Rebbetzin Leah Gans
Today we will talk about faith. Tehillim (116:10) says: “I believed when I spoke…” There are things that need to be spoken about again and again. First, let us clarify a few things for ourselves, and then we will talk about how to pass faith on to children.
This world is a world of concealment (world—olam—comes from the word he'elem, “concealment”). The Almighty governs this world in a concealed manner; the true nature of what happens is hidden from us. That is, we see various events taking place that we do not understand; we encounter various things that are unclear to us. Questions remain, and our bewilderment grows. A person cannot help asking: Why did this happen to me? What did I do to deserve it? This includes the questions of “the righteous person who suffers” and “the wicked person who prospers.” How can someone who acts righteously have a hard life, while someone who does evil lives well and enjoys bliss in this world? All of this results from the Almighty’s concealing from us the true nature of His deeds.
First of all, the question “Why?” is out of place. It is simply the wrong question. We know that the Almighty is our Father. “The Rock—His work is perfect, for all His ways are just; a faithful G-d, without injustice, righteous and upright is He” (Devarim, 32:4). We know for certain that He does nothing unjust. But if this is not immediately clear, if it is not apparent at first glance, it is because this is the nature of this world, a world of concealment.
The Chafetz Chaim explains this with a parable. A foreigner came to a synagogue on Shabbat while aliyot—calls to the Torah—were being assigned. He watches and cannot understand what is happening. From his point of view, everyone should be called in order. For example, first the front row on the right would come up to the Torah, the next Shabbat the front row on the left, and so on to the last row. Everything strictly according to a system—clear and understandable. But he sees strange things happening. First the gabbai calls a young man from the front row on the right, then suddenly an elderly man from the back row on the left, then someone from the center. The foreigner is puzzled because he sees no logic in it. After the prayer service, he approaches the gabbai and says: “Forgive me for interfering, but please explain to me the order in which people are called to the Torah in your synagogue. I see no sense at all in the way these honors are allocated!” The gabbai replies: “That is because you are a guest here, an outsider. That is why you do not understand anything. The worshippers in this synagogue, like me, know these people and know why I call them specifically. This young man from the front row on the right has become a father, so I called him. And the elderly man from the back row on the left has a yahrzeit today (the anniversary of a close relative’s death), so I called him next. The third person called up is a groom. There is a special reason for each call to the Torah. We all know what is going on, but you, an outsider, could not have known that, so it seemed to you that there was no logic in it.”
In this world, we are all like guests, outsiders. We have come here for a particular period of time, without knowing what came before us or what lies ahead. We do not understand the behavior of the “gabbai”; we see no logic in what happens. What we see seems disconnected and meaningless. Our perspective is incomplete; it is merely “the eyes of an outsider.” But if we could see everything from the point of view of the Almighty, Who sees all the causes, it would immediately become clear that everything follows a particular system.
The Chafetz Chaim offers another parable on the same subject. Tractate Shabbat (55a) says: “The seal of the Almighty is truth.” A seal is essentially a signature. In the past, instead of signing a document, a person could stamp it with their seal. If you lift a seal and look at it from below, the letters appear reversed, back to front. Only with effort can you make out what is written there. But when the letters are imprinted on paper, anyone can read them without much effort—everything is straight and clear. When we look up from below at what is happening, we cannot decipher the Almighty’s seal. But when the letters have been imprinted—that is, if we look down from above—it becomes clear that this is truth. Everything the Almighty does is truth; we simply do not know how to read it.
Let us offer another example. If we take a beautiful tapestry and look at it, we see the work of a master on the front: even, smooth stitches, an image on the fabric. But if we turn it over, what will we see? Knots. Many ugly little knots on the reverse. The Almighty is embroidering the tapestry of our lives for us. But from below, we see only the knots on the back of the embroidery. Yet when we come to the World of Truth and merit seeing our lives from above, we will be able to appreciate the complexity and beauty of the Master’s work. And each difficult spot, each little knot, will turn out to be the beginning of a new part of the amazing design.
