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Rabbi Karp's Sermons ...

HEALING TIME
delivered by Rabbi Henry Jay Karp
Temple Emanuel, Davenport, Iowa
Yom Kippur Morning, 5761
October 9, 2000

It has become the custom in our congregation, as it has in most other Reform congregations, that when­ever we read Torah, we precede the reading with a healing prayer and the singing of Debbie Friedman's Mi Shebeirach.  Before we offer these prayers of healing, I read a list of people whom we know are in need of healing, and then I invite the congregation, to add whatever names you choose to that list.

When we first introduced this practice, I was uncertain as to how you would receive it.  I feared that it might be too "touchy feely" for you.  And indeed, it did take some getting used to.  At first, there was many a service when not one hand went up; when not one additional name was offered by those assembled.  But slowly at first, and then very quickly, that changed.  Hands started going up, more and more hands.  People started calling the Temple office, requesting to have certain names added to the healing list.  People started requesting that the names of individuals suffering from protracted illnesses be automatically included every week until their recovery.  While at first, we only did this ritual on Friday nights, people started requesting us to include it in their children's Bar and Bat Mitzvah services.  Now, as I stated a few moments ago, we do it as a matter of course, every time we read Torah.

There is no question, but that with the overwhelming majority of those who worship with us regularly, and with many of those who worship with us only occasionally, this healing ritual has caught on.  Indeed, it is both surprising and heartwarming to see for how many of our congregants, this ritual has become a very important part of their Temple experience.

The tremendous popularity of this ritual, especially of the mentioning of particular names and of the Debbie Friedman song itself, testifies to the great yearning that there is out there for healing, and for personal healing in particular.

Ironically, if rabbis had tried to introduce this ritual to Reform congregations 15 or 20 years ago, their congregants would have thought them a little strange, scoffed at them, or worse.  “Pray for healing?  Isn't that what doctors and hospitals are for?  That's not prayer!  That's magic!  It simply is not what Reform Judaism is all about!”  But not so today.

So what has changed?  What has changed is that we have come to realize that there are spiritual components to healing, as well as physical ones; that doctors and medicine can only take the healing process so far, and that beyond that point, the rest is truly in the hands of both the patient and God.  We have come to realize that when it comes to healing, prayer really can help.  We may not understand how it helps, or why it helps, but in spite of that, we know that it can help.  But even if we are unsure of that, still, we know that it can't hurt, and trying it is most definitely worth the gamble.  Yes, we are a people who hunger for healing.  We hunger for it so much that we even are willing to transcend our veneer of pseudo sophistication and pray for it.

And so more and more we find ourselves praying for the healing of the body.  But there is more to healing than the healing of the body.  There is the healing of the spirit.  And while we focus so much of our attentions on the body’s healing, how often we neglect the spirit’s.

That is exceptionally sad, for the world is filled with wounded spirits, many seriously wounded spirits.  Yet our culture has taught us to hide those wounds, for spiritual wounds are a sign of weak­ness.  If we break our arm, we have it set.  It we contract a disease, we have it treated.  If we damage an organ, we have it repaired.  But if our heart is broken, we hide it.  If our spirit is damaged, we carry on bravely.  No one should ever know just how deeply we are wounded.

All too often, other people are afraid to know how deeply we are wounded.  It makes them uncomfortable.  Perhaps because our wounds are a testimony to their own vulnerability.  As a child growing up in New York, I remember being dreadfully afraid of amputees.  And there seemed to have been a lot of them in those days.  I suspect that many of them were wounded veterans of the Second World War and the Korean War.  At that age, I did not know why I was afraid of them.  I just knew that they terrified me.  It would only be much later in my life that I would realize that the reason I feared them was that I was afraid that what happened to them might happen to me.

And so many of us still carry those fears when it comes to the spiritually wounded.  We see them and we fear that what happened to them might happen to us.  So some of us feel uncomfortable around a bereaved widow or widower.  Sure we will go to the funeral, but what about after­wards?  How often will we extend ourselves to them in comfort and companionship?  Some feel uncomfortable around those who have been divorced.  Some feel uncomfortable around those who have had some major surgery, especially if it is intimate surgery, such as a mastectomy.  Some feel uncomfortable around those who have had psychological or psychiatric problems.  Yes, we are riddled with fears, fears of our own vulnerability.  And a greater tragedy yet is that, because of our fears, we find ourselves victimizing precisely those individuals who already are victims.  We so often wound the wounded, when we should be a source of their healing.

There is a fascinating aspect to spiritual wounds.  The overwhelming majority of them are the pro­ducts of human relationships.  We inflict them upon each other, either directly or indirectly.

