From Parsha to Halakha: Eikev- Does halakha allow us to question suffering?

In our lives we experience good and we experience bad. How are we meant to understand these experiences? The Sefer Mitzvot HaGadol on Parshat Eikev states:

“There is a positive mitzvah l‘tzadek et ha’din, to recognize the righteousness of the judgment, on every event, as it says, ‘You shall know in your heart that as a parent disciplines (yiseir) their child, the Eternal your God disciplines you (miyasrekha)’… If someone repented and matters do not work out as well as before they did teshuva (repented), there is a positive mitzvah to think in his heart that this is for his own good…”[1]

Sefer Mitzvot HaGadol teaches that there is a mitzvah to acknowledge the righteousness of whatever befalls us, for better or for worse. If something bad happens, we must believe it is for our own good.

Is there really such a mitzvah? And how is it derived from this verse in Eikev?

We must note that this mitzvah is not listed by Rambam, Ramban, or Rav Saadya Gaon when they count the mitzvot.[2]  Nevertheless, Semak takes the mitzvah of tzidduk ha’din even further, teaching that beyond the obligation to justify the judgment, “they must be happy about the suffering visited upon them. And even when they cannot bear it, in any event when it passes, rejoice in it and be silent…”[3]

Semak instructs us to be happy while we are suffering! And when that is not possible, when it is too much to bear, we should be happy when they pass and accept them in silence. Is this really the Torah way? Does this mean we can’t question God’s justice?

Righteous judgement

Jewish tradition contains many examples of righteous people questioning or even rejecting God’s judgment, but also references times we are told to accept it.

The mishna in Berakhot teaches us that “a person is obligated to bless bad as they bless good.” Therefore, we are told to make a blessing of “hatov u’meitiv” when we hear good news, and “dayan ha’emet” when we hear bad news.[4] The gemara explains we learn this from the verse, “You shall love the Eternal your God with all your heart, with your whole self, and all your possessions,” that we should thank God for everything, and accept it all with happiness, because everything that God does is “for the good.”

Based on this gemara some explain that there is no independent mitzvah of tzidduk hadin, as Semag maintains, but instead understand that it is one aspect of the mitzvah to love God.[5] Shulchan Arukh explains that this is an expression of our avodat Hashem, service of God:

“A person is obligated to bless the bad with complete knowledge and a desirous will, just as they bless the good with joy, for those who serve God the bad is to bring them joy and goodness, and when they lovingly accept what God decreed upon them, then through accepting this evil they serve God, which is a joy.”[6]

The idea that this wholehearted acceptance is not an independent mitzvah but part of something much greater takes some of the pressure off. The mitzvah of ahavat Hashem, loving God, or as Rambam defines, knowing God is both a mitzvah we are meant to observe constantly, and one that is constantly in flux. This is not something we can check off, a mindset we must attain and retain, but rather it is part of our ongoing spiritual journey.

Questioning God or questioning ourselves

The gemara in Berakhot teaches us that a person who is suffering should search their actions, and if they search and don’t find a misdeed, they should justify their suffering as the result of bitul [dereliction of] Torah.[7] If that isn’t the case then “it’s known that these are yisurin of love, as it says, “The Eternal admonishes whom he loves.’”[8] The gemara continues to discuss the concept of yisurin shel Ahava, suffering from love, one of the more difficult concepts in rabbinic literature, and one the rabbis debate vociferously and many seem to reject.[9]

Others learn the mitzvah of tzidduk hadin from a gemara in Avoda Zara that relates what happened when the Romans came to take Rabbi Chanina ben Tradyon and his wife to be executed, and his daughter to be sold to a brothel. Each responded by quoting a verse proclaiming God’s righteousness.[10] Both this extraordinary demonstration of faith and the gemara’s explanation that their harsh judgement was due to seemingly minor misdeeds seem to encourage the reader to question God’s justice rather than accept it. Furthermore, when Rabbi Yehudah HaNassi heard what happened he did not proclaim God’s righteousness, but rather the righteousness of the people who suffered.

We will not address questions of theodicy, the mechanisms of Divine reward and punishment, or why bad things happen to good people. This is one of the most difficult questions in any religion. The Bible devotes Iyov, one of its lengthiest books, to its study, and seems to offer no final resolution. But even if we don’t know how to explain how or why Divine providence is righteous, we can still recognize that Divine providence is righteous. Just as I recognize the force of gravity, even though I don’t know how or why it works.

