A Jewish Meditation For Someone With A Terminal Illness

This meditation was created especially for someone living with a terminal illness and facing the uncertainty of the end of life.
Rooted in Jewish prayer, Tehillim, Vidui, Shema, and the words “B’yadcha afkid ruchi, Into Your hand I entrust my spirit,” this meditation offers a gentle space for fear, faith, surrender, hope, and peace. It makes room for healing while also making room for the possibility that life may be nearing its final chapter.
You will be guided to release what can be released, place unfinished things into G-d’s hands, hold the people you love with tenderness, and remember that the soul is more than the body.
This is a meditation for the threshold. For the frightened person. For the tired person. For the person who still hopes.
And for the person who needs to hear: You are not falling into nothingness. You are being held.
Led by Rabbi Yisroel Bernath.

Transcript

Hi and welcome to this very special meditation. So before we begin. I want to invite you to find. . . Whatever position is most comfortable for you. There's nothing you need to accomplish right now. Nothing you need to prove. Nothing you need to force. You don't have to breathe deeply. You don't have to relax perfectly. There's no right way to meditate. Just whatever's comfortable for you. And simply notice. The breath is here. Whatever breath your body is able to take. What? That breath be enough. I want to acknowledge. And notice. That you've spent a lifetime doing. Lifetime trying. A lifetime carrying a lifetime loving. A lifetime worrying. And building. And protecting. A lifetime of holding people together. Maybe. Holding yourself together. And for these next few moments. You don't have to hold everything. You can simply be held. By this space. I also want to acknowledge parameters. It's always important to be safe. Before we meditate, Just look around, Make sure the walls, The ceiling, The floor. Just make sure you're safe. Today's meditation. I want to open with an ancient verse. From Psalms from Tehillim. A verse that we've been saying for generations. We've been seeing this in moments of uncertainty. We've been saying it at bedtime. We've been saying it in moments of fear. And we've set it at the threshold between this world and the next. In Hebrew. Etz piyadcha afkid ruchi. In English. It means. . . Into your head. I entrust my spirit. Beatra Avkid Ruhi. Into your hands. I entrust my spirit. Not into darkness. Not into nothingness. Into your hands, God. I am in your hands. I have always been in your hands. And whatever comes, I will remain in your hands. There may be fear here. We don't have to chase it away. Fear is not. Of failure of faith. You can love God. And still be afraid. You can trust. And still have questions. You can hope for healing. And also wonder what lies beyond this life. There's room for it all. For everything. I invite you to say God. My God. I am afraid of what I do not know. And I'm placing even that fear. In your hands. Biatra Avgid Ruhi. Into your hand. I entrust my spirit. Your body has carried you a very long way. And maybe right now you may feel betrayed by it. Maybe there's pain. Maybe there's weakness. May be exhaustion. Changes you never asked for. And I invite you to be gentle with this body. It has carried your soul through every embrace. It has carried your soul through every tear. Through every laugh. Through every mistake. Through every act of kindness, Every moment. In which someone looked into your eyes and knew. That you love them. And there's something deeper than the body. Your Neshamah. Your soul. The deepest part of you. Disease can affect the body. It can exhaust the body. It can change the body. But there's a place within you. That disease cannot define. There's a part of you that remains God's. It's pure. It's precious. And its health. You are more than what's happening to your body. You are more than your diagnosis. You are more than the number of days behind you. Or the number of days ahead of you. You are a Neshamah. A soul, And that neshama belongs to God. King David wrote this. This psalm has become. Such an important part of our lives. I'll say it first in Hebrew and then in English for you. Gam ki'elech b'gei tzamavet. Lo i ra ra ki ata i ma di. Even. When I walk through the valley. Of the shadow of death. I will not be afraid. Because you are with me. I invite you to notice what King David does not say. He does not say there is no valley. He doesn't pretend that there is no darkness. He says, Ki ata imadi, You are with me. God, You are with me if I must walk through places I have never walked before. Walk with me. If there are moments when I am frightened, Stay with me. If I become too tired. To pray. Let your presence be my prayer. If I no longer have words. Hear the prayer beneath my words. If there comes a moment. When I cannot hold on to you. Than you. Hold on. There may also be things. You're carrying from your life. Things you wish. Had been different. Words you wish you had said. Words you wish you hadn't said. People you wish. You could speak to again. Decisions. You would make differently. This too. Is part of being human. Jewish tradition. Gives us a beautiful prayer. It's called vidui. Traditionally, We say it. Either on Yom Kippur, The holiest day of the year. Or at some point. Before our soul leaves this world. We do is called confession. The joy is not meant. To crush us with guilt. It's a final act of honesty. A laying down of the burden. Way of seeing God. Here is my life. All of it. The beautiful parts. The broken parts. The parts I'm proud of. The parts I wish I could redo. I bring all of it to you. And so. I offer this prayer on your behalf. Master of the Universe. You know me completely. You know what I did with love. You know where I felt short. You know what I understood. And what I did not understand. You know the wounds it caused. You know the wounds I carried. For the ways I have hurt others. Knowingly or unknowingly. I ask forgiveness. For the ways I have hurt myself. I ask forgiveness. For