There’s always a first time. I have boruch Hashem been a rov for over forty years. It is not at all unusual for someone to approach me at an odd moment. He may know me and wish to ask me a question. He may know me and wish to strongly disagree with something I said or wrote.
Last week, I found myself in the parking lot of a random non-Jewish store. As I was entering my car, minding my own business, I heard a loud, somewhat irate voice calling out, “Rabbi!” Looking around, I realized that the culprit could only be me. I closed my car door and turned to a decent but angry-looking gentleman. But before I could say a word, he continued. “Rabbi, what do you think of the hostage deal?” Unsure if the man was Jewish or not and what his agenda might be, I said something ambivalent and innocuous. However, he continued his rant.
I guess at this point in my life, perhaps I do look like a rabbi. I don’t think anyone in Lakewood, Boro Park, or Yerushalayim would give me a second look. But in a Long Island area outside the Five Towns, I got elected as Hashem’s representative.
“Rabbi,” he continued, “what do you think of the hostage deal? Why does G-d hate us so much? He enslaved us in Egypt for four hundred years (I thought to myself: Well, at least he knows the parsha), he allowed Hamas to capture and murder the hostages…”
He went on to enumerate many of the times he felt that G-d displayed His enmity for His so-called chosen nation. Deciding that he was, after all, a brother, I felt that I should respond at least a bit.
When he finished his tirade, I tested the waters.
“Actually, He does love us,” I quietly replied.
The look he gave me radiated a mixture of derision and compassion.
“Are you crazy?” he kindly inquired. “G-d has never been as nasty to any nation. Didn’t you ever hear of the Holocaust? Are you living in a cloud? Don’t you know that most of the world would be just as happy if we disappeared?”
These were some of the milder things that he threw at me. When he finally slowed down and I found my voice, I actually did quote the parsha. Thinking that the name Rashi wouldn’t mean anything to him, I simply reminded him that G-d appeared to Moses in a burning bramble bush to show us that He was suffering along with us. He seemed to stop dead in his tracks and I wanted to get his name and number so that we could continue the conversation sometime, but he drove away with a cloud of fumes in my face. I reflected humbly that some meet Eliyahu Hanovi and I have an encounter with the Neviei HaBaal.
However, when I thought a bit more deeply, it occurred to me that without access to Rashi or anything but “the Bible,” at best, it doesn’t always seem as if our Father in Heaven loves us. In a court of secular law, the evidence might tilt totally in the opposite direction. This led me to speak this past Shabbos about the differences between appearance and reality, when Hashem shows His smile to us and He hides His face. Maybe I wasn’t zocheh to giluy Eliyahu, but perhaps I did get a reminder to speak and write about Hashem’s absolute love for each one of us.
Perhaps the best place to start is at the very end. The novi Malachi is considered the end of nevuah in Klal Yisroel. His words are the ones we carry with us until the end of time, through the Crusades, Inquisitions, Tach Vetats, and Holocausts. He is the one who tells us, in his first few words, “I love you, says Hashem” (1:2). “The closer we get to Hashem, the more we feel His love” (Rebbe of Karlin in Kisvei Kodesh, page 125).
I am writing this just before the inauguration and I am clearly no novi. But many have felt since the results of the election that better days are hopefully ahead. On the other hand, we must remember that since Moshiach has not yet arrived, we will probably still live in an imperfect world for a while longer. What should we do at the moment?
First of all, let’s reinforce our knowledge that Hashem loves us even though we must compromise with murderers to release innocent hostages and receive the bodies of others for kevurah. We watch the last of the survivors slowly pass away, with no one to testify about the horrors of Churban Europa. We are surrounded by people whose sole purpose seems to be our destruction. Yet, most of us do feel the love of our Father in Heaven. How can this be?
The Steipler (Sefer Chayei Olam, page 250) used to quote from the Sefer Chut Hameshulash (biography of Rav Akiva Eiger, page 2) that we recite daily just before Krias Shema: “Blessed are You, Hashem, Who chooses His people with love.” The Torah (Devorim 6:5) commands us to love Hashem. Now, how can we be commanded to do something that depends upon feelings or emotions? We can be told to wear tefillin or tzitzis. We can be commanded to shake a lulav. But how can we be commanded to love Hashem?
