Learning from challenging experiences

Never, as long as I live, will I forget that moment, when the sounds of children’s laughter on a beautiful, peaceful Jerusalem afternoon were shattered by the screams of terror and agony that are the music for the dance of the suicide bomber.

Such moments seem endless, as are the questions that follow them. Why am I still here, when the girl sitting but a few feet away was killed? Why did that sniper’s bullet, nearly twenty years ago in Lebanon, hit the fellow next to me, leaving him lying dead in a field, while I merited living on, marrying, and raising children...?

Might it just be random, as simple as the three year old who insisted on going to the bathroom NOW, so that both she and her mother were far enough away from the hotel lobby on Seder night when the explosion ripped through the crowd? Or is there a plan to it all? Do we dare say that there must be a reason some live while others die?

The Talmud offers some challenging suggestions. “Yesurin Ovrin Al Ha’Adam, Yepashpesh Be’ma’asav.” “When a person suffers travail, let him examine his deeds.” (Berachot 5a)

Clearly, the Talmud is implying that pain and suffering are the direct result of our own mistakes. If a person suffers, suggests the Talmud, he or she should look at their own actions as the source of their pain. Are we meant to assume that the patient suffering in a hospital ward, or the family sitting shiva after a terrible tragedy, deserve all of their pain, and that somehow G-d is telling them they have to amend their actions?

There is another source in the Talmud (among many), which seems to contradict this perception. “Chayei, Bani, U’Me’zoni, Lo’ Be’Zechuta talya’ Milta, Ela’ be’Mazla.” “A person’s life (and health), children and livelihood, are not dependent on merit, but rather on Mazel, (luck).” (Tractate Moed Katan)

In other words, don’t assume the challenges and suffering a person experiences, or even the joy and rewards, have anything to do with whether or not they are good. All of this is luck, or even fate.

Is there no rhyme or reason? While it is comforting to realize that someone who suffers is not necessarily wicked, it also implies there is no value to what I do, because it is all just ‘mazel.’ How do we deal with these two sources seemingly at odds with each other?

In this week’s portion, Shemini, the Jewish people, nearly a year after the debacle of the sin of the golden calf, have finally completed the building of the Mishkan, the holy tabernacle. The most painful result of the golden calf is that G-d has not spoken to the Jews since that moment.

Imagine how painful it must have been for the Jewish people; in the sobering wake of this terrible mistake, like a lover caught cheating on his honeymoon, the love of your life, whom you so desperately want to beg forgiveness from, won’t even take your calls.Consider, then, how your heart must soar, when she finally picks up the phone.

Such is the joy of the Jewish people on the first day of Nissan, on the day the Mishkan is finally dedicated, when they see fire come from the heavens and consume their offering on the altar. “Vayar kol ha’Am, vayaronu, va’yiplu al pnei’hem.” “And the people saw (the fire from heaven consume their offering) and they rejoiced, and fell to the ground.”

Their joy, (called rinah), was the type of joy that knows no words, of experiencing true love. It was a moment unique in the history of the Jewish people. It was the first time they had a temple, the beginning of priesthood, and the first time they had a high priest (Aaron). On this day, Aaron was instated as the Kohen Gado. It was a moment for the Jewish people of unparalleled rejoicing; joy so great that they fell to the ground, because there were no words.

All of which must have made the shock of what was to follow all the more horrific. In the next verse (10:1), two of Aaron’s sons, Nadav and Avihu, take a ‘strange fire,’ and, perhaps caught up in the emotion of the moment, offered it up, un-bidden, before G-d. And a fire (the same fire, described in the exact same words as the fire which consumes the offering of the people) comes down from heaven and consumes them on the spot.Imagine: In the moment of their greatest joy, the two sons of Aaron, their beloved new Kohen Gadol, lie dead before the altar.

How must Aaron have felt? What does one say to someone in the face of such a tragedy? Moshe steps up to the task, and offers words of comfort in response to the awesome tragedy, heightened by its contrast with the unprecedented joy of the previous moment.

“And Moshe said to Aaron, this is the word of G-d, who said: ‘I will be sanctified by those close to me, and before the people I will become respected.” In other words, says Moshe to Aaron, ‘don’t worry, at least the people learned a good lesson!’ ‘No-one will ever try to offer up a strange fire again!’

Is this then the response to another person’s pain? Aaron, it seems, is so flabbergasted by Moshe’s words, he has no response: “Va’Yidom Aaron,” “And Aaron is silent.” A close friend, Dr. Baruch Sterman, once shared with me a wonderful way of understanding this question, based on the writings of Rav J.B. Soleveitchick, z”tzal. Rav Soleveitchick suggests that there are two partners to suffering in this world. There is the sufferer, and then there is the witness to suffering. There is the person who may be in the midst of painful, even overwhelming tragedy. But then there are the rest of us, who are challenged by seeing that tragedy unfold.

When we see someone else suffering, our natural instinct is to assume there must be something wrong. If the only reason someone else suffers is because somehow they have erred, or transgressed, then I can put them into a nice little box. And all I have to do to be sure the same thing doesn’t happen to me, is take care that I don’t make the same mistakes. So if 22 children are dead in a tragic train accident, as long as I can pin that on something safe, like the fact that they were on a bus on Shabbat, then I have the answer. And my children are safe, as long as I keep celebrating Shabbat. It is very frightening to conclude, that it is all mazel.

But when we ourselves suffer, our instinct is exactly the opposite. Me? What have I done wrong? It must be mazel! The prospect of my being a partner in such challenging circumstances is a terrifying thought. Our real challenge, though, is to react in precisely the opposite fashion. When someone else is in pain, our job is not to figure out how it happened. It is all mazel, and we cannot hope to understand the nature of such events in this world. Our job, in such situations, is not to argue with G-d, it is simply to be there for our fellow human beings.

We cannot understand, suggests Moshe. “Hu Asher Dibber Hashem” ‘G-d has spoken.’ Don’t think we can ever understand these moments.“Bi’krovai E’kadesh,” ‘Hashem is sanctified through those closest to Him,’ look at who your sons were, so close to G-d.“Ve’Al Penei Kol Ha’Am Ekaved.” And before the people will I (G-d) be respected.’ There may be a plan, and we may be able to learn from them. And even if we cannot fathom it, your sons were obviously a vehicle for the growth of the entire Jewish people. Moshe is not, however, the sufferer, he is the witness to suffering, and is attempting to comfort Aaron.

Aaron, however, the principle sufferer, is initially overwhelmed by emotion. Only later, does he rise to the challenge.

What if Aaron somehow feels a degree (to say the least!) of personal responsibility for the tragedy of the golden calf? On the very day the Jewish people have the opportunity to offer up a sacrifice asking forgiveness for this mistake, Aaron, about to be made High Priest, suffers the loss of his own sons.

Perhaps Moshe’s job is to point out to Aaron that in the end, it is not his fault; it is just part of G-d’s plan, that we may never understand. But that is not Aaron’s job. Moshe may want to avoid the connection; but Aaron’s challenge is to look for it!

When we struggle, perhaps it is also an opportunity. That does not mean one necessarily knows one will arrive at the right conclusion. In the end, I have no idea why Hashem chose to challenge me in that fashion. But the decision to learn something from our experiences, however challenging, has the potential to transform even tragedy, into opportunity.

In the end, each of us will decide whether we are partners with G-d, or victims of fate.