Life is a Box of Chocolate

The Silver Lining Behind Challenge And Adversity

By Rabbi Yoseph Kahanov Jax, Fl.

Life is so full of sadness and sorrow, some say it’s better not to have been born at all!… But how many people do you meet in a lifetime who are that lucky?

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When things go wrong as they sometimes will
When the road you’re trudging seems all up hill

When funds are low and debts are high
As you try to smile but somehow sigh.

When life weigh’s you down more than a bit
Rest you must but don’t ever quit.

Life can be tough with its twists and its turns
Often it is wearisome as we somberly learn.

You mustn’t give up though the pace seems slow
You’re liable to succeed with just one more blow.

Success is failure turned inside out
The silver lining behind dark clouds of doubt.

Many a failure will turn about
You may be a winner should you stick it out.

You never can tell how close you are
It may be very near when it seems so so far.

So stick to the fight when you’re hardest hit
It’s when things seem worst that you must recommit!

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“Der Ba’al Agalah Shmaised, Dee Ferd Briken-Zich, Un-Dervaile Fort-Men” (Yiddish). Loosely translated: The coachman whips, the horses lash-out and in the meantime the journey is underway. (Reb Mendel Futerfass)

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Who said that life was supposed to be smooth sailing; unimpeded and unhampered by adversity or resistance? Whoever said that life was to be tranquil and challenge-free was certainly not quoting the Torah. The fact is that the Torah is replete with the opposite message.

From the tumultuous lives of our ancestors, Avraham, Yitzchak and Yaakov, to our slavery in Egypt, and the ill faded forty-year sojourn in the desert, the recurring theme is one of challenge and failure, then and only then comes the taste of triumph.

This phenomenon is summed up by King Solomon, in the book of Proverbs, rather succinctly: “Sheva Yipol Tzaddik V’kam” (a Tzaddik – righteous person – falls seven times and rises). Wavering and faltering; the ups and the downs, the highs and the lows, the rise and the fall of the human spirit is part and parcel of mortal existence.

In the early 1900’s, in Manhattan’s Lower East Side, a local Rabbi once ran into the Episcopalian Minister who was not very fond of his immigrant neighbors’ ghetto-like lifestyle. “What a coincidence!” remarked the minister: “It was just last night that I dreamt I was in Jewish Heaven.”

“Jewish Heaven,” mused the Rabbi. “What’s it like in Jewish Heaven?”

“Oh!” replied the minister snidely, “In Jewish Heaven children with dirty faces, un-tucked, un-pressed shirts play in the dirt. In Jewish heaven women haggle with vendors as panhandlers rudely interrupt.

In Jewish heaven laundry hangs from a maze of clotheslines; dripping water on to the muddy surface. And of course,” continued the minister with a wry grin, “There are plenty of Rabbis running to and fro, with large tomes under their arms!”

“How amazing!” retorted the Rabbi pursing his lips: “In my dream last night I found myself, of all places, in Episcopalian heaven.”

“Really?” muttered the minister. “I’ve always wondered what Episcopalian Heaven was like. Please tell me what you saw.”

“I must admit,” said the Rabbi with a wide smile, “It is nothing short of immaculate.” The streets glitter as if they had just been washed, homes are lined-up in perfect symmetry, as their fresh paint sparkles in the sunlight!” the lawns and gardens are manicured to perfection.

“Not at all surprising,” said the pleased, almost giddy minister, nodding excessively. “But tell me about the people! I’m curious to know what the people are like”

“The people,” frowned the Rabbi, as he looked the minister in the eye: “What people? There were no people to be seen!”

Life is in reality a messy business; a cacophony of challenges, failures and victories; a hodgepodge of pain and of gain. As much as we don’t like or approve of it, there is nothing consistent or predictable about life, nor is it neat or tranquil. Life was apparently not meant to be a box of chocolates.

A spiritual mentor of mine put it rather bluntly: “You want tranquility? Visit the cemetery; among the dead it is very peaceful. Among the living there is strife and disorder.”

But how is this to be understood? How does Judaism explain challenge, adversity and turmoil? Is it bad or good, or is it just an unfortunate and inexplicable fact of life?

The answer is that the Torah portrays adversity and challenge in an extremely positive light. It is a deep-rooted Jewish belief that everything that occurs, even that which appears to be negative, is in reality good.

This outlook is underscored by the Talmudic requirement to bless the Lord for the seeming evil in our lives even as we bless Him for the good. Hence the law that when a Jew hears good tidings, he blesses G-d who “Is good and does good.” And when he hears bad news of death or destruction, heaven forbid, he similarly praises G-d: “Blessed are you O Lord, the true judge.”

