THE SPIRITUAL GIFTS OF BEING LAID UP
I was supposed to travel to Israel this summer for the first time in a dozen years. I was looking forward to studying at the Hartman Institute by day, and drinking coffee with old and new friends at sidewalk Jerusalem cafes in the warm summer evenings. Instead I spent a month cooped up at home recuperating from a herniated disk. Obviously, God had other plans for me this year. To my surprise, I was not upset. To the contrary, it’s been a period of new insight, appreciation, and joy.
First, I remembered how deeply this community cares for me. Within hours of the news getting out that the Rabbi was housebound, satchels bursting with edible goodies started appearing on my doorstep. (As is well-known, food is the cultural currency by which we Jews express love.) I was overwhelmed by your prayers and good wishes expressed through voice messages, emails, and greeting cards. I sometimes get caught up in the negative, the one or two stressors of my job. Then I forget all that routinely goes well and the loving people for whom I work. After I get well, I want to retain my renewed sense of gratitude for this community and the privilege of serving it.
During my convalescence, my gratitude extended not just to people but to the simplest pleasures. I celebrated small measures of progress—the first morning I could stand on my feet long enough to make coffee for myself, or the first night in four weeks that I slept through the night. In my prime, I would think nothing of a 15-mile hike in the wilderness; meanwhile I was thrilled to walk all the way to the tennis courts in Southeast Park and back. I hope to return quickly 15-mile hikes. And when I do, I want to retain the sense of joy for simply being alive.
I also learned humility and acceptance in the face of changing circumstances. I hate to admit it, but I can sometimes be stubborn about projects I organize; when things don’t go my well way, I tend to dig in my heels. I might have dug in my heels about going to Israel, but the Torah stopped me.
It so happens that the Torah portion that week was Shelach Lecha, in which God decrees that the People shall wander in the desert for forty years instead of traveling directly to Israel. Of course, when they hear that the Promised Land is now off-limits, suddenly the People want to go after all! Defiantly, they march on Israel with devastating results. In a flash, I realized the Torah was speaking directly to my individual situation. I understood that if I defiantly pursued my trip to Israel now that “it was decreed off-limits,” I too would meet “with devastating results.”
Thus, another gift of being laid up was finding and heeding the Voice of God. Early on, when excruciating pain shot down my leg and I didn’t know what was happening to me, I simply had no idea what to do first. I turned to a trusted friend and said: “I have no idea what to do. You tell me, and I will do exactly as you say.” She replied: “You need to cancel your appointment with the chiropractor; your problem is too serious for that. Go immediately to the orthopedist and follow his instructions.” Essentially I turned my friend into the temporary ruler of my life. I deputized her as God, as it were, and I turned my will over to her direction.
Now, as I slowly regain control over my schedule and activities, I am cognizant that my independence can be taken away at any moment. When I am back to normal, I want to retain the humility to remember that ultimately my life unfolds not according to my plan but God’s.
What I experienced this summer challenged me physically but did not set me back spiritually. To the contrary, it has been a joyous period. I have often pointed out to people with terminal illness and their loved ones the words in the Mi Shebeirach (the Prayer for Healing): refu’at hanefesh u’refu’at haguf, “a healing of the body and a healing of spirit.” I have shared with them my conviction that even when a physical cure is no longer possible, spiritual well-being is always possible. I learned this summer that the gift of spiritual wholeness not only applies at the point of death but whenever we are ailing physically. The state of my body is external to who I am inside, which can always remain connected to others, to myself, and to God.