I want to tell you about something that happened. Mrs. Chaya Miletsky, the daughter of one of the famous maggidim—Rabbi Sholom Schwadron—suffered from a terrible illness for three years. She died recently, two years ago. I remember the first Rosh Hashanah after she learned that she was ill. I was unsure whether to visit her. She is a distant relative of mine; besides, she had been a widow for many years and lived alone. She had raised her children and married them off on her own. We knew each other, but we could not be called close acquaintances. So I hesitated about visiting; I did not want to intrude. On the other hand, I very much wanted to come and support her. At the end of Rosh Hashanah, my daughter and I were walking home from the synagogue, and our route took us past Chaya’s house. I suddenly decided to go up to see her, and my daughter and I went in together. Chaya was sitting on a chair; she had some form of illness in which all the muscles hurt. I wanted to take her hand and wish her “Shanah tovah,” but she asked me not to touch her because being touched was very painful. I wished her a speedy recovery and said that the Almighty would certainly help. She replied: “Do you know what this is? My Dad has given me an injection. He decided that I need an injection right now. Of course it hurts. But what can I say? That this injection was not good for me? If my Dad, Who loves me more than anyone else in the world does and is the most merciful, decided that I need an injection, then this injection cannot possibly harm me! It is good for me. I may cry out when it hurts, but I know that it comes from a loving Dad and is only for the good.”
She was such a truthful woman that no one could say her words did not reflect what was in her heart. If she said it, that was what she thought, what she felt. In the end, it turned out that I had come to support her, and she ended up supporting me. For several years, I visited her every Shabbat. She had harder times, times when her strength failed, but she never lost her faith. Even when she was in unbearable pain and said, “What is this? What will become of me?!” she did not lose her faith that these sufferings came from a loving Father Who would do no harm.
There are many stories about a certain tanna (a sage of the Mishnaic era) who asked the prophet Elijah to appear to him and show him the hidden ways in which the L-rd governs the world. Elijah would agree on one condition: no questions. Many strange things would happen, but he was not to ask what was happening or why. As soon as a question was asked, the prophet Elijah would disappear. There are many such instances in the Talmud in which sages accompanied the prophet Elijah on his travels and, when strange things happened, could no longer restrain themselves and asked questions.
One of the incidents recounted in the Gemara took place in the home of poor people who had only one cow. They welcomed this sage and the prophet Elijah, made them comfortable as their guests, and served them the best food they had. But when the guests stepped outside, Elijah prayed that these people's cow would die.
On another occasion, they came to a rich man's house, but they were not allowed inside; they were driven away and given some scraps. Then the prophet Elijah prayed that this house would never be destroyed. Several more incidents followed.
Finally, the sage accompanying Elijah could no longer hold back and asked him to explain the prophet's strange behavior. Elijah warned him that if he answered the question, the sage would no longer be able to accompany him. The sage agreed to anything, as long as he received an answer to his question. Then Elijah explained the incidents to him one by one. In the poor people's home, he knew that a decree had been issued against the woman of the house: she was to die within a year, and he prayed that the cow would die in her place. A large treasure was hidden in the walls of the rich man's house, so he prayed that the house would not be destroyed and that the rich man would not receive the treasure. In this way, he explained all the events: everything had been thought through; everything was, in fact, understandable and made sense.
The same is true for us: we see only what is accessible to us and draw conclusions on that basis. We have our own life experience and convictions. But even using all our mental resources, we cannot understand the whole picture until someone who knows reveals it to us.
All of this concerned us as adults. Now let us turn to children.
Children, even those who are already older, often find themselves in situations where they do not understand what is happening. They have many questions and dilemmas. There are some things they simply cannot yet grasp. Most often, they bring their questions to their parents. We must therefore be the ones who provide answers and shed light on their difficulties.
Let us say there is a girl who studies very diligently. She prepares carefully for every exam, completes all her homework, and is focused and thoughtful. Just before an exam, she cancels all her planned activities, sits down, and reviews everything once more. In the morning, she goes to the exam and… barely manages to score 80 (a “four”). She comes to her mother in tears and asks: “How can this be? I have a friend who was born very gifted. She only has to glance at her notebook once, and she already knows everything. She does not devote so much time to studying, skips classes, pays no attention to homework, chats instead of listening in class, attends every program and evening of entertainment—and gets 100 (a “five”)! She gets recognition from her teachers and the other girls in her class. And I…”. A mother must be prepared for questions like these.
Children often compare themselves with others. Why can some people afford to go on vacation several times a year, while others have to plan their one trip during the school holidays so carefully? Why do they eat for lunch what we eat only on Shabbat? Why can we afford only once a year what they buy once a month? Such “Why?” questions can go on endlessly.
Sometimes a “special child” is born into a family. Then everyone asks why this particular lot has fallen to them. The children ask what they did to deserve a brother like that—they are ashamed to go outside with him. Why do I have to cope with other people's mockery? The adults also wonder why such a child was born into their family rather than another. Sometimes even the “special” child asks why he is this way. I have a niece who was born with a physical impairment: she is missing fingers on her hands, and her facial muscles do not contract—she cannot smile. She keeps asking herself: “Why me?” Why do I have to cope with all of this?
