ויותר יעקב לבדו, ויאבק איש עמו עד עלות השחר – “Yaakov was left alone, and a man wrestled with him until dawn.”
The night before Yaakov’s feared – though ultimately peaceful – reunion with his brother, Esav, he brought his family across the river and then went back to collect belongings that were left behind. He found himself all alone across the river, and was attacked by a mysterious assailant, who wrestled with him throughout the night. Our Rabbis teach that this mysterious person was שרו של עשו, Esav’s heavenly angel.
The Sefat Emet makes a brief but very meaningful comment on this pasuk. He notes that when ויותר יעקב לבדו, when a person is alone and isolated, he is exceedingly vulnerable. When a person feels that nobody is helping him, nobody is supporting him, nobody cares about him, and nobody takes interest in him, there is nothing more frightening, more dispiriting and more discouraging. He is thus prone to break down in the face of challenges and hardships.
We are put here in this world to look out for one another, to help one another, to lend a hand to one another, and to support one another. This is the whole idea of a community – that no individual and no family is ever alone. Whatever a person is going through, he has a robust support network behind him, ready to help at every step of the way.
Often, however, the greatest asset a person has when facing challenges – the people around him – turns out to be his greatest nuisance. The very network that is meant to offer support and assistance ends up causing him even greater hardship and anguish. As important as it is to take interest in and care for people in distress, it is just as important, or perhaps more important, to do it the right way, to ensure that we are an asset, and not a nuisance.
We will present here five critically important guidelines for helping people facing difficult challenges – such as illness in the family, the loss of a loved one, divorce, or financial hardship – without unwittingly making a painful situation even worse.
1) Don’t tell him what to do
The Torah tells us that when Yaakov approached Esav, and they saw each other for the first time in twenty years, Esav ran over to Yaakov and וישקהו – “he kissed him.” Rashi, in a fascinating comment, writes that in truth, Esav bit Yaakov – or, more accurately, tried to bite Yaakov. Hashem performed a miracle to save Yaakov, transforming his neck to marble, so that Esav’s teeth could not penetrate his skin.
The question is obvious. Why did the Torah say וישקהו – “he kissed him” – if it meant that Esav tried biting Yaakov?
The Sefat Emet explains that when somebody like Esav comes to kiss another person, it invariably ends up being a bite. Even when he decides to act in a kind, friendly manner, his “kiss” turns out to be a painful “bite.”
Most of us, I imagine, have encountered people with some element of this “Esav personality.” They come to “kiss” – to help, to offer support, to show that they care – but their “kiss” is painful like a bite. These are the people who, when they hear that a friend or relative has taken ill, call and say something to the effect of, “You HAVE to call this doctor”; “You HAVE to take this pill”; “You HAVE to try this procedure”; “I already went to the drug store to buy this medication for you – I’m coming over RIGHT NOW to give it to you.”
One Friday afternoon, the mother of a seriously ill child called to talk to me about the challenging situation she was dealing with.
“Rabbi,” she cried, “I can’t take it!”
She wasn’t complaining about her son’s condition – but rather about the so-called “do gooders.”
The woman told me that somebody called her and said, “Stop the chemo immediately. You HAVE to do such-and-such procedure.”
We need to learn that when somebody is going through a difficult period, they don’t “have to” do anything we think they should be doing. Certainly, if we feel we have potentially useful information, then we can humbly offer to share it with the person. But that person does not “have to” do anything he or she doesn’t want to. And telling the person, “You have to” bespeaks a grave lack of respect and sensitivity.
Many people make this mistake, and the reason, very often, is because of a very common misconception that people have – namely, that they need to and can solve every problem. We desperately want to solve the person’s problem, so we rashly but foolishly assume that we have the solution. And so what ends up happening is that instead of helping, some people try shoving their “solutions” down the throats of people in distress, making their situation so much worse.