Ultimately, we do not know why these things happen. The sources above are clear that people may suffer far beyond what seems fair, or what they should deserve. But instead of questioning God, Jewish tradition tells us we should look at ourselves and look to see how we can improve. Interestingly, this mindset could be empowering. We are not told to suffer quietly, but rather to react by changing our ways.

The connection to Eikev

Time and again the Torah tells us that we have a two-sided covenant with God; when we fulfill our part and follow the path of God and the Torah, God blesses us. Parshat Eikev begins with a version of this message, but what follows is a unique account of the significance of the Israelites’ sojourn in the wilderness. After telling us to keep the mitzvot so we can flourish in the Promised Land, Moshe tells us:

“Remember all the way the Eternal, your God, walked you through forty years in the wilderness, to subject you (anotkha), try you (l’nasotkha), to know what is in your hearts, whether you would observe His commandments or not. And He subjected you (va’y’ankha) and made you hungry and fed you the manna that you did not know and your fathers did not know, to make known to you that a person does not live on bread alone, rather a person lives on the pronouncements of the mouth of the Eternal. Your garments did not wear out upon you, and your foot did not swell for these forty years. And you shall know with your heart that, as a parent disciplines (yeisar) their child, so the Eternal, your God, disciplines you (mi’yasrekha).”[11]

Moshe repeats that there is something we should “know.” He uses several adjectives to describe the way God treated the Israelites throughout their sojourn in the wilderness and what God expects us to “know with our heart” as a result. The tone of the passage varies greatly depending on the meaning of these words – anotkha, from the word inui, l’nasotkha, from nisui or nisayon, and yeisar/miyasrekha.

One approach to understanding these verses is that the desert was a harsh trial that afflicted us (anotkha, like innui – affliction – on Yom Kippur) and forced us to suffer (miyasrekha, from yissurim – suffering) or chastised us (like giving mussar) so God could test us (l’nasotkha) “to know” if our faith was strong enough to withstand these tests – “whether you would observe His commandments or not.” The tone of suffering is supported by the idea of hunger and the unknown entity of manna.

Yet it’s difficult to reconcile this reading with all the kindnesses and miracles described in these verses – from the miraculous manna itself to the clothes and feet that didn’t suffer after forty years of wear. In addition to this textual incongruity, some people have a more fundamental issue with this reading, as they have trouble accepting the idea that God makes us suffer and puts us through tests for us to prove ourselves. This leads to a softer reading of the verses, where “anotkha” means “subjected you” or “humbled you,” “l’nasotkha” is to give you experience, and “mi’yasrekha” is instruct you.

Interestingly, both these readings are valid, as they fit the plain meaning of these words. As we discussed concerning Yom Kippur, the basic meaning of inui seems related to the idea of putting another’s will before your own; it is more closely related to the idea of humility, and not necessarily suffering or torture. Nasa is often understood as tested, but there are cases where it can only mean “experienced,” such as when David refuses the offer of Shaul’s armor because he does not have experience (nisiti) wearing it.[12] The former is seen as harsh, and has a negative connotation, but the latter is neutral or even positive; a test is of who we are, an experience builds us into who we can be.

Finally, the word mi’yasrekha. This root is first found in the blessings and curses at the end of Vayikra, where it is often explained as punishment or retribution.[13] Indeed, towards the end of this week’s parsha the idea of mussar appears again. The introduction of Chapter 11 discusses loving God and following His statutes, instead of keeping the covenant in Chapter 8; and the miracles are not those of the wilderness, but the signs and wonders wrought upon evildoers in Egypt and the wilderness:

“You shall know on this day that it is not your children who do not know and did not see the Eternal your God’s mussar (discipline, punishment), His grandeur, His mighty hand and His outstretched arm, and His signs and acts that He did in the midst of Egypt, to Pharaoh the king of Egypt and all his land… and what He did to you in the wilderness until you came to this place, and what He did to Datan and Aviram…”[14]

In these verses it seems clear that the mussar refers to bad things that happen in response to people’s misdeeds. Many would understand this mussar to mean punishments or retribution, but that seems less applicable to the context of Chapter 8. Instead, these negative consequences – miraculous bad things happening to people who do bad things – can also be understood as discipline, a form of chastisement meant to teach correct behavior so those who “see” “shall know.” Indeed, the BDB Biblical dictionary explains yassar/mussar can mean chastise, admonish, discipline, correct. “Discipline, correct – the moral nature, with more or less severity according to the circumstances.”

