I find myself overwhelmed by tragedy today. My brain searches for an explanation, a reason. Something to say, something to do. Some way to make meaning out of the unfathomable.

I find myself turning to God. Asking, questioning. Second-guessing.

I turn to friends. They are supportive. One friend shares with me something his Rav said in shul this morning (any mistakes in this rendering are mine, not those of my friend or the Rav).

Says Rabbi Yossi Eisen: this is not the first time children were killed by fire on Rosh Chodesh Nissan. Long ago, Nadav and Avihu were consumed by fire on the first of Nissan, the day the Mishkan was consecrated. Their father, Aharon HaKohen, responded in the only way he knew. Va’yidom Aharon, the Torah says. Aharon was silent. And that is an entirely appropriate, and perhaps the best, response to tragedy. Silence.

Silence doesn’t mean we need to mute ourselves in the face of tragedy. We need to talk, to process, to use our support network, to be part of our community. But when that is done, we are left with silence. We resort to silence, and we take refuge in it. For we can not understand, nor should we try, to grasp the ungraspable. The Will of God is inscrutable, inherently unknowable. All efforts at trying to understand His Will are futile, and are ultimately useless.

Our role is not to find answers. Our role is silent acceptance of what is. I believe that we may question, for it is in our nature to question. But after our questioning, acceptance must come. It may be slow in coming, but come it must.

I’m reminded, somewhat inexplicably, of a very old Purim play. I hope it’s not inappropriate, and I think it may be instructive. Bear with me.

About thirty years ago, the resident playwrights at Yeshiva Chofetz Chaim put on a play called Manitoba. I saw it on video some time ago. In one scene, the protagonist boards a plane and is preaching on and on about faith in Hashem, that He runs the world and we must put our trust in Him. The plane starts taking off, and our man starts panicking. His friend says, “What happened to trusting Hashem? Whatever he wants is for the best!”

“I know, but He wants me dead!”

We may be willing to trust in Hashem for many things, but at some point we balk. Maybe it’s after a tragedy. Perhaps it’s at the thought of Him taking our lives. Perhaps it’s even at some lesser misfortune. And that’s okay. Our faith is imperfect; our trust has some gaps. But we can keep trying, and keep trying we do.

Step Three of Alcoholics Anonymous suggests “to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God”. Complete surrender to God means that we are willing to forget ourselves, our aims and desires, and submit fully to His Will. This comes from a trust that we know not what is truly good for us, what is right for our spiritual growth, for our souls. We trust that Hashem knows, and does, what is best.

And when we are faced with something that flies in the face of sanity, that goes against all we know to be good, we do only what we can. We question. We grieve. We give love and support. And we are silent in acceptance of His Will.

Shimmy Feintuch, LCSW CASAC-G maintains a private practice in Brooklyn, NY, and Washington Heights, NYC, with specialties in addictions and anxiety. He is also an Adjunct Professor at the Wurzweiler School of Social Work at Yeshiva University. Contact: (530) 334-6882 or shimmyfeintuch@gmail.com. 

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