The Hope Choir

     “And now write for yourselves this song and teach it to the children of Israel, put it in their mouths, that this song may be a witness for Me among the children of Israel” (32:19).

Rabbi Elliot Marmon used to attend Dancing with Parkinson once a week for one hour, and Tikvah for Parkinson twice a week for three hours. During those three hours, Elliot practiced brain exercises, worked out, practiced speech therapy, did tai chi, talked with the community, did voice training, danced and singed. During my conversation with Elliot’s wife, Ilana Marmon, I asked her why all the emphasis on the voice. She answered that Elliot loves to sing, that he has a beautiful voice; that he is lucky because when some people with Parkinson’s speak up, you can hardly hear.

Ilana Marmon was born in Tel Aviv, while Elliot Marmon was born in Philadelphia. Their paths crossed in New York City, when the student of business administration and marketing met the soon to be conservative Rabbi. Soon after finishing their studies, Elliot enlisted in the US military as a Chaplain Rabbi. Recalling the story, Ilana looks past the computer and whispers “then we saw the world.”

One of the places they traveled to was Japan, where among the soundtrack of bustling kimonos and swaying cherry blossoms, Ilana spied Elliot with stiff arms and a clawed hand. Three years later, back in the United States, Elliot hurt his shoulder, and the bone specialist suspected that he had Parkinson’s and sent him to see a neurologist. For a while, Elliot treated his sickness with massages for muscle relief and the medication of the doctor they found at the University of Albany. “No one mentioned exercises,” claims Ilana “and when we moved to Israel to be closer to our daughter, we joined various health organizations that offered Parkinson’s exercises once a week, but there was no coordination among them.”

            Ilana and Elliot Marmon began attending Tikvah for Parkinson three years ago, during the organization’s second meeting. They attended with a friend, realized the organization was targeted towards the orthodox community, but stayed because Debbie had the right concept. According to Ilana, Debbie understood what people with Parkinson needed since she had Parkinson’s herself, and was simply put “a Godsend.” In the three years since they began attending Tikvah for Parkinson, they experimented with all sorts of therapy, and now that classes have transferred online, Elliot takes daily classes in the morning from Sunday to Thursday with three different teachers and takes singing and voice training classes once a week.

Still they miss going to the center, they miss talking with the members of the community; Zoom classes are simply not the same. A community is important to treat any sickness, let alone Parkinson’s. They miss singing with everyone. Music is important for Parkinson, says Ilana. When I ask why, she answers: It just is.

In Tikvah for Parkinson societal barriers seem invisible and secular Jews, conservative Jews, orthodox Jews and Arabs unite as a community. Music plays an important role for that. Rabbi Jonathan Sacks claims that music allows Torah to feel new and modern for each generation; the words may not change but the melody does.  In other words: “Song is central to the Judaic experience. We do not pray; we daven, meaning we sing the words we direct toward heaven. Nor do we read the Torah. Instead we chant it, each word with its own cantillation.”

Every person is different; every person needs to find the right balance in their treatment, and therefore everyone finds different motivations in their journey. Ilana’s motivation is to keep Elliot’s health and to surround herself with “doers.” Elliot’s motivation is his family and religion: He reads commentaries on the Torah, gets together with his family to play board games and listen to music. Elliot claims that getting better with progress is a matter of hope, a matter of Tikvah. The motivation of the Tikvah for Parkinson community might be to be part of the same choir.

Until next time,

Jenni.