What is the answer to these questions? After all, they will always exist in this world of concealment.
I think that, for a young child, the answers to these questions are rooted in childhood. From the very beginning, simple situations should be explained to the child from the perspective of faith.
For example, a family was getting ready to attend a celebration. Everyone was ready on time, and they left early. They got into a car or onto a bus and set off. Suddenly, there was an accident on the road and a traffic jam. They were stuck in it for several hours and, of course, arrived late for the celebration. The child is so disappointed. He asks his mother: why?
The first thing he should hear in answer to his question is: “Everything is for the best.” These are the words a child should grow up with. Everything is for the best. If we were meant to be at this celebration, we would have been there. Why did this accident happen today, at this very moment, in this very place, to say nothing of those involved in the accident?.. We do not know the calculations of Heaven. We know only that if the Almighty had wanted us to be at this celebration, we would have been there. If He delayed us, it means He had reasons for doing so. We can try to guess those reasons and understand them, but they will remain only our guesses.
When a child hears our words, it is hard for him to accept them in that moment. He cries and protests. But he remembers them. He also remembers his mother's reaction. If he sees that she, too, is inwardly indignant and resentful, she can say ten times that everything is for the best, but he will not believe her. A mother must have faith in her heart that everything really is for the best. A mother might be talking on the phone and, thinking her child cannot hear, say: “Ugh! This is so frustrating! I was going to arrive at a business meeting on time, but the bus got stuck in traffic, and I was late!” These can be all kinds of situations in life: financial losses, disrupted plans, personal troubles—all of this happens before the child's eyes, even if we do not notice the child. If the parents actually respond to what happened with indignation and dissatisfaction, words about faith will not convince the child—he will sense its absence in us.
The more often we say and repeat (from the heart!) that everything comes from the Almighty, that everything is for the good, and that He does not send us events with the intention of harming us, the more deeply the child will absorb this, even if he does not understand it immediately. When he grows up, it will become his way of responding, too. Children whose parents reacted to every event by showing, in every situation, an understanding that “everything is for the good” remember both those situations and their parents' reactions, which made such an impression on them. Gradually, this interpretation of events developed into an understanding that this really is how things are, and became part of the child's own worldview.
Here we cannot help departing somewhat from the subject, as far as our understanding allows, to quote the Ramban's words regarding children born with illnesses or physical impairments. We are not discussing reward and punishment here; we will only attempt to touch on this subject. The Ramban says that in many cases this is connected with the mystery of gilgul, reincarnation. This newborn has not yet had a chance to sin and does not deserve punishment. But in this way, his soul rectifies a transgression from a previous life. The Chafetz Chaim says that if a child is born without a particular organ, it means that in a previous incarnation he sinned using that organ. When the soul ascended to Heaven, before its present birth it asked not to have that organ or the trials associated with it, so that it would not sin again. We simply need to bear this in mind; no particular action is required of us in this regard, only caution. But we cannot calculate and say who deserves what and for what reason—these matters are beyond our understanding; they belong to the higher worlds.
There is a story about a couple who had no children for many years and finally had a child. But after 6 months, he died. His unfortunate mother could find no comfort—she kept crying and crying. They brought their situation to a great Torah sage and righteous man, asking why they had suffered such a tragedy. The sage's answer explained to them that the child was the reincarnation of a righteous man who lacked six months of being raised by a Jewish mother. This needed to be rectified for his lofty soul. And the newborn boy's mother had been chosen to be the Jewish mother who would help the soul complete its mission. Stories like these teach us that if we knew the reasons for what happens, the intentions of the One Who plans the events of this world, we would have no questions left—the logic would be as clear as day.
Pirkei Avot (4:17) states: “One hour of pleasantness (a fleeting pleasure) in the World to Come is better than all of life (all the pleasures) in this world.” Rabbi Dessler comments that if we combined all the pleasures of all the creatures in this world (that is, pleasures multiplied by all its inhabitants), they would amount to less than a tiny measure of pleasantness (not even pleasure) in the World to Come. It is difficult for us to imagine this.
