Reflections from the Frontline of COVID-19: Rabbi Jo Hirschmann

During the COVID-19 pandemic, the need for chaplains has come to the forefront of public conversation, as evidenced by the stories and news coverage of their care and support of hospital staff, patients, families and people all across the nation and the world. During the initial months of shelter-in-place orders in the U.S., hotspots of the virus emerged in the North East, especially in New York City. As loss and grief mounted in New York and beyond, chaplains supported those bereaved and those who care for them.

In the following reflections, chaplains from Mount Sinai Health System in New York offer their stories and perspectives from the frontlines in the hopes of helping other spiritual care providers in cities that are now surging. If you have a story you’d like to share, let us know.

The following reflections were transcribed and compiled by Juliane Ding and have been edited and condensed for clarity. This post is one of a series, also including Chaplain Kaytlin Butler, Rachel Van Thyn, Esther Maria Roman, and Chaplain Rachelle Zazzu.

On a Monday morning in mid-April we got a call from hospital leadership asking us to provide some support to one of the ICUs, where staff were struggling after losing many patients in a short period of time.  I called the ICU team leader to propose that we do a debrief with staff at each change of shift and team meeting for the next couple of days.  She told me, no, that wouldn’t work.  Her staff were feeling so stretched that they wouldn’t take even five minutes away from their responsibilities.  She also said she didn’t think she or any of her team members could talk about their grief right now.  She said they needed to keep things together emotionally in order to do their work.  I could hear that she was holding back tears as we were talking.  I asked her, “What would be helpful to your team right now?”  She said she and her team felt like they were “failing” because they were losing so many patients. As she talked, she identified what she and the team need: to be thanked.  We arranged to bring the chi cart (a staff support initiative involving tea, aromatherapy, and healthy snacks) to every shift over the next three days and we dispatched chaplains to say thank you as they offered tea and snacks.  Before we hung up, I said, “Thank you for everything you are doing.  Your work is extraordinary.” I could hear tears in her voice as we said goodbye.

Before we hung up, I said, “Thank you for everything you are doing.  Your work is extraordinary.”

Later that morning, a manager asked me to visit one of her staff members, Miguel, whose nephew had just died from COVID-19.  I found Miguel in his work area; he stepped away from his workstation so we could talk for a few minutes.  Miguel told me that his nephew died a few days earlier.  He said two other family members were also ill with COVID-19 and one of them had been hospitalized.  He was working on a med-surg floor and knew that some patients were becoming very ill and being transferred to ICUs.  He said, “It’s just one thing after another.”  He said, “I can’t grieve, or I’ll fall apart, and I won’t be able to do my job.”  I asked if I could come back with an Employee Assistance Program (EAP) card and Miguel said yes.  I recognized that Miguel couldn’t access his grief with me right there in the middle of the hospital, but he might be able to talk to an EAP counselor.  I was concerned about him pushing down his grief for the remaining weeks or even months of the crisis.  I asked Miguel if I could offer a prayer for him, for his nephew’s soul, and for his sick family members.  As I prayed, Miguel’s eyes filled with tears.  Then he took a breath and went back to work.

I am aware that I am sublimating my own grief.  Like the ICU team leader and her staff and like Miguel, I am pushing through the work that needs to be done.  I am trying to make some space for my grief by writing this reflection, by talking more about my grief, and by feeling my grief.  When this crisis is eventually over, the re-building process will include honoring the grief staff have encountered as we have experienced devastating losses in our hospitals and in our personal lives.

I am aware that I am sublimating my own grief.

I have been thinking about the phrase “there are no atheists in foxholes” a lot over the past weeks.  While I don’t think it is literally true that there are no atheists in foxholes, I am finding myself connecting more deeply to my relationship with God and to my own spirituality in this crisis.  When I ask staff, “What is helping you get through this time?” many of them respond with “my faith” or “God.”  I have often been reticent to offer prayer with staff.  I have worried about appearing overly religious or about being perceived as pushing religion on others.  In the current crisis, I am offering prayers or blessings to staff much more freely.  When I ask if there is anything in particular, I should include in the prayer, they often say “protection” or “safety” or “health.”  I am increasingly talking to bereaved staff members and they, too, have welcomed prayers of mourning and remembrance.  In this time when we are separated from our usual mourning rites, a prayer from a hospital chaplain may be especially meaningful.

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