By Rabbi Dovid Vigler
This summer, two ghosts from Israel’s past suddenly rose from their resting places.
The first came home from Lebanon. For 44 years, Sergeant First Class Yehuda Katz had been missing since the Battle of Sultan Yacoub in 1982. His parents died without knowing where their son lay, yet Israel never stopped looking. Recently, his remains were finally returned for burial. There were tears, but also profound relief. An Israeli soldier had finally come home.
The second ghost rose from the Mediterranean. Seventy-eight years after it disappeared, the Altalena was discovered intact, more than 1,600 feet beneath the surface. It had carried Jewish fighters, immigrants, and urgently needed weapons during Israel’s War of Independence. But a deadly and painful confrontation between the newly formed IDF and Menachem Begin’s Irgun ended with Jews firing upon Jews. Nineteen Jews were killed, and the newborn state stood at the edge of civil war.
One discovery brought relief. The other reopened horror. One showed how far we will go rather than abandon a soldier. The other showed what happens when we abandon one another. Together, they asked how we remain anchored when Jewish history pulls our hearts in opposite directions.
That emotional whiplash is not limited to the news. One phone call can bring a new grandchild or a frightening diagnosis. One meeting can deliver a great deal or the loss of a livelihood. Life can turn so quickly that we wonder: If everything around me can change so suddenly, what can I hold on to?
A recent Torah portion contains the same swing. It begins with the joyful mitzvah of bringing the first fruits to Jerusalem and thanking Hashem, then descends into a frightening description of curses and exile. Celebration and devastation share the same Torah portion because, sooner or later, they share every human life.
The Code of Jewish Law opens with King David’s words, “I place Hashem before me always” (Psalms 16:8). The Baal Shem Tov offers a surprising interpretation. The Hebrew word shivisi, I place, is related to shaveh, meaning balanced. It’s not enough to place G-d before you. King David is challenging us to keep our balance in both the good times as well as the bad. When Hashem is before me always, I need not become intoxicated by success or incapacitated by failure. I am never defined by my circumstances, my successes or my failures, because I am always safely nestled in the presence of G-d Almighty. The same G-d is present in both experiences.
This does not mean that we stop feeling. Judaism does not ask us to become stoic. Relief should move us, tragedy should hurt us, and blessings should thrill us. Spiritual strength is not the ability to remain untouched. It is the knowledge that even when you are shaken, you are still being held.
Imagine a baby resting in a carrier against its father’s chest as he climbs a staircase and walks down a hill. The child knows only one reassuring reality: I am with my father. This is how the Torah (Devarim 1:31) describes Hashem’s love for us: “Hashem your G-d carried you, as a man carries his son, throughout the entire journey.” Our answer is not merely: Remain calm. It is far more intimate: You are being held. Faith does not make life predictable. It makes us feel held within the unpredictable.
Aaron Feuerstein, known as the Mensch of Malden Mills, understood this. In 1995, a fire destroyed much of his Massachusetts textile factory, threatening 3,000 livelihoods. He could have collected the insurance money and moved production somewhere cheaper. Instead, the Jewish businessman rebuilt in Lawrence and continued paying his workers while the factory was closed, at a cost of $25 million. In a stunning declaration, Feuerstein attributed both his success and his challenges to Hashem. Prosperity was not his possession, but a gift entrusted to him for a purpose. The fire destroyed his buildings, but it could not burn away his faith. His circumstances changed overnight, but the Source of his life had not changed at all.
Our Patriarch Jacob suffered terribly during 20 punishing years in the home of his deceitful father-in-law Lavan. Yet surprisingly, during those painful years, the Midrash teaches that he composed the 15 Songs of Ascent, known in Hebrew as Shir Hamaalos. Why does Jacob refer to the lowest chapter of his life as an ascent? The Rebbe explains that Jacob understood that the darkness was not merely followed by the ascent. G-d had never abandoned him. He was sure that G-d was fully present in each of his experiences. Hence, he was assured that even his darkest moments were the staircase to his future. Indeed, in Lavan’s house he built the family that became the Jewish people and transformed hostility into holiness.
What does this look like in real life? When the doctor calls with a frightening result, we allow ourselves to cry but we do not write the final chapter before the next appointment. When an investment falls, we remember that our net worth is not our self-worth. When a child disappoints us, we refuse to allow one painful choice to erase a lifetime of love. When our spouse challenges us, we pause before turning one disagreement into a verdict upon the entire marriage. Faith does not relieve us of responsibility. It relieves us of the fantasy that everything depends upon us.
Spiritual steadiness is not reserved for saints and scholars. It is practiced in doctors’ offices, family conversations, investment meetings, and sleepless nights. The next time life shakes you, take what I call a shivisi pause. Stop for ten seconds, breathe slowly, and remind yourself: This moment is real, but it is not my entire life. This is one chapter, not the whole story. Hashem is with me here too. What is the next faithful step I can take? Then call the doctor, apologize to your spouse, consult your financial adviser, embrace your child, give charity, or simply wait until tomorrow before making a permanent decision from a temporary emotion.
The next time life shakes you, do not ask only: How do I make this stop? Ask: How do I remain myself while this is happening? Feel deeply, act responsibly, and remember faithfully: You are still being held.
Rabbi Dovid Vigler is the spiritual leader at Chabad of Palm Beach Gardens, with over 85,000 subscribers to his YouTube channel, youtube.com/jewishgardens. Email him at [email protected].
