We all are familiar with the following story/joke:
“Not a parking space to be found!” Zevulun muttered under his breath. “Not even one! I am in such a rush. I cannot afford to be late…”
After circling the block one more time, Zevulun had enough. “G-d,” he exclaimed, “if You find me a spot, I’ll give $100 to charity.”
As he finished the sentence, a car pulled out of a parking spot right in front of the building he needed.
“Thanks anyway, G-d!” he announced as he happily parked. “The deal’s over. I got a spot without Your help!”
How Teva Confuses Us
You know, davening is an interesting thing. We all daven—some of us more, some of us less, some of us with more kavanah and some with less. The thing is, we often do so because that is what we were taught to do, and that is what we have grown accustomed to do, but we don’t really connect with Hashem or connect the results of our tefillos with the tefillos that we davened.
When the tefillos are answered, we often get confused by teva, by the natural way in which Hashem made it come about, and we thus separate the result from Hashem. Of course, we often give Hashem a general “shkoach” for granting our wish, but our deepest gratitude may go to the shluchim—the person who relentlessly pushed the shidduch, the medical askan who found the perfect doctor or alerted us to a sakanah that we didn’t realize was upon us, or the tutor who transformed our son’s learning and his whole hatzlocha in cheder or yeshiva.
In truth, we do have an obligation of hakoras hatov and natural feelings of hakoras hatov. In general, however, our first reaction is often to have an overflowing feeling of thanks and gratitude to the shliach—as we should—and to sort of give perfunctory thanks to the Meshaleiach, Hashem. (Obviously, it should not be perfunctory, because it is not enough.)
Recently, I became aware of a story that, on the one hand, was deeply inspirational, but on the other hand left me a bit uneasy. Let me share it with you. Even if you won’t get anything from this article aside from the story, it will be worth it.
The Raffle, the Plea…and the “Hug”
Reb Tzvi davened in a shul that desperately needed an expansion. He loved the shul, he loved his fellow mispallelim, and when the shul called a meeting to discuss how they would raise the funds for the expansion, Reb Tzvi came together with tens of other devoted members. They decided to make a raffle (this was before “matching” and “Rayze” events were even heard of) for a beautiful large silver menorah for anyone who would pledge a certain amount. They didn’t have to give it all at once, but could space out the payments monthly over a year or two.
Being someone who loved the shul, Reb Tzvi was among the first to pledge, and his name was entered into the raffle.
A few months later, after all the tickets were sold, the shul made a special melava malka where the winning ticket would be drawn.
It so happened that Reb Tzvi was undergoing a difficult, stressful period in his life. He later recalled, “I turned my eyes to heaven and said to Hashem, ‘Tatteh, You are the One Who split the Yam Suf. You are the One Who performed nissim for our avos. Now, I want to win the lottery not because I need a new menorah. Really, I have a nice one. I want to win because it is important for me, especially during this difficult period in my life, to feel a bit of he’aras ponim, to feel that You are looking down at me with benevolence. I want to feel that I asked You for something and You gave it to me. That, to me, will be worth much more than the actual menorah. Hashem, I live in Olam Hazeh. I daven so many tefillos, but I rarely feel like You answer my tefillos right away. This time, I am asking You to make me win the menorah. In this way, I will feel that You are there for me, that You are not distant, but that You are right here with me in the trenches. I will feel that I asked You for something and You came through, right away. Please! I want to feel that I truly have a relationship with You.’”
Reb Tzvi said these words to Hashem in simple language, the way one talks to a friend. He then ended with the following sentence: “I know, Hashem, that if I am asking something from You, I should also give something to You. A relationship is a two-way street. If I win the menorah, I will accept upon myself to do this and this…,” and he specified a very personal kabbolah.
Not long after his heartfelt tefillah, the raffle was drawn.
Do you think Reb Tzvi won? No.
When they chose the ticket and called out the name of the winner, it wasn’t Reb Tzvi. He related that when he went home that night, he didn’t say a word about the whole incident to anyone, not even to his wife.
Several hours after he came home, a bit after midnight, his cell phone rang. It was the gabbai of his shul.
“Tzvi,” the gabbai said, “I have to tell you something interesting. You were there tonight at the raffle. You know that the winner is some person from Tzefas. We just looked at our records and discovered that he pledged to give to the shul, but he has never had any relationship with our shul. Now, when we reviewed the reminders, we realized that he hasn’t yet given anything, even though he pledged a few months ago and we’ve been sending notices. Sadly, there are people who pledge and don’t follow through.
“Therefore, we are going to call him and ask about his pledge. If he follows through and gives us his banking information or credit card number, that means he is serious and we will tell him he won. If, however, he says that he is not ready to give, then I want you to know that we conducted a second lottery to determine who would be the winner if he doesn’t give his pledge, and you were the winner of the second lottery.”
“Now, in all truth,” Reb Tzvi said, “the whole phone call made no sense to me. Why call me if it isn’t even clear that I won? Why tell me that I was next if it’s possible that the man from Tzefas will give the money? For me, however, the phone call was a game-changer. I began trembling with emotion. It wasn’t the menorah that I needed. I had needed Hashem to acknowledge my desire for a sign. And yes, with that phone call, I felt Hashem telling me, ‘Tzvi, the menorah doesn’t belong to you, but I just needed to tell you that I heard your tefillah…’”
Wonderful and inspiring story, no?
Tefillah, Trust, and Teva
Still, it left me uneasy. Why? Because what Reb Tzvi wanted really defeated part of the purpose of tefillah. Tefillah means that we believe that Hashem is the One and Only One Who provides everything we need, whether it is the parnossah we are seeking, the shidduch, getting our kids into a school—anything! From the simplest, most mundane requests to the most spectacular.
If we request a sign, that means we sort of don’t really believe in tefillah the way it was meant to be.
The whole point of tefillah is to daven and realize that it is Hashem Who provides, even though He does it through teva and His countless shlichim. If we ask for clear signs like that, it is a sign that we have not internalized this message.
The Ramban in Parshas Bo writes that Hashem doesn’t perform miracles for every person who is looking for a sign. He says that Hashem made miracles at the time of Yetzias Mitzrayim, and anyone looking for miracles should refer back to those.
That is what troubled me about the story, beautiful as it was.
So let us realize that when it comes to tefillah, Hashem wants us to daven, but He also wants us to trust that He can provide for us through myriad shlichim. All we have to do is look for Him and not get distracted by the many ways in teva that He hides Himself, even as He is showing Himself.
I understand Reb Tzvi and I understand his thought process.
Yes, we understand the concept of davening and begging Hashem from the bottom of our hearts for a sign that He loves us—some sort of sign, any sign. We all sometimes want or need a “hug” from Hashem. But to suggest to Hashem what that sign should be?
Something makes me feel that asking for a specific sign, a specific hug, is a mistake.
What do you think?
