One night, as I was giving my weekly class for young women, a small group of girls walked in some 25 minutes after I started. There was a wedding that night in the shul where the class is delivered, and so they could not find any parking. They were circling for 20 minutes until they finally found a place to park.
They asked me, “What is Hashem telling us when we are trying to go to a Torah class but there is no parking? If we keep circling and circling while missing half the class, isn’t Hashem telling us that He does not want us to learn Torah that night? Isn’t this a sign from Above that we shouldn’t go?”
The answer is an unequivocal, resounding “NO.”
Yosef’s Fragrant Journey to Egypt
The Torah in Parashat Vayeshev tells the very sad story of מכירת יוסף, how Yosef’s brothers at first tried killing him by throwing him into a pit, and then decided to sell him as a slave to a group of merchants who were traveling to Egypt. When the Torah tells us about these merchants, who were Yishmaelim (descendants of Avraham’s son, Yishmael), it makes a point of specifying the merchandise that they were carrying to Egypt to sell. Namely, they were carrying fragrant spices (נכאת וצרי ולוט) – a detail that appears, at first glance, to have nothing at all to do with the story of Yosef being sold as a slave.
Rashi explains that the Yishmaelim in ancient times dealt with foul-smelling products. On this particular occasion, however, Hashem specifically arranged that the merchants would be transporting fragrant spices, so that Yosef would be able to enjoy a pleasant scent along the trek from Eretz Yisrael to Egypt.
The later commentators ask, why would it matter to Yosef what kind of products these merchants were carrying? Yosef, a seventeen-year-old boy, was just nearly killed by his brothers, and was then sent away to be a slave in a foreign country. Would fragrant spices really make him feel better? What difference would this make to somebody who was just driven away from home to spend the rest of his life as a slave?
The classic answer to this question is that the fragrant spices served as a reminder to Yosef that G-d was with him even in this moment of anguish. Even in life’s most challenging moments, we can always point to a “silver lining,” to something beautiful or joyous that takes place, which reminds us of Hashem’s presence, that He is accompanying us in our period of crisis. Indeed, I know of many people who experienced periods of hardship, such as an illness or financial troubles, but also enjoyed certain blessings during those periods which encouraged them by reminding them that Hashem was still with them. And so the fragrant spices in Yosef’s carriage as he was taken to Egypt served as this “silver lining” which reminded him of Hashem’s continued presence and providence.
This is a beautiful and famous insight, but there’s one critical point that is often overlooked. The point of the “silver lining” is to show not just that Hashem gives us “silver linings,” but also that He makes the “cloud.” The purpose of the spices was to remind Yosef that Hashem orchestrated this entire event. As difficult, painful and distressing as his situation was, he needed to believe that this was from Hashem.
Hashem does not only give us “spices.” He also gives us problems and challenges.
Many people make the mistake of thinking that emunah (faith) is about “cool stories” with happy endings. We’ve been fed so many heartwarming stories of hashagahah (providence) that many of us have come to believe that this is what faith means – believing that everything always works out perfectly in the end, the way we want it. This is just wrong. Anybody who’s been alive for a while knows that this isn’t true. Life does not always bring us what we want gift-wrapped with a ribbon on top. Life brings us challenges, hardships and difficulties. Faith means believing that Hashem brings us these challenges in order for us to show our commitment, to achieve and to grow. Believing that life will always turn out perfect is fake. Real faith is believing that Hashem brings us both the “cloud” and the “silver lining,” and that He wants us to remain unwaveringly committed to Him throughout it all.
This was my response to those girls that night. When they were circling looking for a parking spot, Hashem was not telling them He did not want them to learn. He was telling them that He wanted them to show patience, vigilance and dedication by not giving up. He was telling them that doing mitzvot is not always easy, that sometimes we need to try hard, and this is how we show our dedication.
The “Flat Tires” in Our Lives
This is the answer to the legitimate question that many skeptics ask about the “cool stories” of hashgahah that are commonly told. They ask, why did Hashem create the problem in the first place? Even if the story had a “cool” ending, and everything worked out, why did it need to happen that way? How do these stories show Hashem’s hashgahah, if He created the problem to begin with?
Take the following example.
I once heard a story about a member of Chaveirim, an organization that helps people in situations such as when their car is stuck or they lose their keys. The organization’s dispatcher received a call one hour before a three-day Yom Tov from a man who said he had a flat tire and he needed it changed immediately, before the holiday. The dispatcher assumed that this fellow was stuck in the highway on the way home, and he asked the caller where he was. He was stunned when the man said the car was at home in his driveway.
“Why do you need the tire changed before Yom Tov, if you’re home?” the dispatcher asked.
The caller explained that he was a member of Hatzalah, and he needed his car ready for any emergencies that might happen over the holiday.
Recognizing the urgency of the situation, the dispatcher himself rushed to the man’s house, changed the tire, and raced home just in time for the holiday.
During Yom Tov, the dispatcher ate one of the meals with his in-laws, and his mother-in-law suddenly had a heart attack. The family immediately called Hatzalah – and, as it turned out, the car that came to bring the woman to the hospital was the car with the flat tire. By fixing the fire, this man ensured that his mother-in-law would be properly cared for when she had the heart attack.
