My family and I have had too intimate an acquaintance with illness. Leaving out parents and extended relatives, my wife survived cancer at 31 (she is fine now, thanks) with the result that we are fortunate to have one child, but could not have more. I suffered a seizure and had brain surgery for (an ultimately benign) brain tumor, and two years ago was diagnosed with lymphoma. After chemo etc. (yes, suddenly, dramatically bald, tough to keep a kippah on) I am now in remission.
Do I blame God? Given the surfeit of blessings I have had in my life, it seems ungrateful, to say the least. Do I deserve to be showered with blessings and never suffer? It would be nice. But I think the idea that we are owed only good is theologically childish. Most of us – not all to be sure – are extraordinarily forunate.
I am not going to enter here the contentious question of why bad things happen, but I do want to say a word about prayer. It isn’t to get stuff. It isn’t magic. True prayer, deep prayer, should be for relationship, intimacy, so that we are not alone. Prayer has roots in the temple, with korbanot (sacrifices) from the Hebrew root "karov" – to draw close. In prayer we draw closer to God and to the praying community.
At least we hope to, we try to. In illness we come closer to God less because of sudden fear than because illness cracks something open inside us and God – and others – can slip into the cracks. When we heal, we tend to heal inside too, leaving fewer or smaller openings. Someone once said of the poet William Blake that he was cracked. Blake’s friend, a preacher, answered, "Yes, but it is the kind of crack that lets in the light."
Rabbi David Wolpe, author of Why Faith Matters, is guest blogging on Jewcy, and he’ll be here all week. Stay tuned.