The Torah in Parashat Vayishlah makes what on the surface sounds like an astonishing statement, telling us that Reuven, Yaakov Avinu’s oldest son, had a relationship with his stepmother, one of Yaakov’s wives. The Rabbis explain that in truth, what Reuven did was move his father’s bed from that stepmother’s tent. Yaakov’s bed had been in the tent of the wife he loved most, Rachel, and after her untimely death, Yaakov moved the bed into the bed of Rachel’s maidservant, Bilha, to whom he was also married. Reuven saw this as an affront to the honor of his mother, Leah, and so he brazenly went ahead and moved Yaakov’s bed out of Bilha’s tent into Leah’s tent. This inappropriate meddling in his father’s most private affairs was deemed a very grave infraction, and Reuven is therefore described as having had a relationship with Bilha.
Reuven’s mistake was assuming that he needed to solve this problem, that he had the solution, that he was going to be the hero who stepped in and defended Leah’s honor. The Torah here is teaching us that it is not up to us to solve everything. Our job is to offer help and encouragement with respect and humility. Assuming that we have the solution to another person’s problem, except in very rare circumstances, is arrogant and selfish. We have to offer the help that we can without trying to impose our own magical solutions.
Another example of this phenomenon is the famous story told in Sefer Shemuel II of the time when King David had the aron – the sacred ark – transported to Jerusalem, which he had recently conquered and established as the kingdom’s capital city. Along the trip, the aron was jostled, and one of the men accompanying it, a man named Uza, rushed to support it, fearing it would fall. Hashem instantly killed Uza. As the Rabbis explain, Uza should have realized that the aron does not need his support. The ark had a miraculous quality to it that enabled it to support itself – and Uza should have known this.
Not every grave problem demands our heroic efforts. Uza thought he would be the “hero” who saved the aron – instead of realizing that the aron would take care of itself. The lesson for us is that not every problem is for us to solve. As much as we would love to be the hero who comes in and saves the situation, this is not our job. Our job is to offer assistance, to express concern, to let the person know we genuinely care and are ready and willing to help in any way we can. If we have an idea, we can respectfully send a text message saying something to the effect of, “I might have some information that could help you, feel free to call anytime.” But we should never try to shove our ideas and solutions down somebody’s throat.
2) Don’t turn yourself into the person’s Rabbi
As mentioned, the mysterious assailant who attacked Yaakov in the middle of the night is identified by our Sages as שרו של עשו – Esav’s heavenly angel. However, he appeared to Yaakov as an איש – a “man.” According to one view in the Gemara, this means that the angel assumed the appearance of a hostile idolater. This is certainly what we would expect Esav’s angel to look like. But according to the second view cited in the Gemara, the angel appeared to Yaakov as a Torah scholar, as a Rabbi.
We can only wonder, why would the angel who came to wrestle with Yaakov appear to him as a scholarly Rabbi?
The answer, perhaps, is that often the greatest harm is caused by those who disguise as Rabbis, who come at us with religion.
I have, unfortunately, seen this on more than one occasion (and more than two occasions…). I have been present at shivah homes where a visitor begins badgering the mourners about halachah, rudely volunteering information about what they should and should not be doing. We need to know our place, and we need to know what our role is and isn’t. Depending on the nature of one’s relationship to the mourner, it might be appropriate to respectfully draw his attention to a law or custom of which he seems unaware. But as a general rule, when a person is grieving or dealing with a personal crisis, it is not his friends’ job or relatives’ job to become his self-appointed rabbi and start telling him what he should or should not be doing.
3) Nothing is better that something foolish
The Gemara in Masechet Pesahim tells a fascinating story about a Rabbi named Shimon Ha’amsoni, who embarked on a very ambitious scholarly project. He set out to find the meaning and significance of every instance of the word את in the entire Torah. Thus, for example, in the pasuk, כבד את אביך (“Respect your father”), Shimon Ha’amsoni taught that the word את extends this command to include older brothers, whom must also be respected.
