The Mi Shebeirach: Strengthening the Community

by Rabbi Rick Brody

Each week in our office, we update our Mi Shebeirach list of cholim—those within our immediate and extended community of friends and relatives who are sick and for whose healing and recovery we pray.  The way we treat and use this seemingly simple list and the other customs associated with prayers for the sick say a lot about Jewish values and their evolution and about our own community.

To me, the most important aspect of the Mi Shebeirach prayer and list is the idea of publicly acknowledging those who are in need.  In traditional synagogues during the Torah service, the gabbai or rabbi will utter a Hebrew formula, will give the opportunity for people to utter names in Hebrew, will sometimes recite names from a list, and then continue the Hebrew formula.  Most congregants “tune out” during this time, many chat, and very few have any idea what is “really” going on.  This squandering of a real community-building opportunity is completely antithetical to the purpose of this prayer. 

Why are we reciting this prayer in public?  Is it because the presence of the Torah carries with it some sort of inherent holiness and healing power?  Are prayers more likely to be “heard” or “answered,” people’s illnesses more soundly eradicated, because of the prayers being said at this time?  Some who lean more towards the superstitious might say yes, but I prefer to focus on the sociological factors at play in this ritual.  The primary concern to which this prayer and even the whole notion of public Torah reading relate is that of bringing the community together.  Torah reading, from its inception in the Book of Ezra, has always been associated with large public gatherings.  It was because Monday and Thursday were traditional market days that they were assigned to be the occasions for the weekday reading.  More people would be assembled; therefore, it was an auspicious time to take out the sacred scroll and read its words.  What mattered was the community.  Our sages knew that even if they could depend on all Jews to make the personal effort to take out their own chumash and read the Torah on their own, there would still be a fundamental problem left unaddressed.  In order for Torah to achieve the holiness with which we associate it—for it to have its greatest power—it needs to be read in the presence of a crowd.  The more people there are to hear it and be affected by it, the more holiness it transmits.  This, of course, is even more true on Shabbat.  Additionally, the public reading of Torah adds a more overt dimension of holiness to the already sacred act of coming together as a community—be it for business or for religious celebration.  Let’s face it—the main reason almost everyone comes to synagogue is to connect with other Jews, particularly those Jews with whom you have developed a relationship and for whom you have grown to have some feelings of concern and respect, if not love.  It is as if our sages said, “What matters most is that you are all together in a large gathering.  We will highlight the significance of this phenomenon—which many might not readily see as something holy—by superimposing onto it the primary symbol of holiness in our tradition, the Torah.”

So, too, the fact that a large gathering has assembled makes for an auspicious time to share the news of people’s suffering and illnesses.  Why?  What matters most is that just as the Torah wields more strength when recited in large groups, there is something important about an illness being known to more people.  There are two reasons—one spiritual, the other practical.  On the spiritual level, we cannot know fully what impact might occur in our universe when an idea spreads.  More people knowing a piece of information could involve a certain confluence of energies (either spiritual or physical) that might help to counteract the danger at hand.  Certainly, a sick person who knows that large numbers of caring people are praying for an end of the suffering has another aid in his or her recovery, a sense of hope and comfort that can transform one’s physical condition.  This possibility leads to the more practical side of the issue—that we are supposed to act on the information we receive about illnesses in our communities.  What can we do?  We can first connect with the one who is closest to the sick person and find out how we can be of help.  We can look into visiting the ill individual, sending a note, doing something that can help that person know that the circle of care and hope that surrounds her is growing wider and stronger.  There also might be other concrete means of providing physical support to the various people being affected by the illness.  In other words, whether it is simply through emotional connectedness or actual alleviation of physical pains or burdens, the communal response to illness has practical effects.   

What matters in all these perspectives is that the people assembled gain knowledge about another human being.  Your prayer for your sick loved one is not a private prayer— you can say private prayers at any time with no one around.  When we say the Mi Shebeirach, it is public.  We should recite the names of the people we are thinking of loudly and clearly.  We want others to know what is happening in our lives; therefore, there is a duty incumbent upon all present to listen to the entire prayer and to the names being recited, and to be affected by that listening.  It is therefore also of great importance that all those gathered know something about all these names being mentioned.  I have made it the practice to note how a non-congregant is connected to our community and have encouraged those reciting their own names to share with us who these people are.  It is also helpful for us to know—if possible, and if the ill person is comfortable with the idea—what is the nature of the ailment.  This allows us to respond in the most appropriate way.  At the very least, when we hear our friend utter a new name during this prayer, the idea is that we are supposed to inquire about it:  Who is this new name?  How is this illness affecting you?  What can I do to help?  Conversely, when someone who regularly shares a certain name then refrains from saying that name, we are to wonder, “Is that person healed?  Did she die?”

We can see that the practice of reciting a Mi Shebeirach for the sick is to disseminate important information within our community.  It is an oral bulletin board of sorts.  This metaphor, of course, leads us to our reality—the ability to publicize these names outside of our Shabbat service.  Our posting of the list on our website becomes another important way of informing our community about who among us is ill or is consumed with thoughts and wishes for the health of someone close to them.  We then have the opportunity to take action on that knowledge in the same ways mentioned above.  So, I encourage all of us not only to visit our amazing website in general, but to specifically make a habit of opening the list of cholim.  Find out who is ill and connect with others who care.  You will also notice on this list that in addition to the person’s name and relationship to our community, we might also list the nature of the illness as well as the person’s Hebrew name, if known.  This leads to the final important component of our practice that I would like to discuss.

In the traditional synagogue where only Hebrew names are recited, the problem for the community is that others do not know who these people are—whose names are being mentioned?  They could even be prominent members of the community.  But the point was never to conceal this information—remember, way back, our ancestors actually used their Hebrew names and were known that way.  Today, if we only say Hebrew names, we move further from the purpose of this ritual.  In more modern gatherings, there might only be English names recited.  This practice may accomplish the goal of communicating who is ill and be in keeping with my emphasis above; but to not use one’s Hebrew name pulls one away from the context of our heritage, which in itself we hope will be a source of strength and support for those who are sick and those caring for them.  Specifically, the tradition is to say the name of the person, followed by ben or bat (son or daughter of) and then the person’s mother’s Hebrew name.  This is because one of the enduring images of motherhood is comfort and healing.  After all, every human being grew inside the protective care of a mother’s womb.  In Hebrew, womb is rechem, which is directly related to the word rachamim, compassion.  The idea is that by invoking the person’s mother’s name, we are asking for the natural healing power that brought that person to life from the womb to again surround the sick individual, restoring him to full health.  Therefore, I encourage us all to find out the Hebrew names of the people for whose health we pray.

As we grow closer as a community, I pray that we can be available to one another in our times of need and find the strength that exists within ourselves and within our tradition to help us through our challenges.  May our prayers for a r’fuah sh’leimah, a complete recovery, be not empty words, but rather calls to awareness and action to which we pay close attention.