that will grantee that I’ll be able to get along, even if they announce a lockdown of a month, but on the other hand I thought it represented the panic and fear that people were experiencing.” 

Head Nurse Oshrat Hacimi

Head nurse of cardiology, Hacimi volunteered to run a Covid-19 ward- “Keter” during one of the spikes of the pandemic. 

The phone of Oshrat Hacimi, the head nurse of the surgical cardiology ward in Shaare Zedek hospital of Jerusalem, rings countless times a day. Three weeks after the hospital had opened up the Covid-19 ward, she received a call from the nursing management. She did not expect that this phone call would change her life.

As she started walking towards the nursing management office she immediately called her husband. Doubt started to rise, she had to consult with him and inform him that she was just asked to leave her department, the one she was in charge of for the past several years. Management asked her to volunteer and work as the head nurse of Keter C, one of the closed Covid-19 wards. When her husband picked up the phone he soothed and moved her with his response. “Go for it, of course, we will support you in all that you wish, we will help with anything that you need.” Now she knew she had her family’s support in taking on this massive role. 

Minutes later, she entered the nursing management office and told them with apprehension and hesitation that she had agreed, they contrary to her feelings, were certain that Hacimi is the right person for the job. She stepped out of the door and for a moment turned back around, the nursing director looked at her and said “Don’t worry, I have your back. You will do this, and god willingly you will succeed.”

When Hacimi arrived home that night, she sat down her four children on the couch and notified them that she is going to give the role a two-week trial, she needed their support. Those two weeks eventually turned into three months. 

“The children were incredible, I would come home and everything was organized, everything well kept. They were so proud, they saw it as a challenge ‘Mother is in the front lines against Covid’ it was very moving.”

Hacimi did not think she could face the challenge, her stress level jumped from ten to one hundred. There were days when she would go in to take a shower, let the water stream down for many long minutes in order to relax, and when she would get out discover over three dozens of missed calls and messages from her staff. For the first three weeks she didn’t sleep at all, she felt as if she was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. With time and thanks to the help of the management, staff, and the support of the psychologist and social worker the hospital provided, she was able to feel satisfied from the challenges she faced at the frontline against Covid-19.

The frontline seemed to her an otherworldly space, with a face shield that blurs vision and a jumpsuit that simulates an astronaut on a different planet. Hacimi felt as if she was entering a bubble, entering into a different universe.

Every death was very difficult for her, each person entered her heart. “They died alone, we were there for them, we caressed them, said with them the Shemah Israel confession (Jewish ritual before death), we were everything for them. We watched their last breathes.” On the other hand the successes are what helped her cope with all the difficulties, she clung to the small moments of light which in fact became large beaming suns. She clung to the stories of patients who were ventilated, hanging in between life and death and who eventually recuperated, recovered and were released home. 

At the end of every hospital shift, Hacimi enters into her car and during her drive home to her apartment in north Jerusalem, thinks about the day that has passed. She thinks about every single patient and in her mind recreates all that has happened. She embraces the transition between the hospital and home, this is her time to relax and self examine. When she arrives home she does not leave her car, first she sits there behind the wheel, in silence, no music on and thinks for thirty minutes. After a few breathes she feels ready, ready to enter into her second shift. Her shift at home where she can finally lower her gear and rest until the next day. 

“You see people and you fill up entirely with compassion, empathy and mercifulness in just a second and then suddenly you exist the door and it’s a different world. It’s odd, it doesn’t look like the same world.”

“At that moment I went back to my department, I felt sort of relieved, a sense of freedom. Being in charge of the cardiology department is not freedom, no freedom at all, it’s a big ward but then again proportions. To run “Keter” vs. running oncology, everything was put into proportion. That is why I drew the ocean but then if you flip it, it becomes a sky. I couldn’t believe that I could face a challenge like this. I remember on Wednesday they offered me the job. I went to “Keter A” on Thursday, Friday to see what was happening there. To understand what is expected of me. I remember looking at the head nurse of the ward and saying ‘No way, no way in the world will I be able to do something like this. No way in the world.’ I don’t know if it’s possible to say that I was successful. I passed the challenge and it’s mainly thanks to the staff. Mainly thanks to the family and that is why I drew a sky. The sky is the limit. A human being needs to believe, and to believe in a team. I really couldn’t imagine I would be able to reach this type of role.”