Directly is obvious - we do it through our own interactions; a harsh word, a nasty deed, a bitter argument.  Indeed, isn’t it interesting that the people who often hurt us the most are also the people for whom we care the most?  Our spouses, our parents, our children, our siblings, our closest friends.  Indeed, the closer they are, the more damage they can do.  If we go to a store and have an argument with a clerk, sure it annoys us, and we may fume about it for a little while, but in a matter of a day or so, it is as if it never happened.  But when we get into a scrap with someone we really care about, we can, and often do, carry that anger and that pain around with us for years.  Sometimes for the rest of our lives.  What an irony it is that it seems that the greater the love, the more rancid the bitterness.

When it comes to our wounding indirectly, of course that is more subtle.  We do it by the standards that we set, the expectations we have.  For example, no one wants to see you cry at a funeral.  It’s embarrassing.  But what’s embarrassing about it?  Letting people know how deeply you loved the deceased, and that you are in great pain?  So we swallow it, and when we can’t swallow it any more, we apologize for it, for nobody likes a crybaby.

Yes, this is no shortage of the spiritually wounded around us, and each of us, in one way or another, directly or indirectly, bear the responsibility of many, many of those wounds.

We all hunger for healing.  Whether or not we are wounded in body, we hunger for healing.  For I dare say that there is not one person here, no matter how physically fit they may be, who has not suffered a wound of the spirit; who may not at this very moment carry within them a wounded spirit.

Healing of the spirit is there for the taking.  It is available to each and every one of us.  Indeed, that is one of the wonders of this wondrous day of Yom Kippur.  For this day of prayer and fasting and contemplation is like one great Mi Shebeirach for the soul.

Yom Kippur is about repentance and forgiveness.  It is about reaching out, offender to offended, offended to offender.  It is about healing relationships and the spiritual wounds so often born of them.  How ready we all are to cling to our bitterness, our anger, our rage.  Yet Yom Kippur calls upon us to think beyond that; to rummage through our memories and recall - indeed resurrect - all those deep and warm and loving feelings that we carried for each other prior to the moment of offence.  Yom Kippur challenges us, asking, “Wasn’t that relationship beautiful?  Didn’t you enjoy it?  Wasn’t your life better because of it?  And now that it is gone, isn’t there something missing from your life - something positive?  In your heart of hearts, wouldn’t you like to reclaim it and regain it?  What would that be worth to you?  How much of yourself would you be willing to invest toward it?”

The Yom Kippur offer of spiritual healing is all wrapped up in this magnificent gift of forgiveness.  The seeking of forgiveness is the gift we give the offended.  The granting of forgiveness is the gift we give the offender.  But it is not just the other guy - the offended and the offender - who re­ceive this gift.  Each and every one of us receives it, simply by our seeking forgiveness and our granting forgiveness, that is if we seek it and grant it wholeheartedly.  For as we need to heal the wounds of others, we also need to heal our own wounds.  As someone once wisely said, “Forgive and forget.  The first helps your soul.  The second, your liver.”^[1]  Whether we are seeking forgiveness or granting forgiveness, we are attempting to make peace with our past.  Whether it be our coming to terms with our guilt or our letting go of our anger, in the end the result is the same.  We feel better about ourselves.  And, if in the process, we can reclaim old ties, old friendships, rebuild old relationships, how much the better off we all would be for it.  And, if in the process, we could transform this world into a place which is more accepting of others, more aware and sensitive to the feelings of others, how much better off we all would be for it.

But in all of this, the greatest challenge for us is not just in mustering the courage and the strength and the character to be able to seek forgiveness and grant it.  It is in how we seek it and how we grant it.  It is in seeking it and granting it in ways that will be truly meaningful, both to those with whom we share this quest, and to ourselves.  At times like this, mere words will rarely, if ever, do.  If we are ever to truly heal the wounds, sometimes exceedingly deep, which stand between us, then we have to extend ourselves beyond the words, and touch, not just people’s ears, but more importantly, their hearts.

Recently, I read an article about forgiveness, which presented a model of seeking and granting forgiveness which went far beyond the mere formula of just saying, “Please forgive me,” and “You are forgiven.”  The author, Rabbi Simkha Weintraub,  presented seven suggestions of ways to approach and reinforce what he called “one’s own forgiveness project.”^[2]  I found these suggestions powerful and moving, and in the hope that they will move you as well, and empower you as an effective seeker and granter of forgiveness, I wish to share them with you.

Suggestion number 1: “Forgiveness Through Speech - The basic interaction of forgiveness... has a component that is out loud, spoken and heard, perhaps to express and complement the ‘still small voice’ that is so internal and private.  Consider which aspect of your forgiveness work would be best accomplished through an overt statement... Frame the words that need to be said audibly, and offer them with sincerity and commitment.  If you are asked to forgive, complete the circle by expressing what you heard requested, how you may forgive, and positive hopes for future relationship.”

Suggestion number 2:  “Forgiveness With Touch - Touch CAN be an essential component in offering and seeking forgiveness.  Consider how holding someone’s hand or putting an arm around another’s shoulder can foster a sense of relatedness, connection, or trust, and underscore the desire for reconciliation.  To be sure, there are situations where touch may be inappropriate..., but in trying to repair damaged relationships, it can often be an important and very human non-verbal expression of understanding, restoration - forgiveness.”

