Pray for me: Healing and Renewal - Rabbi Sandra’s Rosh Hashanah sermon

בְּיָדוֹ אַפְקִיד רוּחִי ,בְּעֵת אִישָׁן וְאָעִירָה

וְעִם רוּחִי גְוִיָּתִי, אֲדֹנָי לִי וְלֹא אִירָא‎ 

Into your hands I place my soul, asleep, awake for You are near, and with my soul, my body too, you are my God, I shall not fear.

At the end of each service we sing the ‘adon olam’ which is always greeted with unparalleled enthusiasm and smiles. I’m always amazed at the strength of the sound and the feeling we put into this song. It might have something to do with the melodies being easy to learn. Or perhaps it has more to do with the fact that we all know that we are just minutes away from kiddush. Not so strange that it has become many people's favourite prayer!

Rabbi Lionel Blue used to devote a whole session to Adon Olam when I was at rabbinical school. He found it fascinating because the words sum up the whole service, and indeed large chunks of Jewish wisdom, into one memorable song. Most people don’t realise what it’s about: that God existed before and beyond time, is both transcendent and apart from the world, yet immanent and near when we call.

Yet it's the last verse that I find to be most powerful. “Into your hands we place our souls…And with my soul, my body too” - we don’t often talk about our souls, or think about what a soul really is. We have many names for it; psyche, neshama, nefesh, ruach, spirit. We know it matters, which perhaps is why we are all here today; for we know we need to nurture it. We intrinsically know that Yom Kippur is good for us, even if the fasting is hard. So, once a year we stop for a day to nourish our souls. Once a year we take the time to attend to our spirit.

But thinking of our body and soul as separate entities is not really how Jewish tradition looks at it. The two are inextricably linked; they are both part of the whole, but sometimes needing different looking after. 

Sometimes it can feel as if they are separate things, as if our bodies are failing us. Amongst us today there are people who are ill, who have been given a diagnosis that might be terminal, that might be terrifying. There are some here who are learning to cope with a long term illness or condition, that might change how they can live their life. Some may be worried about niggling symptoms that, perhaps, could be the beginning of something more serious. There are many who are in need of healing, who may be anguished and suffering, who are ill in either their body or their mind.  Some here might have been ill, and are now recovering. And many of us may be close to someone who is ill, or has been ill, and we too may also need healing.

The medical world continues to discover and amaze us with all the different ways they can heal the body.  But healing a soul is something different.  

Illness brings with it many side effects that do not have anything to do with the physical issues.  There may be guilt for becoming ill, even though we have no control of these things, or perhaps fear and oftentimes real anger at the injustice of it all. The lack of meaning behind illness can trouble us.

Many illnesses do not only attack the body, but strike at a person's sense of identity; sometimes leaving them isolated or feeling that their life is unravelling.  While for some there may be no physical pain, yet the despair that plagues their soul cannot be put into words. Sometimes the emotional wounds can be more challenging than the disease itself.

As one rabbi described his sudden cancer diagnosis:

“The world as I knew it went completely berserk. Suddenly, everything in my mind turned dark, as if there was a snake within me strangling away my insides. The sky was still blue, the grass was still green, the birds still chirped, and the ground beneath still supported my feet, yet nothing was normal” .

Even after a person might be well again, or an illness is dormant, there's the fear of recurrence and relapse, a new sense of impermanence, that everything is only ever short lived and doomed. The scars on the soul may not be visible, yet they can linger, and can be the hardest to heal.

Mi shebeirach imoteinu, M’kor habrachah l’avoteinu, Bless those in need of healing with r’fuah sh’leimah, The renewal of body, the renewal of spirit…

When we talk about healing and healing prayers we do not mean cure. Sometimes healing can mean acceptance, to live in the present rather than being fearful of the unknown.

Standing at the bedside of someone very ill, healing or cure can feel very far away, or even impossible. When a person is only kept alive by the rhythmic beeping of machines they are attached to, with mysterious tubes snaking in and out of their body, as medicine slowly drip drips into their veins, when we cannot see what is happening inside their bodies save for incomprehensible numbers flashing on a screen, it can be hard to believe they will ever get better, or ever be cured. 

