Welcome to Emotional Wellness Daily. I'd like to tell one of my favorite stories on not despairing or giving up.
Rav Yaakov Galinsky tells the story of a Jew with whom he had survived the war. The man’s entire family was wiped out, and he suffered from a deep depression. After emigrating to Israel, he was unable to be consoled and could not function. Rav Galinsky suggested that the fellow speak to the Chazon Ish, but he was so dejected that he refused to go, saying that since he couldn't bring his family back to life, going to see the Chazon Ish would serve no purpose. Rav Galinsky, persisted and dragged the man there.
The Chazon Ish listened to the survivor's heartbreaking tale and responded with a story:
There was a woman who supported her family. She would travel to the big city with loads of cash and buy desirable merchandise at wholesale prices before returning home to sell at a profit.
On one of her trips, she lost her bag of money. She searched for it to no avail, and she was heartbroken, having lost all the money she'd save up with such sacrifice. In desperation, before heading home to inform her husband of their loss, she went to the city's rabbi and asked him to announce that if anyone found her bag of cash, they should turn it to him.
A poor man found the bag and responded to the Rav’s call, bringing it to his home. But he explained that since he learned, he knew that the Mishna said in Masechet Bava Metzia that if one finds a lost object in the city, in an unsafe, unprotected place, he is permitted to keep it because the person that owns it gave up hope.
It's called Ye’ush/despair, and halachically, that money is no longer owned by the person. He told the rabbi that this found cash represented an answer to his prayers; he saw it as a gift from Heaven to enable him to marry off his daughter.
The rabbi was inclined to side with the poor man, but since it was obvious that the money he found was what the woman lost, he told the man that he had to submit the question to the Gadol HaDor, Rav Yitzhak Elchonon Spector for a ruling, Rav Spector responded that the money belonged to the woman, and his reasoning was sheer brilliance. He said that the reason a person could keep the object found in the city was because we say that the owner surely gave up hope of having it returned and would be what we call Meya’esh. However, in this case, the money belonged to a woman. And the Gemara in Gittin 57 A says that a husband takes ownership of all of his wife's possessions.
Since the husband was not aware that she had lost the money, he could not have been Meya’esh, so therefore he ruled that the money must be returned to the woman.
The Chazon Ish finished the story and looked the depressed man in the eyes. “The same ruling applies to you. Who gave you permission to be Meya’esh/ to give up hope?
Our rabbis tell us, even if a sharp sword is on your neck, you cannot give up hope. You cannot be meya’esh from Hashem’s mercy. You are not the Boss.
You know who owns you? God owns you. He's the boss. And He has not given up hope from you. And since God didn't give up hope from you, there is still hope.”
That's an important point. Every day that a person is alive, it means God has not given up hope. If you get up in the morning, God has not given up hope on you.
There’s another story on this topic, about Rav Elya Meir Bloch, who was the Rosh Yeshiva of Telshe Yeshiva in Cleveland.
Originally, he came from Telshe in Europe, which was wiped out by the Nazis. In the early days of the Telshe Yeshiva in Cleveland, he invited Rav Gifter to join him as he went to purchase a volume of Ketzot HaChoshen at a Hebrew bookstore on New York's Lower East Side.
The Ketzot HaChoshen is probably one of the most widely used sefarim in the Yeshiva world today, and in yester year as well
They introduced themselves to the elderly store owner and asked him if he might have a Ketzot HaChoshen in stock.
The man walked to the back of the store and began searching through the stack of books and storage. There were plenty of Jewish books, though almost nothing that quite resembled a sefer. In those days it was just Judaica. There were no real sefarim. A few siddurim were piled on the shelves and assorted Judaica was sprinkled throughout. There was a set of candle sticks, and a plain-looking challah cover lying on top of a few Talletot. Finally, after searching one of the bottom shelves, the owner pulled out, a large black volume covered in dust. It had been hidden under a pile of Chumashim and probably had not seen the light of day since it had first entered the store
(This was in America before the Yeshiva world spread to what it is today)
The owner removed it, wiped off the dust and handed to the Rosh Yeshiva. But before he relinquished his grasp, he looked Rav Elya Meir in the eye and said, ‘I will sell you this sefer on two conditions:
‘Number one, I understand you lost your entire family in the war and you intend to rebuild what was lost in Europe. Please listen to me. Don't try it. There's only so much heartache one man can take. You'll never succeed in America. America's not Europe. Second, let's be honest, America's not the type of country where Torah will flourish. What we had in Europe is now gone. What Hitler destroy cannot be rebuilt. So treat this relic as a valuable piece of history, because this sefer I'm selling you might quite possibly be the last Ketzot HaChoshen ever sold in America.’
The words stung and pierced Rav Elya Meir like a dagger. Perhaps a man who had not suffered as he had might have been discouraged, but not one who pledged his entire existence to rebuilding what the fires the Holocaust had destroyed.
He stared at the man and finally responded, “My dear friend, the answer to the first question will resolve the second. I appreciate your concern. But soon, you will see that you are wrong. The Torah that was lost will be rebuilt and the Kedusha will be restored. And when that happens, you'll see that more Ketzot HaChoshens will be sold than were sold from the time that the book was originally printed until now!”
And Rav Bloch was right. That is the power of resilience.
That is the Jewish secret to success.