When Reb Judith, Basha and I started planning tonight’s service and thinking about the drash, it was pretty clear that Judith would approach Lech Lecha from a Jewish perspective, and Basha from a Buddhist one. (Much to all of our surprise, however, Judith’s words were more Buddhist, and Basha’s more Jewish, than any of us could have predicted.) I joked that I would look at the parsha from a public health perspective, which is the domain in which I’ve spent the 40 years of my work-life. I declined to join them in the drash, wanting instead to let Judith and Basha go deeper, and I’m so very glad that they did.
But then this prayer that I am about to read, came to our attention, and this public healthnik just couldn’t resist. We all know a lot more about public health now than we did in February. Public health is not medicine for the one; it’s the focus on wellness for the many, and it takes a variety of forms, most of which require a fine balance between the individual and the collective. For example,
I don’t love wearing a mask, but I do wear it, to protect myself, you, and everybody with whom either of us have contact.
I don’t love driving the speed limit, but I do (well, most of the time) to protect me, those in my car, and those in the other car who I have never met, and as long as I don’t speed, I never will meet.
I don’t love getting a flu shot. I rarely get sick - but I would hate to pass any infection to vulnerable members of my family or yours. Or the cashier at Trader Joe’s, whose name I do not know.
These things that I think of as public health interventions (and I hope that you will now too) are mildly inconvenient for me, but matters of life or death for others.
There are well-documented tremendous differences, health disparities, that cross diseases and demographics.
We know that with stress, comes hormones that hamper healing, and we recognize the stress caused by poverty especially when combined with racism or any systematic form of societal inequity.
We all know that healthy food and stable housing, and a reliable source of income to pay for them, promote good health.
We all know that people of color bare a disproportionate burden of conditions ranging from asthma to diabetes to violent death at the hands of law enforcement.
So how do I hold my good fortune, my white, able bodied, cis-gender privilege, the reality that I am only mildly inconvenienced by the protective measures I am asked to enact? How do I hold and use my privilege, in order to be for a blessing?
I am certainly grateful to be able to do these things so easily. Perhaps even more so when I look outside of myself to really see, with true understanding, compassion and action, that it is not so easy for many others.
Maybe wearing my mask IS a blessing. Maybe I will say a prayer of gratitude when I get my flu shot this year. Maybe I will even begin to reliably drive the speed limit, even while knowing that if I get pulled over, I won’t fear for my life like my black family members and friends do.
Maybe whatever I can do to keep others safe and healthy is a blessing,
maybe the gratitude I feel at the relative ease of doing so, is a blessing,
most of all, maybe the work I do to address the inequities that make things harder for some others, takes me to “the land that I will show you.”
We never know the repercussion of our actions, whether they be hard or easy, but we know that when we are thinking of and acting on behalf of others, it is a blessing. In fact, no matter how hard it was, how could Abraham have ever known that without his action, none of us would be sitting here, together right now, in this zoom room?
Prayer for a Pandemic
(By Cameron Bellm)
May we who are merely inconvenienced
Remember those whose lives are at stake.
May we who have no risk factors
Remember those most vulnerable.
May we who have the luxury of working from home
Remember those who must choose between preserving their health or making their rent.
May we who have the flexibility to care for our children when their schools close
Remember those who have no options.
May we who have to cancel our trips
Remember those that have no safe place to go.
May we who are losing our margin money in the tumult of the economic market
Remember those who have no margin at all.
May we who settle in for a quarantine at home
Remember those who have no home.
As fear grips our country,
let us choose love.
During this time when we cannot physically wrap our arms around each other,
Let us yet find ways to be the loving embrace of God to our neighbors.
and let us say, Amen.
(By Cameron Bellm)