The notion that every occurrence is infused with good and is for the good, pertains to all adversity, even to Divine retribution. The following observation made by the classic Torah commentaries in reference to the affliction of Tzaraas – which constitutes the majority of this week’s Torah portion, Mitzora – is a fitting illustration of this fundamental Jewish principle.

The Torah renders the Mitzora, one with a leprosy-like malady – a condition brought-on by spiritual deficiency – spiritually impure and requires him to be quarantined. A unique characteristic of the Tzaraas condition was its capacity to manifest itself in a person’s body, garments, as well as the walls of his home.

In Chapter, 14 Verse 33, the Torah relates the following instruction: “When you arrive in the land of Canaan that I give you as a possession, and I will place a Tzaraas affliction upon a house in the land of your possession. The one to whom the house belongs shall come and declare to the Kohen saying: ‘A sort of affliction has appeared to me in the house’ . . . The Kohen shall return on the seventh day; he shall look and behold the affliction had spread in the walls of the house. The Kohen shall command, and they shall remove the stones that contain the affliction . . . If the affliction returns and erupts in the house after he has removed the stones . . . it is a malignant Tzaraas in the house, it is contaminated. He shall demolish the house – its stones, its timbers, and all the mortar of the house . . .”

Needless to say, when Tzaraas struck, in whatever form, it was not a pleasant occurrence. In the case of the afflicted house it was particularly distressing, since in its worst form, it would result in the demolition of the house – a rather costly and devastating ordeal on the part of the owner. Yet ironically, the commentaries perceive this destructive form of Tzaraas in a highly positive and constructive light.

From the peculiar manner in which the Torah introduces this topic: “When you arrive in the land . . . I will place a Tzaraas affliction upon a house . . .” – the implication being that this is some type of good tiding, asserts Rashi, the foremost commentator on the Torah, that the Canaanite inhabitants – resigned to the fact that the Israelites were poised to conquer the land – went ahead and hid their valuables in the walls of their homes. In order to enable the Jewish owners to detect and acquire this wealth, G-d placed the affliction on the wall where the treasure was buried so that the stones would have to be removed and hence the treasure uncovered.

Is it not amazing? We’re talking about a person who had been stricken with a serious catastrophe, perhaps as a punishment for damaging transgressions. Still, our sages are stanch in their view that this is as much about Divine mercy and blessing as it is about anything else. How is this to be understood?

The answer is that herein lies the very essence of the Jewish perspective regarding adversity. G-d, being the epitome of goodness and compassion, does not perform acts of badness or evil. Even when G-d tests us or exacts punishment, the very act is itself permeated with His loving kindness.

Rabbi Akiva, the Talmud relates, was accustomed to saying: Kol mah d’ovied Rachmono, l’tav ovied, meaning: Everything that the Merciful-One [G-d] does is for the good. Once, while he was traveling, recounts the Talmud, he was in dire need of lodging, he knocked on the door of a home in the village at which he had arrived, but was refused hospitality. Yet, instead of being discouraged, Rabbi Akiva declared “Everything that the Merciful-One does is for the good.”

He knocked on another door but the response was much the same and so too was his reaction: “Everything that the Merciful-One does is for the good.” His demeanor did not change even after he knocked on every door in town and was refused entry. Lacking a more favorable alternative, he encamped in a field on the outskirts of the town.

Now, Rabbi Akiva was accustomed to traveling with some paraphernalia, including a donkey to carry his belongings, a rooster to awaken him early, and a lamp so that he might study at night. Much to his regret, a lion appeared before long and destroyed his donkey. “Everything that the Merciful-One does is for the good,” reflected Rabbi Akiva. Such were his thoughts even when a cat devoured his rooster and his torch was extinguished by a strong wind.

The following morning Rabbi Akiva learned of the dreadful calamity that had befallen the people of the village. During the night a Roman legion converged on the town taking all its residents captive. Had he been welcomed in any of the homes, he would have met the same fate as did the townspeople. Had his donkey or rooster remained alive they would have promptly given-him-up to the legionnaires. And had his fire remained burning it would have led them directly to him. A similar story is told about a pious man named Nachum Ish Gamzu.

Rather than punishment or revenge, the purpose of adversity and struggle is often for our own benefit physically and spiritually, it is to help us uncover deep hidden treasures, whether within the walls of our homes or the confines of our souls.

Much as with Tzaraas there is nothing pretty or orderly about adversity and challenge, other than the ultimate result – the triumph of the soul and the fulfillment of its earthly mission.

May we merit to witness that day with our fleshly eyes in an open and revealed manner. May we soon arrive at the promised age when challenge and adversity will vanish from the world, when we will experience the true reward and purpose for human existence, with the coming of the righteous Moshiach BBA.