When the phone rang at 1 a.m. on Saturday night, it was pretty clear that this must be a minor medical emergency. And it was even clearer where I would be heading. My mother at 91 continues to soldier on, facing an intimidating array of ailments. But time and again, the talented medical team at Hadasah Hospital provides a path forward and a strategy to overcome her latest health challenge. So I drove across town in Modi’in, in time to see the Magen David Adom ambulance duo do what they do so well. Then off I drove, following them into the dark of the Jerusalem night.

It seemed to make sense to show up at 3:00 a.m.: there had just been sirens and a missile attack, so I could enjoy an illusion of safety during the “lull in the hostilities.” It was also late enough to avoid Jerusalem’s morning traffic. And at that hour, the emergency room at Hadassah Ein Kerem would certainly enjoy relative calm. By 7 a.m. I could count on the arrival of a full staff of weekday medical personnel who had enjoyed the rare luxury of a full night’s sleep.

The problem is that while Israel’s population continues to rapidly grow — its emergency medical capacity does not. Even in the wee hours, Hadassah Ein Karem’s emergency room was its usual high-density bedlam. Rivka, the cheerful young nurse who took us in, explained that there really was no “downtime” over the weekend in their 24/7, first-stop, take-all-comers clinic.

And all comers were everywhere: plenty of broken bones from ill-fated car rides; a few psychiatric patients making strange noises; there was a pancreatic cancer patient responding badly to the chemo; a constellation of hitherto undiagnosed diseases, and then there was my 91-year old mother, who seemed to be in great shape relative to the abundance of human suffering that needed to be treated.

As always, Hadassah Hospital offers healing to innumerable local flavors and a rich mosaic of Jerusalem’s diverse humanity: Orthodox men and women of every imaginable shade of piousness and malady; traditional and secular Muslims seeking care after their Ramadan Iftar-meal . There were ailing Christians; battered students; and nauseous tourists… My mother fit in just fine.

The truth is, all I thought we needed was an infusion for a touch of dehydration and perhaps a check-up from a throat specialist to make sure that all was well down in the gullet. Within minutes of arriving, blood tests were taken. Then the triage dynamics of “worst things first” gave us a few hours to catch our breath as we watched the nursing staff dash from bed to bed providing care, while explaining to concerned family members that it really would be their turn soon.

The evening before, unaware of what the night would hold, I had conferred via email with my mother’s Hadassah ENT surgeon from four years earlier, Dr. Nir Hirshoren: perhaps he could recommend a local clinic. By 6 a.m. he was up, writing me back with suggestions. I told him what was going on and where we were. Imagine my surprise when only half an hour later, Dr. Nir showed up in our curtained cubicle with a veritable white-coat parade – his latest crop of interns and residents. Our wait for an ENT specialist was over, as the team went to work checking all the important parameters before making an informed assessment and recommending the appropriate response. The Almighty may have created a more competent, buoyant and decent surgeon on this planet than Dr. Nir Hirshoren, but I surely have never met him. A minute later, they were off to the operating room to save someone else’s life.

No sooner had they left than Dr. Marwan showed up. An ebullient emergency room physician, he patiently listened to our explanations, concerns and suspicions. Then he smiled and let us know that he had other ideas, based on the blood tests. Before we knew it, an ultrasound imager was in play and he had his validation. Soon thereafter, there were infusions, antibiotic drips and sundry other interventions. Two hours later Dr. Marwan turned up to admire the outcome: “Look how much better your mother looks,” he beamed. And she surely did. For the first time in two days my mother said she was hungry and had a meal.

It was easy to forget that there was a war going on: the emergency room at Hadassah Ein Kerem is actually a protected area. So, when the inevitable sirens rang out, the endless litany of high-paced medical procedures continued apace. But Dr. Marwan’s diagnosis meant that my mother would need to spend a few days in the internal medicine ward. And the Hadassah Ein Kerem ward remains largely unprotected from missile shrapnel, drones and the other sundry hazards that Israelis have to dodge these days.

And so it was decided by Sarit, the uber-efficient nurse overseeing the emergency room cacophony, that my mother would have to head across town to Hadassah’s Mount Scopus hospital. There, the internal medicine unit was better protected. Before we knew it, another ambulance driver appeared and off we went again to Hadassah’s second campus.

Nothing prepared me for the scene that awaited us there: the bottom level of the new Gandel Rehabilitation Center parking lot had been fully refurbished so that it can hold 150 beds — almost half of the usual capacity of the Mount Scopus medical center.

It seems the emergency facility was created following the October 7, 2023 attack to address the urgent need for a fully functional, five-ward hospital that could withstand bombardment. Comparisons to films about massive World War I field hospitals were unavoidable. Every corner of the cavernous parking lot was taken up by beds, nurses’ stations and medical equipment. It represents an extraordinary achievement: a sight to behold… and appreciated.

And just like the atmosphere in the emergency ward, the place was humming. By the time we arrived it was getting towards evening, and it seemed that two doctors – both young –had the graveyard shift, overseeing the massive operation. And they were everywhere. Most of the patients were the kind unable to make it to a safe room or bomb shelter in the time that the Iranian or Hezbollah missiles allowed. That’s a polite way of saying: mostly old and immobile. Yet, it didn’t take long to meet Dr. Ziv. Sporting a reddish beard, easy-going, optimistic demeanor and a seemingly endless supply of patience, the good doctor listened carefully to each patient and their family’s anxieties.

He quickly scanned my mother’s file and reached the conclusion that she would probably be just fine continuing her treatment regimen at her assisted living center. But first: one more blood test and the approval of the professor who supervises any unconventional decisions. After all, despite his quiet confidence and evident command, Dr. Ziv is technically still in his military service.

Within less than 24 hours I was back home with my mother in Modi’in, whose health trajectory had once again swung dramatically in a more salubrious direction. The experience left me with three observations.

Let anyone who says that Israeli doctors and nurses lack bedside manner come to Hadassah. There they will find unflappable, attentive and dedicated men and women — Arabs, Jews and international medical professionals — creating a respectful environment amid working conditions that objectively appear to be impossible.

Thank heaven the number of casualties from the ongoing Iranian barrage thus far has been relatively modest, so it hasn’t thrown the health system into full crisis mode. But war imposes all sorts of inconveniences on Israeli society. The health system is also inconvenient, but it is robust and staffed by people who don’t have a thimbleful of self-pity for their crazy working conditions. They just want to heal people.

Anyone who is unwell – regardless of their religion, race, gender or medical condition – is truly welcome at Hadassah Hospital. It is a model of how decent and effective the rest of Israel could be, if we could just stop for a minute and learn a thing or two from this amazing place – a place that understands that what unites us is far more important than what divides us.

The truth is that Hadassah Hospital doesn’t just cure the sick who seek its services. Those of us who accompany the infirm are also affected: we leave a little bit more hopeful about the world and our country’s future.

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)