A new biography offers fresh insight into the legendary Mrs. Miriam Lubling

Illustration: Esti Saposh

The image of petite, besheiteled Mrs. Miriam Lubling is very much etched in the Jewish community’s memory. As president of the Rivkah Laufer Bikur Cholim and pioneering medical advocate, Mrs. Lubling thought nothing of marching into operating rooms and doctor’s offices to advocate for patients, and she built a trailblazing organization that is the template for today’s sophisticated bikur cholim infrastructure. Here, we share excerpts and the writer’s behind-the-scenes insights from the newly released biography, Angel of Mercy, published by ArtScroll/Mesorah Publications.

When I shared a first draft of the book with a reader, the feedback wasn't exactly what I hoped for. "This made me feel so inadequate," she said. "Mrs. Lubling was so great. She accomplished so much, helped so many cholim, saved so many lives. I felt very small in comparison."

I'm guessing the reason why that beta reader felt inadequate after reading about Mrs. Lubling's astounding bikur cholim and chesed activities is not just because of their sheer scope. It's because along with Mrs. Lubling's sweetness, she possessed a fair dose of gumption (some might call it chutzpah).

If a fellow Jew needed help getting an appointment, scheduling a surgery, or paying a doctor, she had no problem asking, nudging, even badgering doctors, secretaries, administrators, politicians, askanim, and major philanthropists. Other people might be shy or afraid, but she always had the guts to ask and simply wouldn't take no for an answer. "So they'll think I'm a nudge," she waved away any concerns. "Maybe I am! But my cousin (all Jews were her cousins) needs an appointment. They're not going to shoot me, they're not going to kill me, the worst they can do is say no."

That can be pretty intimidating. But it makes for great stories. Here's an example.

When Shani Grossman started complaining of headaches in the 1980s, her mother took her to their local pediatrician in Boro Park. The pediatrician — a very responsible practitioner — examined the nine-year-old gently but thoroughly.

"Everything looks fine," he said. "I'm going to do some bloodwork, but I don't think there's anything to worry about."

The bloodwork came in just about normal, so the pediatrician wasn't alarmed. Shani went off to summer camp. The headaches, however, came along with her. Even in the fresh mountain air, they not only persisted, they came more frequently.

"You really should check this out," the camp nurse told the Grossmans. "Something's not right."

The Grossmans were familiar with Mrs. Lubling's extraordinary network of medical referrals, so they immediately turned to her for help. "I will make you an appointment with Dr. Irving Fish at NYU," she told them. "He's a top pediatric neurologist — if something is wrong with Shani, he'll find it."

When Dr. Fish examined the little girl, he saw no reason for concern. As a precaution, however, he sent her for an MRI. That's how the Grossmans learned the terrifying news: Their beautiful daughter had a growth in her brain.

Mrs. Lubling swung into action, referring them to the renowned pediatric neurosurgeon, Dr. Jeffrey Wissof, for an immediate appointment. Dr. Wissof — a student and later colleague of the famed Dr. Fred Epstein — diagnosed the tumor as benign. "Really, it shouldn't be any more threatening than a green pea," he told the Grossmans, "but it's in a bad place and must come out, because of the damage it can cause to Shani's brain."

The Grossmans suddenly found themselves in a strange new reality. All mundane concerns — home, work, and the other children — faded in comparison to their fear as they prepared their daughter for an extremely delicate surgery in the most sensitive organ of the body. Throughout that period, Mrs. Lubling stayed on top of the case, involving herself in all aspects of the upcoming surgery.

The surgery went well, and Shani spent the next few days in the pediatric ICU under careful supervision. Brain surgery can affect function, mobility, and sensation throughout the entire body, and the post-op period is a very critical time.

Eventually, Shani received the all-clear to leave the ICU for a regular bed in the pediatric ward.

The Grossmans followed along as Shani was transferred down the long corridor to her new room way beyond the nurse's station. "Here you go," the orderly said, nudging open a door and wheeling the bed into a cramped open space nearby, right near the bathroom.

The Grossmans took a quick look at Shani's new surroundings, and they were horrified. The other patient in the room — whose bed was near the window — was, unfortunately, in the final stages of a battle with terminal cancer. The bathroom was covered with the sad signs of her condition. It wasn't just unappealing; it was terribly demoralizing.

Mr. Grossman went straight to the nurses' station to plead for Shani. "Our daughter was transferred to a room here on the ward, after brain surgery. But the room… I know my daughter. She's been through a lot; she's been so brave — but she's not going to be able to recover her strength and optimism in this kind of environment. Can you please try to find her a different room?"

"Sorry," the nurse said bluntly. "There's nothing we can do. You'll have to make the best of it."

Mr. Grossman returned to his wife and daughter. "We'll wait for the next shift and try again," he promised.

Less than 30 minutes later, Mrs. Miriam Lubling's familiar figure swept into the room. "How are you, how's Shani?" she asked.

In muted voices, the Grossmans explained the situation. "We're hoping the nurses on the next shift will be more flexible," they said.

"No, we're not waiting for the next shift," Mrs. Lubling proclaimed. "Come with me; we're going to check all the rooms on the floor and find a better place for Shani."

Mr. Grossman followed Mrs. Lubling's orders. They set out together and surveyed the ward, peeking into each room and seeking a possible better space for Shani. Soon enough they found a room with an empty spot. It was the kind of spot Mrs. Lubling liked — adjacent to the window, overlooking the river, with lots of sunshine streaming through.

"Come," she said. As Mr. Grossman followed Mrs. Lubling back to Shani's room, he wondered how she would convince the nurses to agree to the transfer.

But she had a different plan.

She grabbed one end of Shani's bed. "Here," she gestured. "You take one side, I'm taking the other. We are going to move her right now."

"But Mrs. Lubling," Mrs. Grossman said in shock, "we didn't get any clearance from the nurses!"

"Don't worry, I'll deal with them," Mrs. Lubling answered with complete confidence. "Right now, let's get Shani to a better place."

And with that, they began rolling the bed out the door, into the hall, walking with brisk determination toward the room she had selected. Shani was now in a room more suited for her recovery.

The next day while on her "rounds," Mrs. Lubling came to visit Shani, presenting her with a jumbo-sized doll. The Grossmans dubbed the doll "Bubah Miriam," in tribute to the indomitable woman who wouldn't allow hospital staff or protocol to keep her from easing her patients' care.

Excerpted from Angel of Mercy