“Are you Rabbi Levertov?”

“Are you Rabbi Levertov?”

I just said hello to a young family outside Mayo Clinic,
Wished them good health and a happy Passover,
And was already walking towards the parking lot.

That’s when she called out my name.

We had never actually met.
But somehow, she knew who I was.

Surprised, I said yes, that's me.

She smiled. “I had a feeling.”

Then she told me her name.

Sarah.

And just like that, after more than four years, the circle closed.

Back in 2021, I got a call from New York.
Sarah was coming to Phoenix for a procedure.

She didn’t know where to stay.
Didn’t know the area.
Didn’t know where to find kosher food or community.

Just trying to figure things out in the middle of something overwhelming.

We guided her and helped her learn the lay of the land.

But more than that - we showed up.

Care packages.
Soup and challah.
Sashie’s chocolate-chip strips (what some call the best “mandlebread” in the world).

Nothing big.
Just making sure she didn’t feel alone.

After about a month, she went back home.
And like so many of these stories…
Life moved on.

Until this morning.

Standing outside of Mayo.

With her husband.
Her children.
And her mother.

And this time- thank G-d- with a clean bill of health.

But here’s what makes this story hard to explain.

She wasn’t even supposed to be there.

She had seen the doctor in a completely different part of the campus.
They came to the main building- the one with the big “Mayo Clinic” sign-
Just to take a picture.

A moment of thanks to Hashem.
A way to say- I was here… and I made it through.

That’s where I happened to be walking out.
At that exact moment.

Sarah told me she never forgot.

Not the help.
Not the follow-up.
And not the feeling.

She even remembered the pens we included in our care packages-
She told me that she still has them.

A pen. Something small.

But not small to her.

We said goodbye.

I started walking back to my car.
Honestly- a little overwhelmed.

Thinking how close I came to not being there.
How easily I could have missed them.

I got back to my car, sat there for a minute, and just thought:
How many stories like this are happening that we never see?

Because when we helped her in 2021, we didn’t know any of this.
We didn’t know how her story would end.
We didn’t think we’d ever hear from her again.

Truth is, I didn’t even know exactly what she was dealing with.
I didn’t know the diagnosis.
I didn’t know the procedure.

And I still don’t.

All I knew then - and all I know now - is that she was alone.

So we showed up.

That’s what Jewish Care Network does.

It’s not just the chicken soup or the meals.
Not just the packages.

It’s presence.
It’s making sure that in the hardest moments,
No one is alone.

Often, the circle stays open.
This morning, I got to watch one close.