Shimon Ha’amsoni went through the Torah from the very beginning and explained every את – until he arrived at an instance of the word which he could not explain: את ה' אלוקיך תירא (“You must fear G-d”). He simply could not think of anybody and anything that could possibly be implied through the word את. After all, how could the Torah require having fear for anybody in a manner similar to the way we are to fear Hashem? Unable to answer this question, Shimon Ha’amsoni shelved the entire project.
His students turned to him and asked, “Rabbi, what about all your work? Does this mean all your efforts until now have been for naught?”
Shimon Ha’amsoni answered them with a profound, timeless proverb that we must all live by: כשם שקבלתי שכר על הדרישה כך אני מקבל שכר על הפרישה – “Just as I received reward for my teaching, so will I receive reward for withdrawing.”
In the end, Rabbi Akiva came along and “saved the day,” finding significance in the word את in this pasuk. Regardless, though, Shimon Ha’amsoni’s teaching is an incalculably valuable lesson for all of us: we receive as much reward for not saying the wrong thing as we do for saying the right thing.
What this means, simply put, is that if we can’t think of something intelligent to say, we should just not say anything.
This is so crucial when we have a friend or relative in distress. Very often, we simply don’t know what to say. Which is totally fine. We are not expected to have the magic words. Simply being present at a shivah or in a hospital room is a profound expression of support. We don’t have to say anything besides, “I love you,” “I am so sorry,” and similar expressions of support and concern.
My friend told me that his cousin’s father was tragically killed in an accident, leaving 14 orphans. At the shivah, a visitor turned to one of the young orphans and said, “Now that your father is not here, you are an orphan, and Hashem is the Father of orphans. So mazel tov – you have a new father!”
What a tasteless thing to say!
This man, obviously, was trying to fix the problem. He thought he had a magical formula for eliminating the young man’s grief over his father’s sudden death. But he didn’t. Instead, he said something very hurtful. It would have been far preferable to say, “I am so sorry,” and then keep quiet.
One of the most important rules of quarterbacking in football is that it’s better to throw the ball away, without making any progress, than to risk throwing an interception. The same is true when trying to help people facing hardship. It’s far better to remain silent than to risk causing more pain through a foolish remark.
4) Give him space
The Gemara in Masechet Berachot cites Shmuel’s comment that the yetzer ha’ra – our evil inclination – is compared to a fly.
One of human being’s natural negative tendencies is to smother people, to be overbearing and a nuisance, like an annoying fly, like a mosquito that doesn’t go away and keeps buzzing in somebody’s ear as he tries to sleep. Sometimes, when people have a friend or relative going through some hardship, they feel a need to “smother” that person with endless phone calls, texts and visits, or by bringing tons of food and pressuring him or her to eat. This can be very overwhelming and can add pressure to what is already a very stressful situation. Our job in such situations is to help – not to be a mosquito!
When we pay a shivah call, we should sit down, stay for a short while, and then leave. Perhaps a couple of days later we can send a brief text message telling the person that we are thinking of him. Maybe after shivah we can text or call, or ask if the person wants to meet for lunch. But we must give people their space and not be an overbearing nuisance.
5) Never say, “It’s terrible,” “It will be ok,” or “It’s from Hashem”
If a person is seriously ill, has a family member who is seriously ill, just lost a family member, just lost a job or business, or is getting divorces, he knows far better than we do that it’s terrible. He has no reason to assume that “it will be ok,” and right now it does not help him to be reminded that this is from Hashem. This person does not need us to assess the situation for him, or to be taught a lesson in emunah. He needs our support and friendship, to know that he is not alone in his struggles, and he might also need practical assistance. None of these three statements are helpful in any way, so they should simply not be said.
Instead, we should express our concern. We should tell the person how much we love him, that we’re thinking about him, that we’re praying for him, that we’re giving charity and doing mitzvot in his merit, or in the merit of the deceased. This is what people need in times of hardship – the comfort of knowing that they are not לבדו, that they are not going through this ordeal by themselves.
Producing Sweetness
There is one additional point from Parashat Vayishlah that should shape our approach to assisting people going through hardships.