Divine mussar

Commentaries discuss the circumstances of this mussar: Why does God “miyasrekha,” as a parent does a child?

Ramban teaches: “’Like a parent disciplines their child – putting upon them the yoke of mussar, as it says, ‘Discipline your child, for there is hope, and do not give yourself to his cries (alt. to kill him).’ ‘For the Eternal, your God disciplines you’ from the outset with the inui of the wilderness and nisayon of the manna is so that you will enjoy the goodness of the land and its fruit. Therefore [the Torah] says afterward, ‘for the Eternal, your God, brings you to the good land.’”[15]

Ramban says the harsh conditions of the wilderness were a form of discipline, like a yoke, that is meant to enable us to enjoy the pleasures of the land of Israel. How does this work?

One possibility is that the wilderness is meant to teach us the correct way to behave; like a calf training for a life of service must learn to follow it’s master, we learn to follow God. Indeed, much like animals may be trained with a combination of the carrot and the stick, so too Israel is taught through a combination of hunger and food, deprivation and sustenance. The manna fed them, but it is all the same and left some Israelites hungry for a change.[16] Their clothes didn’t wear, but they didn’t change. Their feet didn’t ache, but they kept on trudging.

It seems possible Ramban is hinting at another lesson. God can provide us with the basics, God can deprive us, and God can bless us with abundance. God is leading us, both spiritually “to walk in His ways and revere Him” and also physically “bringing you to the good land.”[17]  One is dependent on the other. But one also teaches us the value of the other – we can make due with what is necessary, both in our service of God and with our physical needs, or we can treat God with the same generosity, kindness, and blessing we wish to receive, never taking anything for granted.

If this is the case, then it mirrors the gemara above that tells us that even if we can’t find a sin, it’s possible we neglected the Torah.

Interestingly, several more modern commentaries reject this understanding of miyasrekha as suffering from God. They explain that this is instruction, and the experience in the desert was meant to teach us to have faith that God gives us everything we need, or that the mussar is the mitzvot that teach us how to live our life.[18]

The ability to accept what is beyond our control and view it as a gift from God is not easy, it is a level of faith and love of God that only the most righteous can attain. Furthermore, while our tradition instructs us to respond to pain and suffering by searching for ways to improve, it also tells us its possible our travails are not the result of sins, but meant to correct our path or encourage us to do more.

Perhaps the most important part of this lesson is that nowhere are we told to look for someone else’s sin when they suffer. We are not meant to questions God’s righteousness, we should have learned that from our long history. Although we have suffered, God has sustained us. But when something goes wrong, when we suffer or Israel suffers, we are not meant to ascribe wrongdoing to others. We are meant to look inside and ask ourselves, “What can I do?”

 

[1] Semag Asin 17. Semag continues to explain that sometimes God gives evildoers reward in this world so they will be fully liable for their misdeeds in the next, while a righteous person may suffer in this world so they do not need to suffer in the next. This is indeed one approach to explaining suffering, but it is only one of many that are beyond our scope.

[2] See Semak 5 and Brit Moshe ad loc.

[3] ibid.

[4] Mishna Berakhot 9:2; TB Berakhot 58b.

[5] See Mishneh Torah Sefer Ahava, Hilkhot Berakhot 10:3; Arukh HaShulchan 1:5.

[6] OC 222:3

[7] Tb Berakhot 5a. Bitul Torah is generally understood as wasting time instead of learning Torah, but it can also be understood as passively abstaining from Torah in general – learning but also practicing.

[8] Tehillim 3:12

[9] See the continuation of the discussion in Berakhot 5b.

[10] TB Avoda Zara 18a

[11] Devarim 8:2-6

[12] Shmuel I 17:39

[13] Vayikra 26 verses 18, 23, 28.

[14] Devarim 11:2-6

[15] Rambam Devarim 8:5

[16] Bamidbar 11:4-10

[17] Devarim 8:6-7

[18] Shadal, Rabbeinu Bechayye, Seforno.