- Clergy
- Shabbat
I have been flat on my back for the better part of the last two weeks. I really don’t know what happened. I hadn’t done anything outside of the usual standing, sitting, walking, but suddenly I was in agony. Out of the blue, my lower back suddenly felt like a stake had been implanted into my tailbone and waves of excruciating pain began to radiate in all directions. Moaning in disbelief, I grabbed the heating pad, and staggered to my bed, thinking, “Oh, God, no. Please no. I don’t have time for this. I’m too busy. I have too much to do!”
Pain killers didn’t help, though heat and ice made things bearable. Friends had to bring me groceries and my daughter had to drive me to my physical therapist where I hobbled into her office, begging for relief.
She is doing her best, but as we know, our bodies have their own timetable. Healing, whether physical or mental, does not happen overnight. I had no choice but to slow down. To rest. To sleep. And to think.
At first, I thought about all the things I was supposed to be doing instead of lying in bed -- bills to pay, phone calls to make, emails to return, appointments and meetings to keep, both on zoom and in person, not mention all my household chores. This really stressed me out.
Then I started to think about the High Holy Day sermons I had to write and the programs I needed to set up for Yom Kippur and Sukkot. It’s almost August, already, and I haven’t even started! Now I was panicked as well as stressed.
Finally, on the fourth day, when I still couldn’t even get off the bed without crying, I gave up. Or should I say, I gave in. I stopped worrying about everything that I couldn’t possibly do and tried to find peace. Peace is good for healing, right? Peace and calm and tranquility, isn’t that what they say? So, I took a deep breath and inhaled. And exhaled. I did it again. And a third time. Then I opened my mind and just let it wander, not focusing my thoughts in any particular direction. I threw my mind wide open like a pair of French doors and waited to see what would float in.
And to my utter surprise, a certain Hebrew prayer or should I say collection of prayers suddenly entered. It wasn’t intentional and I wasn’t feeling particularly religious. But there they were.
Baruch ata Adonai, Elohenu Melech ha’olam, zokef k’fufim.
Blessed are You, Adonai our God, Sovereign of the universe, who raises those bent over. (I was certainly bent over, all right. The walker standing by my bedside attested to that. The only way I could even attempt to stand up straight was if I laced myself tightly into a cervical corset that made it difficult to breathe.)
Baruch ata Adonai, Elohenu Melech Ha’olam, hameichin mitzadei gaver.
Blessed are You, Adonai our God, Sovereign of the universe, who strengthens our steps. (Ah, those beautiful steps. Two weeks ago, I was striding briskly down the street, hopping out of my car, easily walking up the stairs. Now I was shuffling across the room, stopping to rest every few feet.)
Baruch ata Adonai, Elehenu Melech Ha’olam, malbish arumim.
Blessed are You, Adonai our God, Sovereign of the Universe, who clothes the naked. (I’m embarrassed to say that I actually needed help getting dressed. Pulling on long pants or leggings is almost impossible when you can’t bend down.)
The Nissim b’chol Yom – the Daily Miracles. Blessings thanking God for the mundane activities of everyday life. Mundane, that is, until you can no longer perform them.
How many times have I recited these prayers and not given them a thought? How many times did I chant them by rote without thinking about the words?
The earliest inclusion of these prayers into a synagogue service was in a siddur (prayerbook) written by Rabbi Amram Gaon in the 9th century, but they were written hundreds of years before that by our Talmudic sages. Our great rabbis understood that the even the most commonplace, everyday behaviors are actually miracles and wanted us to realize that, too. They believed that every moment of existence is filled with holiness and to understand that is to live a richer, fuller, more meaningful life.
So, they created this list of private meditations that begins with the moment we open our eyes and continues as we prepare for our day, with each expression of gratitude building upon the one before it, elevating something we take for granted into the realm of the sacred. Thank you, God, for letting me wake up. Thank you, God for allowing me to see both light and darkness. Thank you, God, giving me strength, when I am so weary.
And as the blessings gain momentum, the subliminal message becomes loud and clear: “Pay attention! Something awe-inspiring and amazing is happening all around you! Every single day, your life is filled with wonder and mystery.”
The past eighteen months have filled us with a roller coaster of emotions. First, the world shut down, then it opened again, and now it seems to be closing once more. We are angry, frustrated, exhausted, resentful and oh, so sick of this.
No doubt, our sages had their share of adversity and worse - Plagues, wars, destruction, exile, imprisonment and death. And yet not only did they create these litany of Daily Miracles for us, but also suggested that we try to say 100 blessings a day. One hundred blessings – even when we are suffering; even when we are in pain, or depressed, or lonely, or scared. One hundred blessings to help us recognize that even in the worst of times, the beauty and power of the natural world, the comfort of family and friends, the pleasure of study, the safe return from travel, and the healthy functioning of our bodies (just to name a few) are all treasures to be recognized and cherished.
Yesterday, for the first time, I sat up, got up out of my bed and stood up straight without pain. Talk about a miracle! Baruch Hashem, as they say. Thank you, God, for this huge blessing. I am so happy!
In a few days, I hope to take a walk. Just thinking about being able to walk easily and firmly without a cane or walker fills me with hope and joy. When it finally happens, I will probably burst into song.
Shabbat Shalom and I hope you are well,
Love,
Susan