In the darkest hours of despair, when someone is in such emotional and spiritual pain, we may wonder whether they can ever return; in those times healing may not be a word we can fathom.  In those moments we might only be able to cry out like Moses did; ‘el na refarna la’, ‘please God please heal her’. When the pain and fear is so raw, it can be hard to do much else.

Our version of the ancient prayer was written in 1987 by Debbie Friedman Z’’L and Drora Seitel, as part of a ceremony to ‘accept emotional and spiritual pain, while still embracing life: in other words, as a path to healing”. 

“How, we wondered, could we ask for refuah sh’leima, for a “complete healing,” for people who had [what was at the time] a terminal illness? It seemed not only cruel but contrary to the Jewish prohibition against knowingly praying for something in vain. We thought it would be more appropriate to focus on the possibility of spiritual healing, an experience of wholeness and blessing even in the face of death. We kept the rabbinic phrase refuah sh’leima but redefined it as the “renewal,” rather than the repair of body and spirit”.

Sometimes there can be no complete healing, and sometimes a person knows their days are numbered. And yet, even then we can still pray for renewal, sometimes not of the body, but of the soul.

Mi shebeirach avoteinu, M'kor ha'bracha l'imoteinu, May the source of strength, Who blessed the ones before us, Help us find the courage to make our lives a blessing.

In the classic version of the misheberach we ask God to restore, heal, strengthen and enliven the person who is ill or suffering, so that they can have a complete healing. For Friedman and Seitel it was important that we recognise that; 

“...the Source of Blessing is within us as well as around us, allowing us to be active agents of healing. So we asked for “the courage to make our lives a blessing” in addition to the more passive, traditional request to be blessed”.

What does it mean that we seek to be active agents of healing? Jewish wisdom calls it Bikur Cholim; the commitment to visit those who are sick.

The Talmud says succinctly; “a prisoner can’t release themself from jail, and a sick person can’t lift their own spirits on their sickbed” (Brachot 5b). 

Being remembered can make a big difference, whether through making sure there are meals or challah ready for the person or their loved ones when they return home, exhausted from hospital. Or even just a phone call or a note, all these ways can make a big difference to both those who are ill, and those who are supporting them. For illness impacts not only the person at the centre but also those closest around who are helping and maybe struggling themselves, both physically and spiritually. Often they too will need a blessing of healing and renewal. Even if they find it hard to receive support and care at the same time as being a main caregiver.

Though small acts of chesed/kindness cannot heal a physical problem, they can help to heal people spiritually. For conversations, whether over the phone, or on the doorstep provide a form of spiritual medicine; reminding a person that they belong, and that others care. 

We are setting up a Chesed group, a group that will be ready to do these small acts, so that whenever there’s a need, we have a group of members ready to reach out to other members. It might be to bring a cake to someone just out of hospital, or drop a meal around for their carer whilst they are travelling back and forth each day, giving someone a lift to services, it might be flowers after the death of a loved one, or a challah on the first shabbat a family brings home a new baby, or simply to make a phone call to check in and see how someone is doing. Will you help when we ask? Whether it is only once, or many times, these are some of the actions that really matter.

When they wrote the song Friedman and Seitel both; 

“took it for granted that those singing it would think of themselves as well as others in their prayers for healing. As it became apparent that this was not always the case, Debbie insisted on singing the song twice in concert: first, individually, for those listening (“I’ll sing it first for you,” she would say) and only then in unison. Debbie knew all too well that every one of us, simply by virtue of being human, experiences pain and brokenness and, therefore, we all need healing. Yet at the same time, she taught us all that our lives are a joyful blessing”.

A lot of people are ill. Some in this community, some amongst our friends and family, some amongst our colleagues and neighbours. Some are rather young, and others not so much. Some have physical diseases, others are struggling with their mental health. All are deeply affected, and so are those around them who support them. Debbie Friedman and Drora Seitel teach us that the mi shebeirach is for all of us. We all experience brokenness and pain, and we all need to find renewal. And most importantly, is that we have the opportunity with each and every new day, “to make our lives a blessing”, to create good in our lives and the lives of others.