I recently heard a speech from a rabbi who is very familiar with the Israeli military and the remarkable operations they have successfully completed over the past couple of years, including such operations as taking out Iran’s nuclear reactors, blowing up Hezbollah pagers, defending the homeland from barrages of Iranian ballistic missiles, eliminating the Hamas leadership, killing Sheikh Nasrallah, and more.
The gist of his drasha was that as impressive as the Israeli army and intelligence capabilities are, there is no way to frame what has happened other than open nissim that Hashem performed for us. In his speech, he showed how, al pi derech hateva, it was not possible for the army to have such success, and it was not possible for the homeland to sustain so few casualties, unless we take it as a given that Hashem was watching over us, performing miracles, one after the other.
When I was contemplating a reference to Shimshon Hagibbor in this week’s parsha, I thought about this rabbi’s speech.
Let’s introduce Shimshon with a question.
Titles are a big thing in today’s world. We freely and liberally use titles such as “Harav,” “Rebbetzin,” “Hagaon,” “Hachossid,” “rosh yeshiva,” “tzaddik/tzaddeikes,” “rosh kollel,” and so on. There are so many titles for people in our world — titles of honor, titles that make us look up to the people bearing those titles.
There are some titles, however, that we would not look up to, let alone even use. It would not be considered praise to call someone “Strong Shmuli” or “Fast Fishel.” Perhaps it would be highlighting a strength that they have, but praise? Not necessarily.
Why the Focus on Shimshon’s Strength?
Why, then, is one of the shoftim called “Hagibbor”? Why, for a nation that does not specifically praise physical strength for the purely gashmiyusdige nature of strength, would we call one of the shoftim — a person who saved the Yidden from the Pelishtim — by the title “Hagibbor”?
Why are we focusing on the strength of the shofet Shimshon?
Before we can answer that question, let us first remind everyone who Shimshon was.
In Sefer Shoftim, we are told the story of how Shimshon was born.
Manoach, an am ha’aretz, lived with his wife in their empty house. The couple was childless and was still hoping and praying for a child.
One fine day, Mrs. Manoach had a visitor, and not just any visitor. She was visited by a malach who was sent by Hashem to give her wonderful news.
“I have come to tell you that you will be blessed with a son, a son who will save all of Klal Yisroel.” The malach then continued by giving Mrs. Manoach very detailed instructions as to how she should raise this son. “Raise him like a nazir. He should not drink wine, cut his hair, or do any of the other things restricted to a nazir.”
Mrs. Manoach was overjoyed.
Later, the malach returned to speak with both Manoach and his wife together. When Manoach asked how they should treat their child, the malach repeated his instructions.
The story continues with accounts of the great strength of this gibbor, Shimshon, who literally wreaked havoc on the Pelishtim, until the day when he lost all his strength. What happened?
Without going into the whole story, let us simply say that his wife, Delilah, was not a pious woman. When he was sleeping, she cut his hair, which led to him losing the sheer strength that Hashem had given him. He was captured by the Pelishtim, who cut out his eyes and held him prisoner.
His Final Moments
That brings us to the final, shining moment of strength in the life of Shimshon. He was standing there in iron shackles, unable to see, terribly weakened, a broken shell of the former “strongman.” He was chained between two beams, forced to witness the goings-on at a party in honor of the Pelishti avodah zarah.
At that moment, Shimshon cried out to Hashem, begging, “Chazkeini na ach hapaam hazeh — Please strengthen me just this one time.” Hashem heard Shimshon’s tefillos and empowered him to move the two beams that were holding up the building. He pushed them with such strength that the entire structure collapsed, crushing the Pelishtim together with Shimshon.
Still, have you ever wondered why we choose to focus on his strength?
In this week’s parsha, we find an allusion to this story. In the brocha that Yaakov gave to Don, the posuk ends with the words, “L’yeshuascha kivisi Hashem — For Your salvation I long, Hashem.” Rashi quotes Chazal, explaining that these words hint to Shimshon Hagibbor, who was from shevet Don. It was Shimshon who begged Hashem so sincerely, hoping for Hashem’s yeshuah one last time when he was a prisoner. It was Shimshon who said, “Chazkeini na ach hapaam hazeh.” And yes, Hashem answered his tefillah and gave him the strength he had requested.
“It Was Never My Strength!”
I once saw in a sefer that what Shimshon was doing when he begged Hashem for strength one last time was declaring that he knew and believed with total emunah that it was never he who was strong and that his strength never had anything to do with him. He was declaring that it was always Hashem who gave him strength.
The lesson for us is clear. Many of us have “strength” in one area or another. Some may be physically strong. Others may be talented in different areas — art, sports, music, business. One person may simply know everything and score hundreds on every test, while another is great at drama or is very handy. We all have strengths and areas in which we are “strong.”
Sometimes, we get used to being strong in our area of strength. Maybe we mouth the words, “Boruch Hashem, I have this talent,” but in our minds, we think it is us.
“I am so smart…” “I am so strong…” “I am so artistic…” “I am such a good mother or father, and that is why I have such exemplary children.” “My kid is such an illui…”
Our Strengths Are Gifts
It is very easy to fall into the trap of crediting ourselves — either aloud or in the deepest recesses of our hearts — with the various strengths that Hashem has given us as gifts. It is very easy to forget that even our strengths are really gifts from Hashem.
This can be true both in gashmiyus and in ruchniyus. We might think, “I am strong. I would never watch that. I would never wear that or do that…”
Perhaps the lesson is that a person must know and realize that he should not rely on “his” strength. Rather, he should understand that whatever he does — whatever good he does or is able to do — is only because Hashem is helping him.
Hashem Doesn’t Help; Hashem Does Everything
I once remember speaking to a distinguished Yid, and I ended off by saying, “Der Aibishter helft — Hashem helps.”
“Der Eibishter helft nisht — Hashem doesn’t help!” was his shocking reply.
“Huh?” I thought. “Did I hear right? Did this elderly talmid chochom and tzaddik just tell me that Hashem doesn’t help?”
Before I could say anything more, he smiled and answered my unasked question: “Der Aibishter helft nisht! Ehr tut alles! Hashem doesn’t just help. He does everything!”
That is the lesson from Shimshon. He was recognizing and declaring that any strength he had was from Hashem. That is what he meant when he said, “Chazkeini.” It was all Hashem.
Hakoras Hatov — Yes, Credit Belongs to Hashem
I think we can apply this lesson today regarding world affairs. In recent years, our brothers and sisters in the Holy Land have, boruch Hashem, been zoche to witness many victories over the bloodthirsty Arabs in Eretz Yisroel and neighboring countries.
We must realize that the great hatzlocha we have been seeing is only because of Hashem, nothing else.
Certainly, we must have hakoras hatov to the army, the generals, and the soldiers who have gone out to battle, and recognize their sacrifice and the toll that their service takes on their families. Yes, they deserve our deepest thanks. At the same time, however, those who say that it was the amazing army or the strategic thinking of our generals are getting it all wrong.
It is Hashem — and only Hashem — who gives strength, just as He gave strength to Shimshon when he was younger, and even more so at the end of his life, when he davened to Hashem, saying, “Chazkeini.”
So the next time you think, “Wow, I am so smart. It is so good that I thought of this or that, or did this or that, or had hatzlocha in this or that,” remember the words of Shimshon Hagibbor. When he said, “Chazkeini,” he was declaring, “Der Eibishter tut alles.”
