BIKUR CHOLIM AS A SPIRITUAL EXERCISE
or
FINDING GOD IN THE HOSPITAL
Rabbi Lewis John Eron. Ph.D.
Men’s Club Installation Shabbat
Temple Emmanuel, Cherry Hill, NJ
Friday, June 23, 1995
As Jews, particularly as Jews who have chosen to become involved in Temple life, we are aware of the spiritual blessings that our sacred tradition offers us. But Jewish spirituality finds the walls of a synagogue too restrictive and the practice of prayer and meditation too passive to enable us to meet fully the power of divinity in our lives.
As Jews, we see our vocation as a holy people and a sacred nation not only in terms of worship and piety but also in terms of action and activity. Our goal is not to meet God in holy places through holy words but to use the time we take for prayer and study, such as our worship tonight, as an opportunity to refresh ourselves before we return to the real task of finding God’s presence in the work-a-day world. As Jews historically we have the uncanny ability of discovering the Divine in the most unlikely, ungodly, and often inhuman situations.
Ever since Moses who first encountered the Holy One in the midst of a burning bush and then among our enslaved ancestors the heart of Jewish spiritual life has been encountering God through the performance of good deeds, the doing of mitzvot, in the world in which we work and live.
As Jews we believe that the spiritual search, the search for the power of the Divine One in our lives, means getting our hands dirty, getting involved, helping out, being active. As Jews we picture our God as a hard-working deity, not as a passive object of adoration. Three times a day we declare that our God is the God who spends his time feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, freeing the oppressed, healing the sick, comforting the mourners, and raising up the downtrodden. As Jews we understand that we realize God’s power through our concern with those who are cold, hungry, hurt, lost, and sick.
Throughout our history for our prophets, our rabbis, our thinkers and our mystics involvement in human needs, the fulfillment of mitzvot bein adam lehaveiro, the interpersonal mitzvot, the obligations we have to other people, what we often call “Social Action”, was, is and will always be the supreme spiritual exercise.
Tonight I want to look at the spiritual aspects of one of these mitzvot, the mitzvah of Bikur Cholim, the Mitzvah of Visiting the Sick. I want to talk about the art of finding God among those who are ill in Hospitals, or in Old Age Homes, in Hospice, or in Asylums, living with their families or all alone.
First of all, the Mitzvah of Bikur Cholim, Visiting the Sick, is one of those mitzvot on which all Jews agree. In these days when we worry so much about the unity of the Jewish people, it is refreshing to look at these mitzvot. They remind us of how much we have in common: the spiritual, philosophical bonds that tie us to other Jews over time and space.
There is no Ashkenazi or Sephardi version of the mitzvah of Bikur Cholim, Visiting the Ill. There is no Hasidic or non-Hasidic version. There is no Orthodox, Reform, Reconstructionist, or Conservative version. There is only a Jewish version, clearly expressed in our traditional sources, and cherished by Jews everywhere. The mitzvah of Bikur Cholim reminds us of the spiritual unity of all Jews.
On a personal level, one of the high points of my first year as Jewish Community Chaplain for the Southern New Jersey Jewish Federation was attending the annual conference of the National Association of Jewish Chaplain with rabbis and cantors from all streams of contemporary Jewish belief and practice. I was amazed at how fast our denominational identities faded away as we discussed how we could better care for Jews and other people and more effectively spread Yiddishkeit, the sense of being a stakeholder in the Jewish tradition, among those we touch in the course of our work.
But tonight, I would like to focus on another two spiritual aspects of the mitzvah of Bikur Cholim, Visiting the Sick. They are closely related, reciprocal. The first is “Acting in Imitation of God” in which the visitor gives more than he receives. The second is “Being in the Presence of God” in which a visitor receives more than one gives.
First “Acting in Imitation of God”.
When a person is ill, it is a mitzvah for everyone to visit, because our tradition teaches that even God visits the sick. Almost 1500 years ago the rabbis of the Talmudic period interpreted a verse in Genesis (18:1), “And God appeared unto Abraham in the plains of Mamre...” as meaning that God came to visit Abraham as Abraham was recovering from his brit milah, from the circumcision that marked his entry into the covenant with God. (Genesis Rabbah, 8:13; see also b. Sotah 14a). We, the descendants of Abraham and the heirs of his covenant with God, show our loyalty to that covenant by imitating God’s deed. We visit the sick because as a people we believe that visiting the sick, attending to their needs, and offering them support is the godly thing to do.
By taking the time to visit someone who is sick or infirm, in a hospital or in a long-term care facility or confined to home, we offer so much.
We break the patient’s sense of isolation.
We tell him that he is not alone.
We reinforce his sense of self—worth.
We remind him that he is part of a family, a synagogue, a community, and a peoplehood.