Buried amidst the very dramatic and emotional events of this parashah is a pasuk about somebody whom we know nothing about, who was never mentioned at all at any point in the Humash until this point: ותמת דבורה מינקת רבקה – Devorah, who worked as Rivka’s nanny when she was young, passed away. Her burial site was named אלון בכות (“the plain of weeping”) to commemorate the mourning of her death. Why did the Torah find it necessary to inform us of Devorah’s passing? What significant role did she play that made her worthy of being mentioned in the Torah?
One commentator explained that Devorah is credited with helping Rivkah become the righteous woman she became despite being raised in a home of sinners. Devorah’s father, Betuel, and her brother, Lavan, were both idolaters and morally corrupt. Devorah, who cared for Rivkah, was able to bring about the best in Rivkah, to identify the goodness within her which would otherwise be negated by the negative influences in her life, and nurture them. The Hebrew word דבורה means “bee,” an insect that flies from one flower to the next collecting its nectar in order to produce honey. This is what Devorah did – she managed to find the “nectar” within Rivkah’s soul, and produce from it magnificently sweet “honey” – an extraordinarily righteous character.
This is our job when somebody we care about is going through a difficult ordeal – to be a bee, not a mosquito.
Our job is to add a small bit of “sweetness” to the situation. We should not be trying to come up with the magical cure, to save the marriage that has already ended, or to make the mourner think that he can just move on and forget about his loved one. Our goal is to be the “bee” that carries “nectar,” that can make people’s lives just a bit “sweeter,” just a bit happier, and make their pain just a bit more bearable.
One of my nieces was once seriously ill, and during her illness my wife and I had all her siblings over in our home one Sunday to make it easier for her family. During the day, friends of the family came by with about $100 worth of games and toys for the kids to help keep them happy. They wished us all well and then left. This simple act brought such sweetness to a very difficult time. These friends found the “nectar” – the opportunity to inject some joy and warmth into a tense situation. This is precisely what we should be aspiring to do.
The head counselor of a camp held a staff meeting the day before the campers arrived, and made the following announcement.
“Tomorrow, as the boys get off the buses, you will see two different groups. Most of the boys will be smiling, laughing, giggling, giving high-fives, and talking to their old and new friends. But some of the boys will look lost and alone, having nobody to talk to. I want you to find one of those boys, go over to him, put your arm around him, bring him to the canteen, buy him a Danish, and spend a few minutes talking to him. You might change his day, and you might even change his life.”
Sure enough, the next day, one of the counselors noticed a kid looking alone and lost. He went over to him, put his arm around him, introduced himself, brought him to the canteen, bought him a snack, and spoke with him, before bringing him to his bunk.
Afterward, this staff member went over to the head counselor and said, “That was a great idea. I saw how it really made a difference for this kid. Where did you get this idea from?”
“I’ll tell you,” the head counselor said. “Thirty years ago, I was one of those kids who got off the bus with nobody to talk to. Nobody cared about me. But then a man who worked in the camp came over to me, put his arm on my shoulder, and bought me a Danish – and this changed my life.”
The counselor was amazed. He asked the head counselor for the man’s name, and then proceeded to find that man’s phone number. He called the man, introduced himself, and said, “Thirty years ago, you changed somebody’s life.” After telling him the story, he asked, “Where did you get this idea from?”
“I was once that boy,” the man said. “I went to camp back in the olden days, and I was all alone. Once a young man came to visit his father in camp, and he saw me looking lonely and sad. He came over to me, put his arm around me and gave me a Danish. This changed my life, forever.”
That man, he said, was Rav Shmuel Kaminetzky – the Rosh Yeshiva of Philadelphia, who had gone to visit his father, the great Rav Yaakov Kaminetzky.
The man told this counselor that Rav Shmuel did this kind of thing around a thousand times.
This is how we become an asset instead of a nuisance – by injecting just a little bit of sweetness into a difficult situation, a little bit of genuine friendship and warmth, which can make all the difference in the world.