Dear Matzav Inbox,
Many years ago, after my prostate cancer surgery, people would naturally approach me and ask, “How are you doing?” or “How are you feeling?”
These questions were asked with genuine concern, but I soon discovered that they were not always easy to answer. I might not want to discuss how I was feeling. If I was having a difficult day, should I answer honestly and say that I felt lousy? Would that make me sound like a complainer? On the other hand, I could simply answer, “Baruch Hashem”—which was certainly true, but did not really answer the question.
I therefore began telling people that I preferred a different greeting: “Good to see you!”
Those four words expressed warmth and concern without requiring me to provide a medical report. They allowed me to decide whether I wanted to say anything more. If I wished to speak about how I was feeling, I could do so. If not, nothing further was expected of me.
Now that the Rebbetzin is undergoing treatment, I am experiencing the same challenge from a different perspective. We are deeply touched by the genuine concern of our friends and members. Every tefillah, message and expression of affection means a great deal to us. Nevertheless, when I am repeatedly asked, “How is the Rebbetzin?” or “How is she feeling?” there is often no simple answer.
During a serious illness—and especially during chemotherapy—the answer may change from one day to the next, or even from one hour to the next. Some information is private. Some answers are complicated. If it has been a difficult day, I must decide how much to disclose. If I answer only, “Baruch Hashem,” I have expressed our emunah and gratitude, but I have not really provided the information being requested.
I have therefore been thinking about what might be a more sensitive way for members of a caring Torah community to express their concern.
There is, in fact, an important halachic principle involved. The Shulchan Aruch says that one who visits the sick may do so repeatedly, and that the more one visits, the more praiseworthy it is—but then it adds the crucial qualification:
וּבִלְבַד שֶׁלֹּא יַטְרִיחַ לוֹ
“Provided that he does not burden the sick person” (Yoreh De’ah 335:2).
Concern is therefore measured not only by the sincerity of the person expressing it, but also by the effect it has upon the person receiving it. Genuine chesed should lighten another person’s burden, not unintentionally add to it.
The Rambam similarly explains that ביקור חולים is included in the mitzvah of וְאָהַבְתָּ לְרֵעֲךָ כָּמוֹךָ. We should treat another person as we ourselves would wish to be treated. This requires us to consider not only what we want to say, but what the other person presently has the strength to receive.
It is also noteworthy that the traditional words Chazal give us to say to a sick person are not a request for information. They are a tefillah:
הַמָּקוֹם יְרַחֵם עָלֶיךָ בְּתוֹךְ חוֹלֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל
“May Hashem have compassion upon you among all the sick of Israel.”
The emphasis is not, “Tell me what is happening.” It is, “I am standing with you. I care about you. I am davening for you.”
Therefore, when you see me, perhaps the most meaningful greeting would be:
“Rabbi, it is good to see you. We are continuing to daven for the Rebbetzin.”
Or:
“We are thinking of the Rebbetzin and of you. There is no need to give us an update—we just want you to know that we care.”
Or: A simple good Shabbos is always great .
Those words say everything that needs to be said. They tell me that the Rebbetzin has not been forgotten, that Gela Leah bas Gittel remains in your tefillos, and that we are not facing this journey alone. At the same time, they leave it to me to decide whether this is a moment when I wish to share more.
I am also not particularly fond of the expression, “Send the Rebbetzin my best regards.” It is certainly kindly intended, but it gives the spouse another message to remember and deliver. If appropriate, a brief message sent directly to the person—“Thinking of you and davening for you; no need to respond”—can be much more meaningful.
None of this means that it is always wrong to ask how someone is doing. A close friend who is prepared to hear the real answer—and to remain present even when the answer is painful—may certainly ask. But it may be better to say privately, “If you ever feel like telling me how things are going, I am here to listen, but please do not feel obligated to give me an update.”
When illness enters a family, the surrounding community naturally wants to enter as well—with love, tefillah and support. Sometimes the most caring words are not those that ask for an answer. They are the words that quietly communicate:
“It is good to see you. We remember. We are davening. We are with you—and you owe us nothing in return.”
Rabbi Yossi Michalowicz
A Fellow Yid Who Has Been on Both Sides of Illness
Thornhill, Ontario Canada
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