There are no words to adequately describe the horror caused by the tsunami.
Watching the disaster unfolding on the film taken by an amateur cameraman in
Aceh, Indonesia, left me shaking. How quickly the terror struck! People were
going about their daily lives one second and drowning the next. Over 100,000
people are now reported to have lost their lives in this exceptional tragedy.
We all have one question on our lips: Why? Why did innocent babies and
children have to die such a painful death?
For those of us who believe in G-d the question is: How could He have done
this? (For those who do not, this just seems to reinforce their skepticism.)
Many religious people feel guilty asking G-d these types of questions. But in
fact asking "why" is not only acceptable but it is in the best of Jewish
tradition.
Just this past Shabbat we read about such a dialogue between Moses and G-d.
Moses had been sent by G-d to implore Pharaoh to free the Children of Israel; but
instead of acquiescing, Pharaoh increased the already too-heavy burden of work
upon the Hebrew slaves. Moses poses the million-dollar question to G-d: "Why
have You done evil to this people?" Disappointingly, G-d seems to evade the
question and merely answers, "Now you will see what I shall do to Pharaoh, for
through a strong hand will he [Pharaoh] send them out, and with a strong hand
will he drive them from his land" (Exodus 5:22-6:1). What kind of answer is
this? It does not answer the question! Surely G-d could have caused Pharaoh to
free the Israelites without causing them further suffering and misery. Why did
G-d not answer the question as Moses posed it to Him?
According to the Talmud, there was another occasion when Moses posed the
"why?" question and again G-d refused to answer it. On one of Moses' ascents to
heaven G-d showed him how Rabbi Akiva, the great Talmudic sage, would, in the
future, expound the intricacies of Torah law. Moses was duly awed by Rabbi
Akiva’s brilliance. Moses turned to G-d and said, "You have shown me his Torah,
now show me his reward." G-d showed Moses that Rabbi Akiva would be cruelly
murdered by the Romans during the Hadrianic persecution. "L-rd of the Universe,"
Moses cried, "such is Torah, and such its reward?!" "Quiet," G-d replied, "These
are my thoughts" (Talmud, Menachot 29a). G-d seems to be totally unreasonable
here. Moses poses a perfectly legitimate question, only to be told by G-d to
be silent.
But if one looks below the surface one finds a very profound idea.
When one is the recipient of tremendously good luck, one may lightheartedly
ask, "What did I do to deserve this?" However, not having a sufficiently good
answer to this question does not usually trigger a crisis of faith in G-d. When
something bad happens – G-d forbid – one has a need to know why. One will ask,
"Why did this happen to me? What did I do to deserve this?"
We do not seem to be able to live comfortably without knowing why bad things
happen to us. A person came to see me recently after his long-term girlfriend
broke up with him without telling him why she did so. He was obviously
devastated, but what hurt him the most was that he would never find out why she
did not want to be with him any more. This innate human need to know why
negative things happen to us is why all religious philosophers and theologians,
of all faiths, have throughout the ages tried to explain why G-d allows bad
things happen to good people. According to Saadiah Gaon (d. 942), in his Book of
Beliefs and Opinions (Treatise 9), and Nahamanides (d. 1270), in his Gate of
Reward, for example, the concept of a world-to-come explains suffering in this
world.
But when G-d Himself was asked the question, "why?", He never gave a straight
answer. Surely if G-d is going to make us suffer, He should not exacerbate it by
not giving us an adequate reason?
This question takes us to the heart of the answer: it is precisely because we
have such a powerful need to know the reason for our suffering that we cannot be
told the reason. When we are in pain we cannot be objective. For a person who is
undergoing severe suffering and pain, no reason can ever be good enough. The
suffering individual may feel the need to know why, but deep down s/he will
never fully accept any answer. Moses, the loving shepherd of the Jewish people,
needed to know why G-d made his people suffer. Indeed, Moses cried out
indignantly to G-d. Who could blame a parent for crying about the suffering of
his children? Who could ever give parents an adequate reason why their children
have to suffer?
It is wrong to attempt to legitimize or rationalize human suffering. No
justification in the world could console mothers in Asia whose children were
drowned last Sunday. Thus, any answer that G-d would give would not be good
enough for us. We humans could never be objective enough to accept it.
Ironically, the answer given by G-d to Moses, "Quiet, I know best," is the
most appropriate for the occasion. It is like a child who is given bitter
medicine by her parent: the child may scream because of the bitterness but
because she trusts that there is a good reason to swallow the medicine, the
ordeal is tolerable for her.
Knowing that there is a good reason for our suffering -- a reason that is
beyond us at this moment but nonetheless known by a trustworthy power infinitely
greater than ourselves, is a source of comfort. At least we know that we do not
suffer and die in vain. So, paradoxically, by asking, "why?", we allow ourselves
to be comforted by the answer G-d fails to give us.
