Yesterday caused a bit of a crisis.
It was the last day of a year of shiurim on Sunday morning. The first shiur, with my dear friend and very talented lecturer Yafit Clymer, was about Good and Evil in Judaism. It was a very in depth course, which spanned Jewish literature and thought from the Torah, through modern times. The last few shiurim were mainly about the Holocaust, and I found these shiurim to be particularly challenging and somewhat disturbing. Understandably, of course.
The second shiur, with Daniel Shereshevski, was a very interesting and engaging shiur in Tanach, which followed the course of the 929 program. (The 929 program is an online program which cycles through the entire Tanach by learning one perek every day, five days a week. There are a total of 929 chapters in the entire Bible, hence the name of the program.) For most of the year, we were studying Tehillim, and for the last few weeks we were studying Mishlei. Well, yesterday we reached the book of Iyov, and since it was the last shiur of the year, we had an overview of the book rather than diving into one or two chapters in detail.
The two shiurim yesterday both drove home the same point. The question asked was: how do we understand that there is evil in this world, and more particularly that bad things happen to good people, and maintain our faith in a good G-d?
Although I have grappled with this question in my personal life, really it was never that much of a struggle. Even though I have suffered, I believe that ultimately G-d is good, and that He has a plan which is not understandable to us.
But somehow these two shiurim yesterday stirred up the pot.
In both of them, I was forced to confront this topic in a way that I had not done so until now. It is hard to articulate what was different, but somehow I left a bit disturbed.
I think that what is really happening inside of me can be compared to the layers of an onion. As each layer of grief, acceptance, understanding, gets peeled away, a new layer just underneath the surface is then exposed. The new layer has new nuances, new insights, and almost inevitably causes new pain to surface.
It is hard to pinpoint the exact point of pain, but one thing that is coming up for me is that I identified with Iyov in the following way: The impression you get of Iyov at the beginning of the book is that he had a good life, but he had a certain level of fear of losing it. He was meticulous – and he thought, or at least hoped, that this would protect him from losing what he had.
I used to be like that. I remember when saying “modim”, where I would thank G-d for all He has given me – that my כוונה was – please let me not lose all the good you have given me.
I guess I have to admit it.
I feel hurt.
True – my faith is intact. I have no doubt that G-d has His reasons and that the picture is much bigger than what I can see or understand.
True – I am thankful for everything that I do have.
But in a way, I feel like G-d has let me down.
At the same time, I am able to hold in my head the understanding that really G-d hasn’t let me down and in fact, actually owes me nothing. It is me who owes everything to Him, including my life and all of the beautiful things in it.
But… I can’t help feeling hurt.
And as we read in an article by Rav Amital in Yafit’s shiur, we can’t just brush the feelings under the rug. We have to be true to them. And as we also learned in an excerpt from a book by Rav Soloveitchik, the key is not to ask “why” but rather “for what” (לְמָה ולא לָמָּה). That is, how can we take this pain and use it to move forward in life.
So I will grapple with this new onion layer for the next few days. I will face the feelings head on, and let them wash over me as needed.
And then I will continue to move forward, in an attempt to turn the pain into growth, to transform the onion into a more tasty and sweeter smelling form.
Thank you Hashem for sending me just the right messengers at the right times in my life. This is a reminder of Your guiding hand in my life. My faith remains intact, even through the pain; even through the tears that inevitably come when we peel an onion; and even with the knowledge that the onion is here to stay.
