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 By Rabbi Anne Brener
One day recently, I struggled with painful aftereffects of chemotherapy. My most life-sustaining efforts, walking and writing, felt challenged.
That morning I hobbled downstairs, holding tight to the banister. I sat on the couch and read a book of blessings made for me at a rabbinical conference when my cancer was first diagnosed. My friend Riqi decorated a scrapbook and left it for attendees to inscribe with prayers and wishes on my behalf. I read their words, as well as the prayers and blessings of others, written on ribbons and cards, which decorate my home. I pictured the friends, acquaintances, and strangers who have sent me these loving acknowledgments. Then I read the latest edition of The Outstretched Arm, a publication of the National Jewish Healing Center, which explored the theme of Shabbat and healing. The words soothed me. When I came to the end of the publication, I realized that, for the entire time I had been reading, I had not been aware of my pain.
Recently a study was released asserting that prayer does not work. Skeptics were emboldened. “You see,” they said smugly. But those of us who have basked in the glow of prayers, rested on their
wings, been buoyed by the love they convey are not deterred. We know that while prayer may not effect a permanent cure, it can certainly bring healing. That healing may only last a second or be more
enduring. But it is healing just the same. Prayer often enables us to change tracks when we feel pain. Our focus diverted, perhaps only briefly, we align with relief. This brings us closer to a refuah
shleimah, a complete healing. This morning’s reading, which transported me into a zone of healing, was a lot like praying. To paraphrase Rabbi Zalman M. Schachter-Shalomi, it was less of a vending
machine experience (you put in your prayer and get what you prayed for) and more of a flight path experience (you are transported into another place).
Prayer may or may not involve God. I pray when I glance at the Mi Sheberach list on my computer desktop and feel connected to those for whom I wish healing. I am soothed by the knowledge that there are people praying for me. I breathe more deeply, and on that breath, there is relief. When my kitty purrs, our connection feels like prayer. Each gaze at my daughter is a prayer.
Liturgical prayer can be an affirmation of faith such as the statement of the weekday Amidah, which requests of God, “Heal us and we will be healed,” or the Mi Sheberach [prayer for healing],
where God is named as the one who heals both body [refuat ha-guf] and soul [refuat ha-nefesh]. Prayer can also be a response to the liturgy—not just a positive one. Recently, during the morning
service, I had difficulty rising on my toes as we said “Kadosh, kadosh, kadosh [Holy, holy, holy]” during the Kedushah prayer. I cried out in my heart, “Is this what You want? That I’m not even
capable of properly praising your name?”
My expression of desperation and anger as a form of prayer is consistent with ancient Jewish understanding. There is a midrash in which Rabbi Johannan used ten words to describe prayer, many of them taken from the biblical description of the emotional state of the Hebrews trapped in the depths of slavery. Those words are cry, lament, groan, sing, encounter, trouble, call, fall, pray, and supplicate. Almost all of those were present in the question rising from my pain.
As I came upstairs to write, my feet hurt less. Expressing how I felt, I prayed with my fingers and, as I typed, my fingers felt less pain. Sometimes prayer tricks me. After complaining about my situation, the pain seemed miraculously ameliorated. I was embarrassed, thinking that in my crying out I had been overdramatic. I feared burdening those who care for me. Forgive me, if your prayers work. And thank you to all of you who have sent blessings or prayers on behalf of myself. They sustain me.
The above excerpt, “Choosing Life: Prayer and Healing,” by Rabbi Anne Brener is from Making Prayer Real: Leading Jewish Spiritual Voices on Why Prayer Is Difficult and What to Do about It by Rabbi Mike Comins © 2010 by Mike Comins. Permission granted by Jewish Lights Publishing, P.O. Box 237, Woodstock, VT 05091; www.jewishlights.com.
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Rabbi Anne Brener, LCSW, is author of Mourning and Mitzvah, 2nd Edition: A Guided Journal for Walking the Mourner’s Path through Grief to Healing and Taking the Time You Need to Mourn Your Loss. Anne, a psychotherapist, rabbi, spiritual director and teacher, leads workshops that explore the connection between spirituality and psychology, particularly as they relate to grief, mourning and healing. These workshops for Jewish and interfaith audiences give individuals tools to nurture psychological and spiritual growth and promote creativity. She works with individuals and groups in her private psychotherapy practice and teaches and lectures about bereavement, the healing process, Jewish ritual and women’s issues.
Anne’s work is enriched by her own experiences with loss and personal growth, her belief in the healing power of ritual and her professional skills in psychotherapy, communications and community organization. She holds graduate degrees in the fields of communications social work and Jewish communal service and lives in Los Angeles with her daughter, Jen.
Rabbi Anne Brener is available to speak on the following topics:
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Creating Caring Communities: The Spiritual Practice of Caring for Others
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The Order of the Parah Aduma: A Guild of Caretakers Caring for Ourselves
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The Art of Comfort: Creating Ritual Objects and Healing Environments to Enhance Our Acts of Compassion
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Healing Our Jewish Selves
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Yizkor and the Continuing Conversation
Click here to contact the author.
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