Meaning in the Midst of Suffering
January 17, 2009
It is New Year’s Eve 2008 as I write this, and I am counting my blessings, even as I prepare to mark the end of what seems to have been a particularly brutal year. Counting blessings because, looking backward or ahead, there’s so much out there that’s frightening, and sad, and I need a little cheer on this bone-chilling, blustery day of snow and foiled plans.
Where do we Jews turn for cheer, for strength? To the Torah, of course—the original source of our wisdom and many a rousing argument, which is sure to warm us up and may even make us feel better. (I am imagining the thin, cold light of midwinter, which will have arrived by the time you read this, and I am listening to a roundup of the economic and geopolitical news of the year, and of the outlook ahead. I have a feeling we will all need to be collecting good reasons to feel better for some time.)
In the story of Jacob’s journey down to Egypt after he receives the shocking news that Joseph, his beloved son thought dead for many years, is still alive, we encounter a strange and mysterious moment that reminds me of our own moment.
As he travels south, Jacob, also called Israel, stops in Beer Sheva to offer sacrifices, presumably to give thanks that Joseph is still alive. That night God visits him in a dream, saying: “Fear not to go down to Egypt, for I will make you there into a great nation. I Myself will go down with you to Egypt, and I Myself will also bring you back” (Gen. 46).
That Israel becomes a great nation we can witness: by the time the Israelites leave Egypt, the original clan of 70 has burgeoned to 600,000. And we, who count ourselves among Israel’s children, are still here, 3000 years later, reading this bit of family lore. Measured by ancient numbers or by sheer endurance, we are a great nation. But what about, “fear not”? And, “I Myself will go down with you”? We know what happens next: the Israelites became slaves to Pharaoh, oppressed for generations with poverty and hard labor, bodies beaten, children torn from parents. Where was God in that? Jacob’s life had already been scarred by trouble and trauma. Now he was leaving the land promised to his fathers, the land protected by his God. He had reason to be afraid.
Staring down the chute of death and birth that, in some measure, every New Year brings, wondering whether this infant year will grow up to be cruel, or kind, or merely indifferent, I feel a twist of the same fear Jacob’s God told him to disavow: fear of suffering, fear of the unknown. And we may be forgiven for asking: If God was with Israel in Egypt, what’s the use of it? Say God has been with us all along, and remains with us now, through stock market free-falls, Wall Street swindlers, war and terror metastasizing throughout the Middle East and South Asia, and all of the unheralded personal tragedies and insults borne by our neighbors and loved ones and ourselves over the past year. What good, then, is God, and why should we feel reassured?
It is New Year’s Eve 2008, and I am counting my blessings. What are my blessings? They are those people and things that give my life meaning. Psychiatrist and Holocaust survivor Viktor Frankl wrote, “The meaning of life differs from man to man, from day to day and from hour to hour. What matters, therefore, is not the meaning of life in general but rather the specific meaning of a person’s life at a given moment.” What matters is that there is meaning, there is something drawing us on, something for which we toil, and learn, and endure darkness. It may be our family, our work, our dreams. For Jacob and his more immediate descendents, it may have been a dream of us, the ghost of a future promise that could only emerge from the story, told year after year, of their enslavement. Whatever the answer, it is in the tiny space opened up by these questions—“What are my blessings?”; “What is life’s meaning?”—in this space created by these demanding questions; here, in this moment of possibility, that God becomes manifest.
Jacob made this journey as a very old man. He chose to go down to Egypt to see Joseph at a time when he may as easily have remained where he was and prepared to die. In that decision, God was with him. In the slave camps of Egypt, as in the concentration camp where Frankl developed his theory of human psychology, God went down with Israel, and God brought Israel back out. Because Israel never stopped asking, “what gives my life meaning?” and, “what are my blessings?”
Because we want our children to grow up strong, and to learn to do good; because we still hope, sometimes against reason, that the world will heal its wounds; because we act on that hope, and try to make a difference in the world and in the lives of others with our deeds; in the space between the questions—“What are our blessings?” and “What gives life meaning?”—and the many answers these questions demand—in that little space, God is with us.
May all of us, our community, Israel, and all the world know peace and abundance in 2009.
What I Don’t Know (And What I Do)
January 17, 2009
Sometimes it’s hard to know where to begin, and these are such times.
It’s probably not a good indicator that I’ve spent more time this past month being interviewed by the press and news media (including twice by the BBC) than during any similar period I can recall during the past two and a half decades. Beginning first with the marked decline in our nation’s economy, soon accompanied by the revelations of the Bernard Madoff financial scandal, and then the sudden outbreak of “Operation Cast Lead” and Israel’s war against Hamas, the past weeks have brought a degree of anxiety, sorrow, pain and loss to our Jewish world both near and far — only somewhat brightened by the lights of our recent Hanukkah festival.
Because of the early deadlines we need to meet for the production of our monthly Temple Bulletin, it’s quite certain that events will unfold in ways I clearly can’t even begin to anticipate at the moment. I don’t claim clairvoyant powers, and I’m not one for making predictions for the New Year (The National Inquirer is not among the press who have interviewed me of late). But while the future must always remain veiled, and the complex realities of these most challenging of times make it impossible to anticipate for certain what the upcoming days and weeks will bring, I’m pretty sure of a few things.
By the time you are reading this message, a new President will occupy the White House, having ascended in yet another peaceful transfer of power that should be seen as nothing short of a remarkable blessing for Americans, and an inspiration for the rest of the world.
In our community so seriously affected by the hardship of these economic conditions, men and women who have not done so before will have begun to step forward to contribute vital funds to help maintain our own Temple, as well as to restore and buttress the institutions of our entire, North Shore Jewish community. Without a doubt, difficult times will now begin to inspire creative solutions, forging innovative partnerships and cooperation among our various leaders, synagogues and agencies.
In Israel, sadly, far too many young people – casualties of the current military conflict — will have been buried and mourned. I doubt that the hostilities will have been ended, but certainly many innocents will have been injured for the mere “crime” of wanting to live in safety in the homeland of our people. Around the world, on the streets and in the press, Israel will continue be vilified and unjustly held responsible for Palestinian deaths, much to the delight and according to the careful intentions of Hamas and the supporters of terror. But her people will have continued to embrace life to its fullest, and will likely have already pioneered new medical, technological, agricultural, social and cultural advancements that will enhance life for men and women around the globe.
And regardless of the challenges we face, as Jews, we will already be looking with hope to a brighter future, in keeping with the prophets of old, who called us “Asirei Tikvah – Prisoners of Hope.” That hope will be a cornerstone for building all that the future might hold.
It is my hope that by the time you read this message, you will already - personally - be taking an active role in building toward that brighter future.