This is a classic “cool story” of providence. But somebody might ask, why did it have to happen this way? Couldn’t’ Hashem care for this woman without having to make her son-in-law frantically run to change a tire right before Yom Tov? Couldn’t He have worked it out that there wouldn’t be a flat tire in the first place?
The answer is, very simply, that Hashem gives us flat tires. He gives us many blessings, but He also gives us problems and challenges. We are not supposed to know exactly why He does things, but we do know that He wants us to show Him our devotion under all circumstances. That flat tire was the dispatcher’s opportunity to shine, to achieve, to show dedication and self-sacrifice. And this is the purpose of every “flat tire” in our lives – to give us the opportunity to show our commitment even when things are hard.
Ovadya’s Widow and the Miraculous Oil
In the Book of Melachim II, we read the story of a poor widow who came to the prophet at that time, Elisha, crying bitterly and begging for help. She had no money, and her creditors wanted to take her sons as slaves in lieu of payment. The Rabbis tell that this woman was the widow of the prophet Ovadya, who, as we know from an earlier story in Melachim I, saved a group of 100 prophets from the wicked King Ahav who set out to kill all the prophets. Ovadya borrowed large sums of money so he could buy food and feed the prophets as they hid from the king’s soldiers. He then died, leaving his wife with large amounts of debt and no means with which to pay it back.
Elisha asked her if she had anything at home, and she said she had a little bit of oil. The prophet instructed her to borrow as many empty utensils as she could from her neighbors, and then begin pouring the small bit of oil into the utensils. Miraculously, the oil continued pouring until all the utensils she had borrowed were filled. The woman sold the oil and used the money to repay her debts and to care for her children for years after.
Once again, we might ask, why did it have to happen this way? If Hashem was going to reward this woman for her selfless dedication and sacrifice to save the prophets’ lives, then why did He do it this way? Why didn’t He just give Ovadya the money he needed at the time when he cared for the prophets? Why did he need to borrow money from cruel loan sharks who then threatened to take his orphans as slaves?
The answer, again, is that faith is not about “cool stories,” about things working out exactly the way we hoped. Faith is recognizing that we need to be unconditionally committed to Hashem under all circumstances, even when He puts us in difficult situations. Faith is about believing that Hashem gives us what we need, and sometimes what we need is a difficult challenge for us to struggle to overcome.
Light, Darkness and the Hanukah Miracle
On Hanukah we celebrate the miracle that occurred in the Bet Ha’mikdash after the Jews’ great victory over the Greeks. As we know, the kohanim found only a single jug of pure oil that had not been defiled by the Greeks, and the oil from this jug, which would have normally sufficed to kindle the menorah for just one day, sustained the candles of the menorah for eight days.
The question has been asked, why do we make such a big deal about this particular miracle? Our Sages tell us of numerous miracles that occurred regularly in the Bet Ha’mikdash. For example, the special bread which the kohanim baked remained fresh for an entire week. Why do we celebrate only the one-time miracle of the oil after the victory over the Greeks?
The answer has to do with the broader context of the Hanukah story, and the history of the period of Bayit Sheni (the second Bet Ha’mikdash).
During this period, the Jewish People experienced a sharp decline in the intensity of their connection to Hashem. Unlike in the time of the first Bet Ha’mikdash, the Jews now did not have access to prophecy. There were no longer prophets, and the kohen gadol no longer had the Urim Ve’tumim, the special device that would prophetically answer questions. Until the victory over the Greeks, the Jews lived under foreign rule, and were often subject to oppression. Under these conditions, the Jews began to believe that they were no longer connected to G-d. Our nation’s relationship to Hashem, they figured, was over, and now He was no longer with them. The miracle of Hanukah showed them that this was incorrect. Even in the darkness that had descended upon them, G-d was still there. Whether we enjoy the joy of light or endure the gloom of darkness, it is all from Hashem.
Not every story has a happy ending. Even when we’re in the dark, and we don’t see any “happy ending,” we must still trust in Hashem and remain committed to him.
The Name ישראל
Somebody once showed me a short article written by a Rabbi in response to a question he received from a youngster. This youngster wrote that he does not always feel like praying. Sometimes, he said, he’s not sure he fully believes in prayer, and so he does not pray. He wanted to know how bad it is that he does not always have the faith needed to pray.
The Rabbi’s answer to the question is very wise, and very important. He wrote that in Parashat Vayishlah, after Yaakov’s wrestle with the angel, which resulted in his triumph, the angel gave him the name ישראל, which commemorates the fact that שרית...ותוכל – Yaakov struggled and emerged triumphant. We are known as עם ישראל because of our quality of שרית, because we struggle. Faith, this Rabbi wrote, is not a light switch. We can’t just “turn it on” and have it remain on without any trouble. It’s more like an unsteady oil lamp – it flickers, sometimes producing a strong light, and sometimes a very dim light. Sometimes we feel very confident in our faith, and sometimes we find ourselves in darkness, left wondering whether Hashem is still here. This is part of the struggle of being a Jew. Living as a Jew is not about those wonderful stories about providence, when everything fits perfectly into place. Living as a Jew is about overcoming challenges and believing in Hashem even in periods of darkness, when things do not fall into place.
