Decision-making is among life’s greatest challenges. At times, we are uncertain about what we truly want. At other times, what we desire is not necessarily that which is in our best interest. We often convince ourselves that the course we have chosen is the correct one, despite the counsel of wiser individuals or the voice of common sense. Too often, our decisions are driven more by emotion than by reason, resulting in choices that we later regret.
Horav Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev, zl, offers a novel interpretation of Hashem’s command to Avraham Avinu to leave the only home he had ever known to journey to an undisclosed destination: “Go to the land that I will show you.” The Kedushas Levi explains that asher areka does not refer merely to a geographical destination. Rather, Hashem was telling Avraham, “Begin the journey. Take the first step in obedience to My command, and I will grant you the clarity to know that you are on the proper path.”
Hashem was not simply withholding the location of Avraham’s destination. He was teaching him a timeless lesson concerning Divine guidance. One does not always receive total clarity before acting. Often, certainty follows commitment. When a person acts solely because it is the ratzon Hashem, Hashem illuminates the path before him.
Avraham Avinu was privileged to hear Hashem’s voice directly. Most of us do not enjoy such explicit communication. We must make decisions through careful deliberation, weighing alternatives, seeking the counsel of Torah scholars and trusted advisors, honestly assessing the consequences of our choices, and, above all, davening that Hashem guide us to the proper decision. Yet, even after all of this, uncertainty often remains. We ask ourselves, “Did I choose correctly?”
The Kedushas Levi teaches that this lingering uncertainty is not unusual. If a person has sincerely sought to determine Hashem’s will and has done everything within his ability to arrive at the proper decision, ultimately, he must move forward with faith. Once he has acted, Hashem grants him the inner clarity that confirms he has chosen correctly. The ambiguity begins to dissipate, the doubts recede, and the heart becomes settled. This is the meaning of Asher areka, “I will show you.” This clarity is not merely the product of careful analysis or intellectual conviction. It is a Heavenly gift. When a person demonstrates his willingness to trust Hashem and proceeds in accordance with His will, Hashem rewards that trust by illuminating the path ahead. Hashem provides Divine clarity only after we have taken the first faithful step. Truth does not shout; it resonates within a person. When one has achieved clarity, he knows it. It is Heaven-sent, Hashem’s way of saying, “This is the land that I will show you.”
I prefaced my words with: “Decision making is among life’s greatest challenges.” I close by qualifying that statement: In every significant decision, we must strive to discern what Hashem is showing us – not what we want to see. When we achieve serenity and calmness born of an inner conviction, we have aligned with Hashem and may now proceed with confidence. When ambiguity and darkness reign, this may well be Hashem’s way of saying, “Slow down; you are not there yet. I will open the doors when the time arrives. Until then, trust Me.”
Horav Mordechai Pogromansky, zl, famously taught, “A Jew never feels lost. Wherever he finds himself, this is where he is supposed to be. Why? Hashem knows, and, in due time, so will you.” (Paraphrasing with the author’s embellishment.) The Gaon derived this from the incident of Hagar, Avraham Avinu’s pilegesh, concubine. The Torah relates, Va’teilech va’teisa bamidbar, “She departed and strayed in the wilderness” (Bereishis 21:14). Rashi teaches that her straying was not physical, but spiritual; she returned to the idol worship of her youth. “How does Rashi know this?” asked Rav Mottel, as he was affectionately called. Perhaps she was actually lost. (No road signs mark the way in a wilderness.) He explained this homiletically. Hagar felt lost in the wilderness specifically because she was an idolater. A Jew never feels lost.
Rav Mottel related this exposition during a mission he was on with a friend, a mohel, ritual circumciser, in order to save Yidden. First, a little background. The flames of World War II had raged through Europe, leaving death and destruction in their wake. The country lay in ruins — both physically and spiritually. The thousands of Jews who had filled the shuls, the yeshivos and batei medrash were all gone, together with the physical structures which once proudly buzzed with the sounds of Torah and tefillah.
A handful of Jews, however, scattered throughout Poland, remained on the blood-soaked soil, despite the danger and instability of the time immediately following the war. Even though the risk was significant, Rav Mordechai Pogromansky set out, accompanied by Reb Mechel, a mohel, and they traveled from village to village in search of any surviving Jews.
One erev Shabbos they found themselves in a remote village with no visible place to spend Shabbos. Reb Mechel became anxious, and he asked Rav Mottel, “What will we do? It will be Shabbos in three hours, and we are lost in a desolate village without hope of finding a Jew!” This is when Rav Mottel responded, “A Jew never feels lost. He is where he is because this is where Hashem wants him to be.”
Having said this, the pair continued their search through the village. When Shabbos was only an hour away, to their joy, they discovered a doorpost with a mezuzah. A man wearing a yamulkah, holding an infant in his arms, answered their knock. They related their predicament, and he invited them in.
“I am delighted to have you for my guests this Shabbos,” he told them. “Perhaps you can help me as well. As you can see, I have my own problem: Tomorrow my son will be eight days old, but it’s one hour before Shabbos, and I have no one to make his bris milah! Perhaps you know of a nearby mohel?” Veritably, Reb Mottel and Reb Mechel had never been lost. They were exactly where they were supposed to be.
In the early years of his shlichus in Holland, Rabbi Yitzchak Vorst was puzzled. He was busy preparing Pesach programs, and he did not even know of any Jewish resident in that town. He asked for a person’s name, but was told that no name was available. He was simply assured, “When you arrive, you will find him.”
After a long drive, he arrived in this isolated town and began asking around. Eventually, he located an elderly Jewish man who was living there alone. The man was overwhelmed when Rabbi Vorst appeared at his door with matzah. The man explained that he had not had any Jewish visitors for years. He had felt forgotten, disconnected and almost invisible. That small package of matzah was not merely food; it was a message from Above: Hashem had not forgotten him. The shaliach thought he was traveling to bring matzah to a Jew. In reality, Hashem had arranged for a Jew who felt abandoned to receive a reminder that he still had a place among the Jewish people.
Hashem places us in a particular city, workplace, neighborhood, or circumstance. Yet the Jew in that forgotten Dutch village teaches us otherwise. No Jews are forgotten, and no one is in a certain location accidentally. A person is not merely brought to a place; he is sent there. The question is not, “Why am I here?” but rather, “What mission did Hashem entrust to me by placing me here?”
We all have such experiences. Unfortunately, we let them pass by without acknowledging that we have been privy to one of Hashem’s hashgachah moments. Fifty years ago, I accepted my first position outside of the protective bastion of Torah that had been my home. My wife and I, with three young children, moved to a place which, at that time, was far from the Torah city it has become. Today, five decades later, we revel with joy and nachas at the then teenaged boy who we nurtured to frumkeit and the beautiful Toradig family of banim u’bnei banim oskim baTorah that he, together with his wife, have raised. Let us not ignore the hashgachah moments Hashem provides us.
