blogs/rabbi-huberman

The Cantor and I often face a dilemma when we learn that someone in our community is ill.

“Do we pay a visit or not?”—or more importantly—”Would a visit be appreciated or make a difference?”

Twenty years ago, as a novice rabbi, I made a wrong decision, which, to this day, I consider before I make a sick call—Bikkur Cholim.

On my way to the synagogue one Monday morning, I learned that an elderly woman, whose friendship I cherished, had been admitted to local hospital.

And I thought to myself, “What a mitzvah this would be to remind her that she is not alone.”

I parked, entered the hospital, rode the elevator to the third floor, asked her room number, and walked—without pause—through the door.

“Good morning, boker tov,” I cheerfully greeted her. And I will never forget her response:

“Ahhhhhh!!”

She wrapped her arms around her breakfast tray, which was holding a double portion of bacon. “Get out,” she barked as she reached for her lipstick.

At that moment, I learned an important lesson as a new rabbi, which not only is based on dignity and common sense, but is also connected to this week’s parashah.

“Make sure your mitzvah is welcome before you attempt to perform it.”

Indeed, the mitzvah of Bikkur Cholim is one of the most treasured and effective within all of Judaism. How meaningful it is when a friend, family member or even a stranger is ill, and we remind them that they are not alone—that their presence in our life and in the community is missed.

That they are not defined by their sickness.

If you’ve ever experienced a lengthy illness, you understand that one of the greatest barriers toward healing is loneliness.

But like all mitzvot, there is a proper time to perform it. “Will that person welcome our visit?” Our Sages teach a guiding principle governing most mitzvot: “Kol Mitzvah Bizmanah”—every commandment should be performed at its proper time.

It means that completing a mitzvah is not as important as the appropriate time to perform it.

There are times when someone wishes that their illness remains private. There are those recovering from mental stress or addiction, or—as I learned that day—those not ready to greet visitors.

In this week’s Torah portion, we read about the positive example set by Joseph, Egypt’s Prime Minister, as he learns that his father, Jacob, is gravely ill.

Joseph bolts from the palace, and with his sons in tow, rushes to his father’s side. But then the Torah adds a tiny vignette. It tells us that Joseph pauses before entering.

Jacob’s attendant informs the patriarch, “Your son, Joseph, has come to see you.” This gives Jacob time to “summon his strength and sit up in bed.” (Genesis 48:2)

Within all of the complex stories, lessons and laws contained within the Torah, this seemingly simple sidebar speaks volumes.

Notes the Etz Chaim biblical commentary, “One should never enter the room of a sick or elderly person unannounced, lest they be embarrassed, indisposed or not fit to receive visitors.”

The great Sage and physician, Maimonides (1838-1204), noted that according to tradition, one should “stay away in the early morning or late hours when the patient is being tended to and may not appreciate a visit.”

Tradition also encourages us to sit at a level even with the patient, so we are never looking down upon them.

The Talmud adds that there is actually a measurable physical benefit attached to Bikkur Cholim—that when we visit one who is sick, we absorb one sixtieth of that person’s burden.

One morning in 2009, our daughter, Sarah, noticed a pile of dusty papers in the basement of London’s Bevis Marks Synagogue.

A doctoral candidate at Cambridge University, Sarah became fascinated with the history of the Jews of England—in particular those who were quietly allowed to return in 1654, after 366 years in exile.

As she gently dusted off those fragile papers, she realized she had come across some of the first formal records of the returning Jewish community.

And among the first orders of business, was the need to establish a society for Bikkur Cholim.

Her research also revealed that the London Jewish community became instrumental in developing a radical medical concept.

Rather than have physicians visit patients at home, central institutions were established for the sick and vulnerable—particularly for pregnant women of all backgrounds to bring their children into the world with safety and security.

The first institution of this kind was called Beit Cholim—translated as a House for the Sick—or more commonly, a hospital.

The idea of comforting the sick is wonderful. It helps to preserve and protect life. It provides dignity, comfort and vital connections with the outside world.

Not only does Joseph perform the mitzvah of Bikkur Cholim at the beginning of this week’s Torah portion, but he also demonstrates how it should be performed with the spirit of kindness and dignity.

In these modern times, Joseph inspires us to consider waiting before we visit—to text or call—to ensure that the mitzvah performed will provide value. 

He also reminds us of Kol Mitzvah Bizmanah.

Perhaps this is the moment to pick up the phone—or text—with Judaism’s ancient blessing of peace and healing: Refuah Shelaimah—best wishes for a complete healing of body and soul.

So many in this world are alone right now. By taking a few moments to pay attention to them, we can make a world of difference. While there is a best time to perform Bikkur Cholim—there is no wrong time.

Indeed, each of us possesses the power to bring healing to this world.

Let that time be now.

Shabbat shalom, v’kol tuv.

Rabbi Irwin Huberman