The darkness of October 7 is omnipresent and all-pervasive. The tragedy raises so many questions about who we are as a nation and our divine right to the land of Israel. Additionally, the horror raises many questions about human beings who, though graced with the divine image, can commit such sickening and heinous crimes. Watching antisemites erupt with joy at the ugly massacre while subsequently threatening Jews with continued violence is a disgusting reminder that education and enlightenment will not completely cure the world of this venomous disease.
Aside from these cultural and national questions, this dark tragedy also severely tests our emunah. How could Hashem let these barbarians inflict so much death and suffering upon His chosen people? Unlike previous Jewish suffering, this occurred in the land Hashem promised us. Witnessing these Holocaust-like horrors raises many daunting questions that will impact our faith, prayers, and relationship with Hashem for years to come. These are not simple times, and we best construct durable and nuanced faith to navigate this storm. We look to past profiles of faith to help us solidify our own emunah.
Akeidah
The akeidah provides a lasting portrait of human faith under duress. The instruction to sacrifice his lone son boggles Avraham’s imagination. It counters every moral norm he had associated with the merciful Hashem he had first discovered. For two thousand years, gods appeared as angry, grotesque figures who taunted humans from their perch in heaven. Finally, Avraham discerned a compassionate and moral G-d who desires human welfare. At the tail end of his career though, Avraham received a commandment from that kind G-d that was morally shocking, at least to his human reasoning.
Not only did the akeidah clash with human moral sensibilities, it also contravened numerous promises and oaths Hashem had made. Avraham was promised children “as numerous as the stars,” yet he waited 86 years for his first child, Yishma’el, who was ultimately dismissed. After waiting an additional thirteen years for Yitzchak, his chosen successor, Avraham was now ordered to sacrifice his lone progeny. This divine mandate seemed irreconcilable with previous divine mandates. The akeidah was confounding on both a moral plain, and in light of earlier divine guarantees.
Yet, despite his bewilderment, Avraham responds with one and only one word. He says “hineni,” which indicates his readiness to submit to a divine wisdom that he cannot begin to grasp.
Hashem Is Different
At the heart of monotheism lies the notion that we cannot fully comprehend the ways of Hashem. As the prophet Yeshaya exhorts, “My thoughts aren’t your thoughts and My ways aren’t your ways.” Iyov stared into the divine mystery and hopelessly attempted to justify the ways of Hashem to man. In contrast, Avraham surrenders his own instincts to a higher wisdom. The stark and powerful response of “hineni” signals his courageous acquiescence.
Faith runs deeper than logic or human reasoning. Faith outlasts the incomprehensible. My rebbe, Rav Aharon Lichtenstein, once asserted that emunah should be so durable that we should be capable of being the last Jew to walk out of Auschwitz and still not surrender our faith. Avraham is the paradigm of an enduring emunah that survives decisions by Hashem that are incomprehensible to man.
Is Everything Positive?
Many define faith as the belief that every divine decision will work out positively, and that every tragedy will ultimately yield favorable outcomes. A popular mantra that distills this approach is “gam zu letovah” (this too is for the best). Others have a difficult time with this policy of viewing everything through rose-colored glasses. Instead, they adopt a position popularized by Rav Avraham Karelitz or, the Chazon Ish. Faith isn’t predicated on the belief that every tragedy possesses a positive outcome. Instead, it is based on the conviction that every event has a purpose and nothing is random or arbitrary. We don’t know why events occur, nor must we assume that every disaster has a silver lining. Instead, our faith affirms divine hashgachah or Providence. All human history is governed and managed by Hashem and nothing is haphazard. Faith in hashgachah provides solace and comfort during times of uncertainty.
Questions Are Legitimate
There are two intriguing stories cited in the Midrash, each of which highlights Avraham’s inner turmoil in the leadup to the akeidah. In one Midrash, Avraham envisions meeting an older man who interrogates him about the morality of sacrificing his son. This inner vision reflects Avraham’s own internal struggle to come to terms with the morality of the akeidah. Despite his commitment and subservience to the divine will, Avraham still wrestled with the decision internally.
A more dramatic Midrash portrays Avraham praying to Hashem until the very last minute to repeal the akeidah. He will not disobey Hashem’s instructions and intends to fully execute the divine commandment unless the orders are reversed. He is so confused by the command however, that he actively prays to Hashem to repeal the akeidah. Each of these portraits showcases Avraham’s complex faith. His commitment to Hashem is unwavering, yet he struggles to make sense of the command and prays for its repeal.
Multi-layered
Evidently, faith, especially during a crisis, is a multi-layered experience. It demands that we submit to the higher will of Hashem, even when it perplexes us. Faith, though, does not demand that we stifle questions. Asking questions is part of our attempt to better understand Hashem. Sometimes we succeed and uncover the answers; other times we remain baffled by the questions. Either way, Hashem planted moral conscience in our hearts to help navigate the complexities of life. When events run contrary to our moral expectations, He wants us to struggle and question so long as our relationship with Him isn’t predicated solely upon arriving at “answers.” Questioning is a healthy and vital part of our relationship with Him.
The same Avraham who submitted to the divine command atop the mountain had previously prayed for the sinners of Sodom to be spared. He asked Hashem, “Will the judge of the entire Earth not perform justice?” By assuming that Hashem is just and merciful, Avraham could not fathom the annihilation of an entire metropolis. Yet, even when his prayers aren’t answered, Avraham doesn’t abandon faith; he responds with “hineni” and walks straight up the mountain.
We are facing a world where many questions still linger. How could Hashem allow such atrocities to occur? How could He allow so many people to be duped into believing this is a “resistance” struggle rather than a violent massacre of Jews? How could all this happen on a Shabbat, which also happened to be the day we celebrated finishing Hashem’s Torah? What does this say about our divine mandate to return home and settle our land? Isn’t this a new era where pogroms of this nature no longer occur? And finally, where is the world’s moral conscience?
None of these questions yield simple answers. However, it is legitimate and even desirable to be occupied with questions. Questions indicate that we deeply believe in Hashem’s moral spirit and our historical rights to this land. Asking questions in earnest sharpens our belief in these cardinal values.
We may not receive most of the answers, at least not in the immediate term. Someday, perhaps, after many of us leave this Earth, the answers will be clear. Until then, we stand in steadfast and stubborn silence, repeating Avraham’s “hineni.” And to His “hineni,” we add two phrases: Shema Yisrael and Ani Ma’amin.
May Hashem give us all faith. And Peace.
Rabbi Moshe Taragin is a rabbi at Yeshivat Har Etzion/Gush, a hesder yeshiva. He has semicha and a BA in computer science from Yeshiva University, as well as a master’s degree in English literature from the City University of New York.