Rav Akiva Eiger answers that “our love for Hashem flows directly from His love for us.”
The Steipler adds that this middah comes from what Shlomo Hamelech (Mishlei 27:19) refers to as “As water reflects a face back to a face, so one’s heart is reflected to him by another.” In other words, even if it seems illogical, we know instinctively that Hashem loves us.
But even this seems insufficient. As my friend cried out in the parking lot, “Why is He doing this to us?”
The question is ancient but apparently still very raw and new.
The Medrash (Tanchuma, beginning of Parshas Terumah) teaches that “if Hashem, Who is infinite and eternal, wishes to limit Himself (tzimtzum) and confine Himself to the tiny Mishkon, He must love us. This brings us a bit closer to home, since we know that every shul and bais medrash is a microcosm of Hashem’s true abode. Hashem wants to live near us, down here on earth, where He knows we are not perfect. This is true love. The Chofetz Chaim, in the introduction to his eponymous work on the laws of lashon hara, teaches us that this halacha proves Hashem’s love for us. As he enumerates here and in the introduction to his sefer Shemiras Halashon, there is nothing as hurtful to people as being demeaned and diminished by someone’s slander and defamation. When Hashem’s Torah goes to such great lengths to help people avoid this plague, it is an eloquent proof of His love.
To plumb even deeper, the Rebbe of Radvil (Ohr Yitzchok, pages 59, 139, 198) would always point to the fact that Hashem has embedded in us His own middos of love, yearning, and even teshuvah (Shemos 32:14), so that we partake of His own essence and greatness. This, too, is true love. I often heard Rav Avigdor Miller, especially at this time of year, wax poetically about the beauty of snowflakes and the purity of a snowfall. He noted that people who are colorblind don’t experience the kaleidoscope of Hashem’s colorful world, but Hashem created colors so that we would enjoy His universe. He went on to marvel at the fact that He could have created a means to keep us alive that would not include taste and delicious food. This was not only for our benefit, but because of His prodigious love for all of His creatures.
The Sefas Emes (Likkutim 2:111) goes even further. He reminds us that at a wedding and sheva brachos, we recite and sing that Hashem has created all manner of joy and delight – asher bara sason vesimcha. These manifestations of happiness are not natural phenomena. They were created by Hashem because of His love.
Once we have gained this perspective, it is easier to advance to Hashem’s love for His children, Klal Yisroel.
A beautiful story is told of the first Rosh Hashanah in the Chevron Yeshiva in 1929 after the horrific massacre. So many had been slaughtered in cold blood, even those who survived were still recovering from their wounds, and all were traumatized beyond human ability to recover. The fabled mashgiach, Rav Leib Chasman, approached one of the bochurim, Betzalel Shakovitzky, asking him to daven Maariv as the chazzan. Betzalel protested that he was still unmarried and didn’t have a beard, as recommended by halacha for the Yomim Noraim, but the mashgiach was unmoved. “Daven,” he commanded.
The forlorn bochur managed to sing the traditional niggun beginning Borchu, but when he reached Krias Shma, arriving at the words “May You not remove Your love from us forever,” his trembling voice choked on the words. Every time he attempted to utter the word ve’ahavoscha, his voice joined with all the others, merging the pain with the slow realization that Hashem continues to love us, even in the midst of devastation and tragedy. Slowly, note added to note, word to word, and the entire yeshiva was singing to our Father in Heaven that He should not withhold the love that they all felt.
After Maariv, the mashgiach said to Betzalel, “That is exactly what I had in mind.”
It is said that it was this Maariv that signaled the rebirth and return of the Chevron Yeshiva (see Ohel Moshe, Devorim, page 376, note 171).
The long ordeal of the hostages may be ending. Some have lost limbs, all are traumatized by the evil enemy, but we are beginning to see some light. A new president has been inaugurated and he appears not to hate us and even means well for us. Since we know and believe that monarchs are totally in the Hands of Hashem, we must daven and do our best to deserve a new world of seeing Hashem’s love for us in clear and obvious ways, without having to squint, cry, and explain away the pain.
May the good days continue, but we should always remember that Hashem unconditionally always loves us forever.