This Rabbi concluded by emphasizing that even when our faith in Hashem flickers, His faith in us remains strong and steady. Each morning, right when we wake up, we recite מודה אני, thanking Hashem for restoring our souls and giving us another day, and we conclude, רבה אמונתך – “Your faith is abundant.” This means that Hashem has abundant faith in us. The only reason why He had us wake up for another day is because He firmly believes in us, in our potential and our ability to achieve and make a meaningful contribution to the world.
We should not be afraid to struggle. We should not think that when we are forced to struggle, it means Hashem is rejecting us. Quite to the contrary, our nation’s very name – ישראל – refers to struggle. Faith is a struggle and is supposed to be a struggle. We just need to remember that no matter what happens, רבה אמונתך – Hashem believes in us, loves us, and is with us every step of the way.
The fourth berachah of birkat ha’mazon, which we recite after eating a meal, speaks about Hashem’s goodness and kindness. The Talmud teaches that the Rabbis instituted this berachah after one of the great catastrophes of Jewish history – the fall of the Bar-Kochba revolt. Bar-Kochba had led a revolt against the Romans, and some Rabbis of the time passionately supported him, thinking that this could bring the final redemption. Unfortunately, the revolt failed, and the Romans killed all the people of Beitar, the city where the revolt was centered. At first, the Roman government refused to allow the surviving Jews to bury the corpses, and they were left to rot. Finally, the government changed its policy, and the bodies were laid to rest. To commemorate this turn of events, our Sages instituted the recitation of this berachah extolling Hashem’s kindness.
The Rabbis were sending us a very powerful message by instituting this berachah. They were telling us that even in the darkest hours, in times of the greatest calamities, we need to believe Hashem is there. The story of Beitar is not a beautiful, heartwarming story of hashgahah where everything worked out perfectly. It is a tragic story. But our Rabbis wanted us to realize that Hashem was with us even then. The permission granted to bury the dead bodies was like the spices in Yosef’s carriage on the way to Egypt. It sent the message that even in the darkest periods, Hashem is with us, believes in us, and wants us to remain committed to Him.
A Paradigm of Real Emunah
A close childhood friend of mine, with whom I have remained close for many years, is a paradigm of true faith, faith that has nothing to do with the “happy ending,” with the giftwrapped life of happiness that we all wish for.
This man, unfortunately, has had a very difficult life, rife with hardship, crisis and tragedy. He has been tested time and time again, in ways that few of us, if anybody, has ever been tested. The only word I can think of to describe his faith in Hashem is “ridiculous.” It is just ridiculous how loyal he is to Hashem considering everything he has had to endure in his life. He has told me that he sincerely believes that everything Hashem does is for the best, and when Hashem sends him hardship and tragedy, he feels as though a close friend is calling at 3am asking for an urgent favor. Just as he’s happy to do the favor to help his friend, despite the difficulty, he is happy to do what Hashem asks of him no matter how difficult it is.
This friend once called me several hours after learning that a malignant growth was found in his daughter’s leg. He explained to me that as hard as it was, he was committed to getting through this ordeal together with his family, with unbridled love and faith in Hashem. And he told me that he was having a meeting with his family that night to discuss the situation. There were seven talking points, he said, that he was going to discuss with them:
· This is a test. The family had a job to do, and they need to do it.
· They accept the situation as Hashem’s decree, and will be satisfied with any outcome, as painful as it is, knowing that this is what Hashem wants.
· Hashem chose his family for this challenge, because He believes that they are qualified to overcome this challenge and get through it. They should be feel gratified that they were chosen, which is a testament to their faith and strength.
· They need to do teshuvah, to find ways to improve. Irrespective of the outcome, they need to work to be better.
· Helping their daughter was now going to be their primary focus.
· They need to get through this together, as a family, with all members helping and supporting one another.
· Obviously, they need to pray and beg Hashem to help their daughter.
I know and have met many outstanding, righteous Rabbis, but I have never encountered faith like this friend’s faith. This is not the fake faith of happy hashgahah stories. This is the genuine faith of somebody who firmly trusts in Hashem without any ifs, ands or buts, who understands that emunah has nothing to do with the “happy ending” that we all wish for.
The Hanukah miracle, like the miracle of Ovadya’s wife, occurred with oil. Our Sages teach that the Jewish Nation is compared to oil, because it is produced by crushing olives and thereby creating something more valuable. The process of pressing releases the inner potential of the olive – the oil which provides light. Similarly, the hardships of our lives, those times when we feel “crushed” and beaten, serve to bring out our latent potential, providing an opportunity for us to shine with the brilliant light of faith and devotion to Hashem.
We hope and pray that each and every story in our lives will conclude with a happy ending. But when it doesn’t, let us seize the opportunity to shine, to grow, and to inspire everybody around us with our unshakeable faith in our Creator.