As a rabbi I can assure you that when you visit a sick person as a member of Temple Emanuel’s Men’s Club, for example, you are accurately perceived as a representative of our Temple and of our entire Jewish community. You represent not only yourself as a concerned individual but the entire Jewish people. You stand for a community that cares for its own and for everyone. Bikur Cholim is a mitzvah for all Jews. When you visit the sick and say, “I am from Temple Emanuel” you are not only fulfilling the mitzvah for yourself, you are an agent for the Temple.
You give the patient the reassuring feeling that he is still part of us, the Jewish people, and that we, as a Temple and as a community, care about him.
When we say those few words, we give more than our personal best wishes; we impart a deep sense of belonging to fellow Jews and honor our people, our covenant, and our God in the presence of all people. This sense of belonging is so crucial to Jewish spiritual life that it marks one of the major differences between a Jewish approach to pastoral care and a Christian approach. Most Jewish chaplains understand themselves as representatives of the people of the Divine Covenant, the Jewish people, while most Christian chaplains see their role as standing in for God.
In addition, our ancient sage’s image of God visiting the sick leads us to the second spiritual dimension of Bikur Cholim, “Being in the Presence of God”.
According to the codes of Jewish law, it is forbidden to stand or sit on a level above that of the patient because the Shekinah, the Divine Presence, rests above the head of the one who is ill. (RMBM, Yad, Laws of Mourning, 14.6; Kitzur Shulchan Arukh, 193.2) In other words, when we visit the sick, we need to remember that God arrived there before us and that the room already contains the Divine Presence, the Shekinah. The hospital room is a holy place. When we enter the sick-room we must not block God’s face but reflect it, in what we say and do.
We need to remember that the patient is the one who is graced by the Divine Presence, not we. Because of her infirmity, her trials, her disease, God is already there with her and has not come into the room with us. Illness has given her a unique perspective on life, its troubles, and its triumphs, that only she can share.
We need to listen before we speak. We cannot make assumptions or impose our feelings on her. We need to put aside our agenda and follow hers. We need to learn from her experience rather than provide our canned answers. We need her wisdom to fortify us because someday we, too, will meet our affliction.
Only a few months ago I saw a woman in a local hospital in what I thought was a dreadful condition. She had no immediate family. She didn’t have two quarters to rub together. She had trouble sitting up much less walking. She was a living medical textbook. But she was joyous. Not because she was insane. Not because she was drugged. But because she had friends and she had God. She told me that she wasn’t good at school or successful in business but she had learned to be a good friend and now she felt surrounded by friends near and far who worried about her, looked after her, and prayed for her. That’s why she knew there was a God! It was the end of a long day, at the end of a long week. I was exhausted and ready to go home and go to sleep. But I drank this woman’s enthusiastic love of life even as her life was ebbing as a tonic for my soul and left her room refreshed and restored.
Our rewards are not always so sudden and overwhelming. Sometimes the patient’s answer will just be a forced smile and a weak thank you. Sometimes her answer might be a lengthy tirade as we are on the receiving end of her anger at life, God, and the world. Sometimes she might reveal a secret story and sometimes share a deep thought. And sometimes we might be so blessed to see the awesome mystery of her soul departing or the joyous miracle of her life being restored.
Often when we talk of Bikur Cholim, of Visiting the Sick, we concentrate on the effect the visit has on the patient. These days people often speak of spiritual healing and the therapeutic benefits our visits offer the ill. They discuss how prayer, song, and meditation can strengthen the body and the spirit of the sick and promote a sense of wellness and vitality.
This evening, however, I focused on the spiritual opportunities the Mitzvah of Bikur Cholim offers the visitor rather than the patient to provide some balance and to reinforce the reciprocal nature of Jewish life which proclaims: that when we care, we are cared for; that when we lift up, we are uplifted; that when we bless, we are blessed. I would like to conclude with a traditional prayer for all the members of the Men’s Club and all the members of Temple Emanuel who involve themselves in good work of our synagogue.
Mi Shabeirach Avoteinu: Avraham, Yitzchak ve-Yaakov; ve-imotainu. Sarah, Rivka, Rachel ve Leah; hu yivareich et ha-kahal kodesh ha-zeh.
May the One who showered blessings on our Biblical Ancestors: Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, Sarah, Rachel, Rebecca, and Leah, bless this holy community, Temple Emmanuel, along with all other holy synagogue communities, its officers and clergy, its loyal members, and all their loved ones everywhere. May all those who maintain this synagogue and all those who come here to pray and to study find God’s gracious presence within its walls.
May God’s blessings also fall upon those who gather here to perform deeds of loving-kindness.
May they be graced with the fullness of spirit, abundant love, courage, and hope so that they can always be strengthened in their support of the sick, the lonely, and infirm in our community.
May their eyes be open, their minds alert and their hearts awake to sense God’s sustaining presence in all they do. May they be blessed with the same sense of healing they hope to share with others.
And may we always be blessed by and through their efforts.
And let us say, “Amen!”