blogs/rabbi-huberman

One of my most remarkable moments as a rabbinical student occurred when—during my first month of classes—I was challenged by one of my teachers.

In a class called “Personal Theology,” in front of fellow students, I was asked: “Do you believe that when you pray for someone’s health, it actually makes a difference?” After thinking moment, I replied, “Yes, I do.”

“Then I think,” the rabbi said, “that you’re going to have to develop a more mature understanding of God.” I was shocked. Wasn’t this rabbinical school? Aren’t we supposed to believe in the power of prayer?

As I sat there stunned, the rabbi continued. “Do you think that God had the power on September 11—that horrible day—with the flick of a finger, to divert those two airplanes from crashing into the towers?

“Do you believe that God could have prevented the Holocaust?” Now, fast forward to 2024, do we—as many do—believe that on July 13, it was God’s will that the former President was only wounded in the ear, rather than assassinated?

The interaction with my teacher that day affected me very profoundly. So that an hour later I walked into the head rabbi’s office and declared, “I don’t think I can do this.”

But the rabbi sat me down and calmed me. He said, “You have just wandered into one of Judaism’s major debates: Does God intervene in our daily lives, or not? “Get used to it,” he continued. “Throughout your career, you will face this dilemma and will have to explain it almost every day.”

And as my career has unfolded, I’ve found that the head rabbi was right. Is it God’s will—or our own—individual and community—actions that ultimately affect the most significant moments of our lives?

The matter of prayer, and God’s interaction with it, not only perplexes those of the Jewish faith, but worshippers of all religions.

The issue takes center stage this week as our sacred scripture occupies itself with public health. This week’s reading is not the most inspiring of the 54 yearly Torah portions. All I need do is mention rashes, skin diseases, leprosy, and blood purification, and we are inclined to turn the page.

But isn’t it remarkable that the Torah shows concern this week for public health issues, long before the field of medicine became a sophisticated practice?

Our tradition recognizes the importance of diagnosis, hand washing, quarantine and prayer as part of a holistic approach to healing.

Indeed, Tazria, the Parashah of childbirth and skin diseases, is as important as other portions because it takes us to difficult places. Perhaps during the pandemic, it also served as a guide to preventing illness.

This week, the Torah asks us to examine the things that afflict us, and, perhaps more importantly, to consider those who are affected: those who society often places “out of bounds.”

Perhaps one of the most difficult aspects of illness involves isolation. As the world continues to spin, those who are sick often feel forgotten, alone and rejected. And they are not the only ones.

Outside the margins of our daily lives, there are many. They include the aged, the poor, and the disabled—whether in hospital or at home. Perhaps this is why Judaism places such a high value upon Bikur Cholim, visiting the sick.

As we learn from this week’s Torah portion, our ancestors understood the need for isolation and quarantine in the case of contagious diseases. But while the Torah provides for such precautions, it never completely isolates the individual who is affected.

In fact, it is just the opposite. The person most respected in the community, the Kohen—the priest—was called upon to examine a person’s sores to diagnose a disease or affliction.

As a community leader, it was his job to get his hands dirty. And when the person was finally cured, through a public declaration or ritual, the Kohen again came forward to declare that person ready to re-enter the community.

In this way, the stigma of illness could be laid to rest. Indeed, if the Kohen could touch that person, then surely others could do so, as well. So, this messy and seemingly nonspiritual Parashah is about addressing an illness from beginning to end.

When you think of it, that is the purpose of the Misheberach prayer, which we recite each Shabbat morning as we publicly inform those in attendance of those among us who are ill.

Of course, prayers for the sick don’t have a 100 percent success rate. But prayers can heal. First, they bring the ill person to our attention, ensuring that they remain part of us. Prayers for the sick also serve as a call to action. They remind us to renew or maintain contact.

And while prayers cannot always cure cancer or heal a sick heart, they can provide a person with a sense of hope or help us to cherish our blessings. They can also encourage us to reconcile with our loved ones and help us to renew our relationship with God.

Someone sitting near us has spoken a name during Prayers for the Sick. That sharing of concern is profound. Have we noticed?

Tradition tells us that someone who visits the sick takes away one 60th of that person’s illness. So maybe this is the purpose of it all: to lessen a person’s suffering by sharing it.

The Talmud reminds us that although we can’t be God—we can emulate God’s “attributes.” The Talmud also reminds us, just as God visited Abraham after his circumcision, we should perform Bikur Cholim—visiting those who are ill.

So, this week, perhaps above all, we need to absorb the Tazria’s inner meaning. For Judaism cannot be only about stories, morals and ethical lessons. Judaism challenges us—to learn as much from the difficult, as we so from the pleasant.

As for the debate regarding the role of God in healing—I now see the matter in a broader context.  God has set in motion a partnership, by which we work together to perfect this broken world. That includes a fellow human being who may not, at this moment, be whole.

God cannot do it alone. When we call, visit, text or otherwise reach out, we remind that person that they are not alone. We honor their lives, their hopes and their wishes for a Re’fu’ah Shelaimah—a full recovery.

Can God heal through prayer? I still believe that to be true, with one addition. Through the wisdom and concern of physicians, nurses and other health care staff, family, friends and even strangers, healing comes faster than the alternative.

As the Torah tells us, we are a nation of Kohanim—of priests. Each one of us possesses the power to heal.

And we thank God for the power to heal another. For in so doing, in some way, we heal ourselves, and the world.

Shabbat shalom, v’kol tuv.

Rabbi Irwin Huberman