the ways I turned away from you. I ask forgiveness. And God. For the things I still do not understand. For the questions I still have. For the moments when I was angry with you. I bring those to you too. Do not need to hide them anymore. Please receive my life with compassion. Not only as a list of things I did. But as the story of a human being who tried. Who loved. Who struggled. A human being who sometimes got it right. And sometimes got it wrong. A human being who kept walking. If there's still something I can repair. Give me the strength to repair it. If there's something I need to speak to. Give me the courage, If there are words of love still waiting to be said. Help me save them. And what I can no longer repair. I place into your hands. Perhaps there are also people who hurt you. You do not need to force forgiveness. You do not need to pretend that the pain didn't matter. But if there's anything you're ready to put down. I invite you. To put it down now. You don't have to carry every old argument. You don't have to carry every old disappointment. You don't have to carry every wound. Whenever you're ready to release. Release. Whenever you're not ready to release. Give even that to God. And I pray for you. I cannot finish everything. So I give you what remains unfinished. I give you the questions without answers. I give you the apologies I never received. I give you the conversations that never happened. The dreams that may remain incomplete. The people I love. But cannot control. They were never in my hands. They were always in yours. And now I invite you to think of the people you love. One by one. Their faces. Their voices. The people who have been part of your life. The people you worry about. The people you wish you could protect forever. Perhaps your heart says. What will happen to them without me? Who will take care of them. Will they be okay? Will they remember how much I love them? And I invite you to let yourself hear this. Your love. Has already entered them. It is already part of who they are. The words you gave them. The kindness you gave them. The strength you gave them. The memories you created. The pieces of you that live inside their stories. These cannot. Simply be erased. And I invite you to. Say this prayer with me. I return. The people I love to you. Watch over them. Hold them when I cannot. Comfort them. When they miss me. Guide them. When they don't know what to do. Let the love between us remain a blessing. Hashem shomrecha. God is your guardian. Guard those I love. And now I invite you. To perhaps another possibility. That you can make room for. The possibility of healing. As long as there is life. We pray for life. As long as there is another day. We receive that day. And so today, In our meditation. We're not asking anyone to give up. We are asking you to surrender something different. Surrender to the illusion. That you have to control what happens next. I invite you to pray, God. If there is healing for my body, Send me healing. If there is more life for me to live here. Help me live it fully. Give wisdom to my doctors. Give strength to my body. Give me more mornings. More conversations. Give me more laughter. More time with the people I love. If my journey in this body is approaching its completion. Then give me another kind of healing. Heal my fear. Heal what remains broken inside of me. Help me trust where I cannot understand. And when the time comes. Bring me home gently. There's no need to choose between those prayers. Both can be true. God, Please give me life. And God. Whatever happens. I am yours. For thousands of years. Jewish souls have gathered themselves into six words. And I invite you to say them with me. Shema Yisrael. I do not. Elohim. I do not. Echad Hear, O Israel. The Lord is our God. The Lord is one. The God who was with you when you entered this world. Is the God who is with you now. The God of your childhood. The God of your happiest day. The god of your darkest night. The God you believed in. The God you argued with. The God you sometimes could not find. One God. One Presence. One embrace. Nothing is outside of God, Not life. Not death. Not this breath. Not whatever comes after this breath. Hashem. Echad There is nowhere you can go. Where God is not. Now. I invite you to return once more to our verse. P-H-R Afkid Ruchi. Into your hands. I entrust. My spirit. I am in your hands. I have always been. In your hands. My healing is in your hands. My fear is in your hands. My children. My family. The people I love. Are in your hands. My memories are in your hands. My unfinished story. Is in your hands. My body is in your hands. My soul. It's in your hands. And whatever comes. I remain. In your hands. I invite you to imagine for a moment, For just a moment. That you are no longer gripping the edge. You aren't falling. You're being carried. The one who gave you your first breath. Knows every breath that follows. The one who placed the soul within you. Has never lost sight of that soul. Not once. You don't have to know exactly where the road leads. To know who was walking with you. Ki ata i mati. You are with me. You. Are with me. You don't have to understand eternity tonight. You only have to be here. With this moment. With this breath. With this love. With God. And if another morning comes. . . We will say thank you for another morning. And if another chapter comes. God will meet you there too. There's no place. You will go alone. So rest. Not because everything has been answered. But because you don't have to carry every question. Rest. Because you are loved. Rest. Because you have mattered. Rest. Because your soul is more than what has happened to your body. Rest. Because there is still holiness here. And I invite you. Whenever the fear returns. Come back to these beautiful words. Beatra Avkit Ruhi. Into your hands. I entrust my spirit. I am in your hands. I have always been in your hands. And whatever comes. I will remain. In your hands. Yad Chah. Av Kit Ruchi. Into your hands. I place myself. And I am held. Whenever you're ready. You can open your eyes.