Friedush the Clown works her magic
Photo: Dalit Shacham
The mitzvah of being a clown
(VIDEO) For most of the week, Frieda Kaplan, the wife of Caesarea's chief rabbi, is busy preparing brides for the wedding canopy and teaching women's classes at local synagogues. But every Tuesday, Frieda trades her traditional head covering for a clown suit, puts on a red nose and a rainbow wig, and goes off to entertain children at Laniado Hospital in Netanya. ‘This is the origin of Judaism,’ she explains. ‘I do a great mitzvah’
(VIDEO) "Look at that spark of magic," a worried mother whispers, standing near little Avi's (not his real name) bed. Just yesterday he came out of throat surgery; now he is pale, sad, and resting on the white hospital bed in the children's department of Laniado Hospital in Netanya.
"Look at that magic, he's drinking," says his mother.
Near the sick boy's bed, Friedush the Clown works her magic. She blows soap bubbles at him, flips through a colorful book and twists balloons into different shapes. At the same time, Adi, Friedush's marionette assistant, hands the boy a glass of water with help from the clown, and he drinks distractedly, while answering her funny questions. He is even talking.
'You walk in, and immediately everyone smiles.' (Video: Dalit Shacham)
The mother is beaming with relief, the kid is smiling, and the magic trick worked like charm. Friedush the Clown, a.k.a. Frieda Kaplan, wife of Caesarea Chief Rabbi Dov Kaplan, moves on to the next room.
An entry like none other
"A clown's entry into a room is unlike anyone else's entry," says Frieda. "You walk in, and immediately everyone smiles.
"The first time I entered the department, there was great excitement. There was a blind boy in one room, so nothing I had to offer - my funny outfit, magic tricks and so forth - worked. So we went on an imaginary trip and then did a rap bit together, and it was great. I managed to break through the hardship that immobilizes a patient and cleared the way for a smile."
Kaplan admits that life as a hospital clown is not all fun and games, and says it is sometimes not enough just to be funny.
"Adolescents are the toughest," she says. "I walked in a room where a girl was lying down, having just received some bad news. She didn't cooperate at first, so we gave her a show that included nonsensical dubbing to a TV show she was watching. Her mother was laughing, and smiling, and for me that was good enough. We gave her a few moments off in a different mindset, making her smile."
Around the ward, children and parents of all ages gather to meet Friedush and her partner-in-clown Amit, and to forget some of the reasons they are in hospital.
Some children chase soap bubbles; others stare wide-eyed at a colorful-handkerchief magic trick. Roaring laughter infuses a place where usually laughter is not heard. It's not clear who enjoys the show more – the children or their exhausted parents. Frieda says that's crucial.
"In general, the most important effort should be done with the parents of the sick children. They are responsible for the morale, and should also be considered."
How does a rabbi's wife decide to become a medical clown?
"I got the idea from a movie called "Patch Adams" starring Robin Williams. The combination of silliness, performance and the act of giving seemed like a magical mix.
"Later, after I heard a radio interview with a clown who took part in the first medical course in Asaf Harofe Hospital, I called and asked for application forms. I didn't tell anyone about it, not even my husband, but every day I ran to the post office to see if the forms had arrived. The night before the workshop, I couldn't sleep because I was so excited. I felt that this is what I want to do 'when I grow up'.
"At the workshop, I did what I could to complete the assignments as well as I could. I figured it was a way to ensure they wouldn't ignore me. When I was accepted, I felt I had won the lottery."
Making people happy is a great mitzvah, and helping someone heal is an even greater mitzvah. The fact that I, as a medical clown, can do both gives me enormous satisfaction. There is no contradiction between my two positions. They compliment each other wonderfully.
A bit of tradition shows up at secular Caesarea
It's not that Kaplan isn't busy. Since moving to Caesarea - one of Israel's most secular urban centers - eight years ago, the Kaplans and their six children have tried to show the locals what traditional Judaism is all about. For most of the week she is busy prepping brides for the wedding canopy, running community festivities, teaching women's groups at the synagogue, and reading stories for children at the library.
But it hasn't always been an easy job.
"Although there was a synagogue (before we arrived)," says Frieda, "people would often cross the street to avoid running into the religious 'foreign object' that had suddenly appeared
Slowly, the couple managed to make their way to their neighbors' hearts. Not that the town has suddenly become religious – people still drive on Shabbat, and the local Erez bakery still sells leavened bread during Pesach - but 13-year-old boys now have bar mitzvahs "because they are fun," and 12-year-old girls participate in a moving bat mitzvah program, initiated by Kaplan.
In addition, Tu Bishvat celebrations have become a fun community tradition, as has Simhat Torah dancing.
"We strive to bring people's hearts closer (to Judaism)," says Frieda. Apparently they are successful, as Roche Negbi, a Caesarea resident, confirms. "The community loves the Kaplans, first of all because they are wonderful people. Every day, they show us there is a different kind of rabbinate in Israel."
Back to Caesarea
At the end of the day, the clowns smile and say goodbye, and move on to the dialysis ward, where they will meet older patients, "no less important," stresses Frieda. With the grown-ups, they talk more, tell stories and jokes.
"We make them happy and help them pass the time. They have all got very long and very boring days."
Then Friedush the Clown says farewell, pops into the ladies room, and reappears two minutes later as the rabbi's wife. The make up is gone, her hair is carefully covered with a traditional wig and it is hard to believe this is the same clown that was just handing out dog-shaped balloons and speaking in a funny voice.
"It's exhausting at times," she says with a tired, but happy, smile, "but the adrenaline blood rush, and the patients' responses simply give you a feeling of 'high'."
In a few quick steps, she gets in her car and drives up north. Many rabbinical tasks await her today. But next week, with God's help, Friedush the Clown will be back, red nose and all.