That is why tractate Kiddushin (39b) states: “There is no reward for mitzvot in this world.” There are mitzvot for which some reward exists in this world, but we know that, for the most part, our reward awaits us in the World to Come. That is why the question of “a righteous person who suffers and a wicked person who prospers” is so difficult for us to understand. Our teacher Moses, King Solomon, the wisest of men, and his father, King David, considered and reflected on this, yet still did not arrive at a comprehensive explanation. We see that this question troubled everyone, from the least to the greatest. One of the accepted answers is that the reward for a mitzvah is so immense that it cannot be paid in such small currency as pleasure in this world. Therefore, the reward due to the righteous awaits them in the World to Come, in a form capable of expressing its true magnitude. On the other hand, a person is rewarded according to the same scale on which he values his mitzvah. Thus, if a person considers a prayer that he began late, mumbling the words and rushing through it, to be perfectly adequate, his reward will be just as imperfect. How different it will be from the reward of someone who rose earlier, forced himself out from under a warm blanket, and prayed thoughtfully and slowly because prayer is precious to him!
If we can convey these nuances to our children, and they hear these things from us again and again and see that our words match our actions, it will root faith within them. On the other hand, words alone will not help, because children are very observant: we can repeat as often as we like that one must tell the truth, but if, when it comes to practice, we ourselves sometimes withhold information or stretch the truth, the children understand that the truth can be evaded.
It is also written: “And He repays those who hate Him to their faces, to destroy them. He will not delay with one who hates Him; He will repay him to his face” (Devarim, 7:10). For the semblance of mitzvot that the wicked perform in this world, and according to how they value their mitzvot, they are due a reward in this world—it can readily be paid on the scale this world permits. They receive wealth, respect—everything this world has to offer—so that no merits remain for the World to Come.
When it comes to setting an example for children, I am reminded of my own grandmother. There was a period when she lived in our home. She had a large, bright room filled with sunlight. But shortly afterward, the neighbors in the building opposite decided to build an extension. When the work was finished, it turned out that their windows now looked directly into ours, and they had completely blocked the sunlight in Grandmother's room—it had become dim. My mother was indignant: “Surely they don't have a permit for anything like this!” But Grandmother answered her in Yiddish: “Jerusalem is being rebuilt! Thank G-d!” In other words, despite the blocked light, construction dust, and debris, Grandmother managed to see “Everything is for the best” in this: “Jerusalem is being rebuilt.”
A child, and sometimes an adult, who is unfamiliar with the Creator of the world does not understand Who gives reward and punishment. But while an adult finds it easier to accept the lack of something tangible, a child needs to see or imagine the consequences of mitzvot performed, blessings recited, and prayers offered. Rabbi Yechiel Jacobson related how, on one occasion, his daughter wanted to eat a candy without reciting a blessing over it. He asked her to give the candy back, placed it on the edge of the table, and said: “Here is the candy. It is yours, and it is waiting for you. But you cannot eat it without a blessing. As soon as you want to say the blessing, you may take it.” After some time, the girl recited the blessing aloud and took the candy. Then Rabbi Jacobson said: “Now that you have said the blessing, I will tell you what happened in Heaven. Hosts of angels dwell there. Some sing their song of praise to the Almighty once a day, some once a month, and some once a year. Others sing their song only once in their lifetime, and then their task in the world is complete, and they cease to exist. Suddenly, the Almighty makes them all fall silent. There is complete silence. Do you know why? Because the Almighty wants to hear your blessing. And now only the voice of one little girl can be heard! Your voice!” Hearing this description, the girl exclaimed: “Quick! I want something else so I can say a blessing!” Of course, Rabbi Jacobson tells it all much more dramatically and vividly, adding descriptions of the heavenly host drawn from the midrashim. Stories like these are very helpful in allowing children to feel the impact of their own mitzvot.
In addition, even the simplest examples showing children that they have things for which to thank the Almighty are very effective. If we see someone who is ill, we should draw our child's attention to the fact that he is healthy and can, for example, eat on his own: his muscles, throat, stomach, and so on are healthy. That is what he says a blessing for. Before eating, he asks permission to enjoy these gifts; after eating, he gives thanks. There are many things around us to which we can draw a child's attention, so that, whenever possible, the desire to thank G-d will arise within the child himself.
We are all “believers, children of believers.” “Believers,” as it says (Shemot, 4:31): “And the people believed”; “children of believers,” as it says of Abraham: “And he believed in the L-rd” (Bereishit, 15:6). Our faith is our inheritance from our ancestors, together with the spark of holiness in the soul. But to awaken it, we must strengthen our own faith and also tell our children, again and again: what our Father in Heaven sends us is always for the good.
Prepared by Zissi Skarzhinskaya