Hashem transformed what had been intended to be a curse into a blessing. Veritably, differentiating between curse and blessing is a matter of perception. When we refer to something as a curse or adversity, this means that — according to our mortal, limited vision — we are able to see what appears to be a curse. L’Hisadein B’Ahavasecha notes that the words tzarah, troubles, and tzohar, window/bright light, contain the same three letters: tzadi, hay, reish, only each with a different configuration. This intimates that what we perceive as tzarah, through the medium of tzohar, may have a much brighter appearance.
Two words: one denotes darkness; the other denotes illumination. When a person confronts adversity, his immediate reaction is to view the circumstances as an impenetrable wall of darkness. He sees pain, disappointment and frustration. He does not see hope. Rarely does one realize that, imbedded within the tzarah itself, lies the potential for tzohar – an opening of light and understanding. Once he is able to see and grasp the truth, he realizes that it is no longer a tzarah.
Indeed, many of life’s greatest blessings arrive disguised as hardship. A setback or speedbump redirects a person toward a more suitable, and ultimately more efficacious path. Pain humbles and refines, creating a change within a person at a time when he needs it to maintain clarity. A crisis awakens dormant strengths and abilities. Thus, that which initially appears to be devastating may later be recognized as the catalyst for growth and positive change. What at first we think is a curse, may become the springboard for blessing.
In no way does this negate the pain of adversity. It is very real. Ask anyone who experienced a trauma. Even after “all is good,” the anxiety is still part of the baggage he carries all the time. The Torah does not ask that a person deny his emotions; rather, it asks for perspective. One must never be so overwhelmed by the darkness that he fails to look for the tzohar hidden within.
In conclusion, the difference between despair and growth is often relative to one’s perspective: Is the challenge my sealed prison with no hope of leaving, or is it a window through which Heavenly light can ultimately penetrate?
Chazal (Berachos 34b) relate the story of the saintly Rabbi Chanina ben Dosa who went to study Torah from the gadol hador, Rabbi Yochanan ben Zakai. At the time, Rabbi Yochanan’s son was gravely ill, and Rabbi Yochanan, acutely aware of Rabbi Chanina’s saintly spiritual plateau, asked him to daven for his son. Chazal relate that Rabbi Chanina sat and bent his head over so that it was situated between his knees, and he began to pray fervently. He was successful in averting the Heavenly decree, and Rabbi Yochanan’s son lived. The question is obvious: Why was it necessary for Rabbi Chanina to assume such a position in order to pray efficaciously?
Horav Levi Yitzchak Berditchever, zl, offers a powerful explanation. Rabbi Chanina ben Dosa was a person whose “body” inhabited the earthly realm, but whose “head” was completely ensconced in the Heavenly sphere. As such, his penetrating vision of reality was unlike that of ordinary men whose entire body lived in this world. He saw absolute truth. Thus, what appeared to ordinary humans with ordinary vision to be a tragedy, he saw as a beneficial act from Hashem. “Everything that the Merciful One does is for the good” was reality to him. Therefore, as long as his head was in the Heavens, he was unable to pray. One must have reason to pray. He saw nothing negative about the patient in his present state. When Rabbi Yochanan came to him thinking that his gravely ill son was in serious adversity, however, Rabbi Chanina “brought his head down from the Heavens.” He returned to this world in which the truth is concealed beneath layers of falsehood, where he could now perceive the imminent tragedy that lay before him and pray for his return to good health. When we view a situation through the lens of Torah, it presents a different view.
Countless stories have been written to support and underscore the idea that everything is part of a Divine Plan. What we see is all that we are able to perceive with human faculties. That adversity is not only the harbinger of positive growth, but it is often its springboard. The following story was featured a while ago in Peninim. It is such a powerful “feel good” story, that I take the liberty of repeating it.
Certain individuals have been blessed, not only with wealth, but also with the insight of how best to use it to help those in need. This story is about one such person, who did more than share his largesse – he opened his heart to listen to the stories behind the pleas. He did not simply write a check and say goodbye, he listened and made the petitioner feel that someone empathized with his plight.
Every year, this philanthropist and his family would spend Succos in Yerushalayim, where he was besieged by individuals seeking his assurance and sharing their pain. While he usually took care of the contributions himself, this particular year he had hired a man to be his gabbai tzedakah, a charitable fund administrator, to disburse the charitable funds. He reasoned that this approach would allow him more time to listen to each person’s needs. He would hand each person a card with a code denoting a specific amount of money. He had a total of five cards. While these cards represented clearly defined amounts, the gabbai was entrusted with the final discretion should he perceive that his employer had underestimated the gravity of the situation.
The weeks went by, and the process went along smoothly. One day, a distinguished talmid chacham, Torah scholar, came to plead on behalf of his sick son. With tears in his eyes, he explained how his twenty-two-year-old son had been born with a brain tumor, which, at the time, seemed non-threatening. Over the years, it had shifted and now had to be removed. The surgery, which was dangerous and difficult, could only be performed in the United States. This operation involved a fortune, and they had no insurance or savings. Could he please help? Without the surgery, his son, who had recently become engaged, had been given three months to live.
The philanthropist himself was moved to tears. He immediately gave the Rav a card. This card, encoded with a special instruction, indicated that the gabbai should extend all courtesies to this man and provide him with significantly more than the usual amount. He wanted to make sure that the surgery and all ensuing costs would be covered. He had never specifically told his gabbai to override him, but, this time, he hoped that he would.
The next day, the gabbai came to his employer with an incredible story. “Twenty-four years ago, my wife and I lived in an apartment. We had two children, a two-year-old and a three-month-old. One day, without warning, a devastating fire broke out in our building. My wife thought that I had escaped with both of our children. When we looked at each other and realized that the baby was still sleeping in the apartment, we collapsed in horror. The firefighters would not let us return to the apartment, asserting that it was too dangerous. We would never emerge alive. It was Hashgachah, an act of Divine Providence, that a bus returning from Tel Aviv stopped in front of the blazing apartment at the behest of one of the passengers. A man on the bus ran out, and, after assessing the situation, ignored the firefighters, ran to the rear of the building and climbed the fire escape. With Hashem’s help, he saved my baby’s life. That man is the father of this young man whose life is in danger! Twenty-four years ago, he saved my child’s life. Now, I have the opportunity to repay this favor. I beg you to allow me to give him whatever he needs.”
The philanthropist required no encouragement. He gave his gabbai a blank check to cover all expenses. A reason is behind everything that happens – even if it eludes us. Hashem has a Divine Plan, and what seems to be an isolated experience, a random encounter, is actually an act of Divine Providence, setting the stage for further deliverance. Decades may pass, but, at the right time and right place, it will all come together. We just have to be patient.