Suggestion number 3: “Forgiveness With the Face - Our faces, in particular our eyes, convey a lot about what we think and feel... We need to be mindful of the messages we are conveying through facial expressions.  Are they sincere, welcoming, and open; or intimidating, false, and short-circuiting?  Feel the forgiveness in your face, and try to let it give shape to your eyes, mouth, cheeks, and nose.  When two parties forgive and the circle of forgiveness is completed, cheek muscles soften, jaws loosen, eyes bespeak the compassion and the openness of the heart.”

Suggestion number 4: “Forgiveness Through Body Posture and Movement - Our bodies do speak, and can convey the sincere search for, or a profound offering of, forgiveness.  Rigid posture, folded arms, head held aloof are positions which express something very different than extended palms, head tilted in interest, a seated body leaning forward showing attention.  Consider, too, how taking a walk with someone might bolster the forgiveness project, as if the two parties are jointly embarking on a new path.”

Suggestion number 5: “Forgiveness Through Listening - Whether our goal... is to receive or offer forgiveness, we need to engage, we need to hear, we need to attend.  Think about how we might re-read a page of a novel that didn’t fully sink in on first reading... Replay the words that are seeking or offering forgiveness with an increasingly attuned ear.  If applicable, see what nuance or angle you might have missed before, or what new resource you can uncover.  Find those words that reach out and invite a response, and make them into a bridge of forgiveness.”

Suggestion number 6: “Forgiveness Through Writing - Our ‘email age’ has lost a great deal, and gained some, too.  On the one hand, the art of thoughtfully crafting a patiently hand-written letter expressing our desire for forgiveness, or offering same, has suffered, even as we can dart off many words in nanoseconds to family or friends many, many miles away.  We have traded... character for convenience, tear-soaked quality paper for waste-no-time forms of communication.  Consider how it might more effectively further forgiveness for it to be located on a tangible epistle, and how the personal stamp of one’s own handwriting can, itself, deepen the expression and reflect sincere human presence.  On the other hand, follow-up or supportive communications by email might also enrich the process of sharing related thoughts in a time-effective manner.”

Suggestion 7: “Forgiveness Through Music - The music and lyrics of ancient texts, as well as the rich and diverse Jewish musical library which has evolved over so many centuries, constitute a major spiritual resource for forgiveness.  To cultivate the mood and focus the heart, to give expression to profound sentiments, or to cement new hopes and new possibilities by joining with someone in a melody - Jewish music may serve as both the catalyst and script, the mortar and furnishing of forgiveness... Songs and niggunim (wordless chants) are helpful not only for the inner ambience but for interpersonal coming-together, serving as a bridge between personal transformation and social repair that together cultivate forgiveness.”^[3]

What brilliant and humane insights Rabbi Weintraub has shared with us!  And while we may not choose to burst into song with the other person with whom we need reconciliation, all the rest of these - the softened face and eyes, the arm around the shoulder, the listening ear, the personal investment of time, energy, and attention into a handwritten letter, the intimate walk together - they are all considerable acts of healing.  They are as a balm to a wounded spirit.

But insights alone are meaningless.  That is, unless we can find it in our hearts to apply them - to put them into action in our lives; in our dealings with other people.

There is a wonderful Yiddish expression stating that “Life is with people.”  For all our agonizing over offenses suffered and offenses committed, our life is meaningless unless we live it, and live it fully, with people.  Rabbi Harold Kushner, in his book WHEN ALL YOU EVER WANTED ISN’T ENOUGH, illustrates that fundamental truth most beautifully with the following story:

Rabbi Kushner was “sitting on the beach one summer day, watching two children, a boy and a girl, playing in the sand.  They were hard at work building an elaborate sand castle by the water’s edge, with gates and towers and moats and internal passages.  Just when they had nearly finished their project, a big wave came along and knocked it down, reducing it to a heap of wet sand.  He (I) expected the children to burst into tears, devastated by what had happened to all their hard work.  But they surprised him (me).  Instead, they ran up the shore, away from the water, laughing and holding hands, and sat down to build another castle.”^[4]

We must never forget that we, too, need to walk hand in hand with others, along the beach of our lives, laughing and building magnificent sand castles; sand castles of pleasurable experiences born of our relationships.  Yes, every once in a while a big wave will crash ashore, destroying one of those castles.  But the choice is ours.  Do we grieve and mourn and weep bitterly, or do we extend our hands to each other, and journey up the beach to build a new one.  For sand castles come and go, but relationships have the power to endure.  However, they can only endure if we can grow beyond our offenses suffered and our offenses committed.  They can only endure if each and every one of us is open and ready and willing to take full advantage of Yom Kippur’s special healing gift of forgiveness; forgiveness sought and forgiveness granted.

AMEN

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