Rabbi Yonah Carlebach

I Don’t Know

I once heard the following from one of the maggidim of Yerushalayim.

In Poland, tensions rose high between the Jewish and Christian communities. A local priest, known for his hostility toward the Jews, repeatedly approached the town's governor with accusations against the Jewish population, insisting upon the superiority of his own religion.

Eventually, the governor grew weary of the priest's relentless complaints and proposed a public debate. A representative of the Jewish community would face the priest in a contest of religious knowledge. The debate would take place on a bridge overlooking a river, with a policeman standing nearby. The rules were simple but terrifying: the first participant who could not answer a question and admitted, “I don't know,” would immediately be thrown into the river.

Understandably, no one in the Jewish community was willing to participate. The stakes were simply too great, and a single unanswered question could cost a person his life.

Finally, one impoverished Jew stepped forward and volunteered.

When the townspeople questioned his decision, he explained, “The wealthy members of our community are needed to support those less fortunate. Our Torah scholars are indispensable to the spiritual welfare of the town. But I am a simple, poor Jew. If something happens to me, the loss will not be as great. I’m willing to go.”

And so, the appointed day arrived. The priest and the Jewish representative stood upon the bridge, with the governor's policeman prepared to enforce the terms of the contest.

The priest graciously invited the Jew to ask the first question. Without hesitation, the Jew turned toward him and asked, “What does ich veis nisht mean (Yiddish for ‘I don’t know’?”

The priest, unfamiliar with the expression, responded, “I don't know.”

The policeman immediately sprang into action. Those were precisely the words that would determine the loser's fate. Before the priest could offer any explanation, he was seized and thrown into the river. The Jewish community erupted in celebration. Against all expectations, their unlikely representative had defeated the priest with a single question.

Later, the town's rav approached the man and asked, “Tell me, how did you ever think of asking such a question? What inspired such an ingenious strategy?”

The man replied with disarming simplicity. “Rabbi, I am not a learned man. The only sefer I study regularly is the Tz'enah Ure'enah, which I read each week. Occasionally, when explaining a difficult passage in the Chumash, the author writes, ‘Ich veis nisht —I don’t know.’ So I thought to myself, if even the author of the Tz'enah Ure'enah does not know the answer, surely this priest will not know it either!”

Throughout life, we encounter circumstances that seem utterly incomprehensible. A person experiences a devastating tragedy, confronts an unexpected hardship, or witnesses events that appear to defy every reasonable explanation. At other times, we observe extraordinary differences in people's circumstances: one individual enjoys remarkable prosperity, while another struggles merely to survive.

We naturally wonder why. Why did Hashem allow this to happen? Why must one person endure such suffering while another appears to enjoy a life of ease? What is the Divine calculation behind these seemingly inexplicable circumstances?

Yet the truth is that we are not privy to the cheshbonos Shamayim, the calculations of Heaven. Our perspective is necessarily limited, and the wisdom underlying Hashem's decisions extends infinitely beyond our comprehension. When Esther HaMalkah cried out, “Keili, Keili, lamah azavtani—My G-d, my G-d, why have You forsaken me?” (Tehillim 22:2; see Megillah 15b), she gave expression to the anguish of a person confronting circumstances whose meaning remains concealed.

Perhaps we can draw an additional lesson from the word Keili (spelled aleph-lamed-yud). As a homiletic allusion, its letters stand as an acronym for “Ani lo yo’deiah—I do not know.” Sometimes, the most profound expression of emunah is the humility to acknowledge that we simply do not know. We do not understand every tragedy, every disappointment, or every apparent injustice. We cannot decipher the infinite wisdom behind every Divine decree. But our inability to comprehend Hashem's ways does not diminish the perfection of His wisdom. Rather than demanding answers to questions beyond our understanding, we are called upon to recognize the limitations of our perspective and place our trust in the Ribbono Shel Olam.

Ultimately, faith does not mean possessing an explanation for everything that happens. It means recognizing that even when we do not understand Hashem's calculations, we can continue to trust in the One who makes them.

Rabbi Chaim Rosenfeld

Avraham Avinu’s Revolution

When Hashem commanded Avraham Avinu to leave his homeland and journey to Eretz Canaan, Avraham obeyed without hesitation. Yet almost immediately upon arriving, he encountered an unexpected difficulty. The Torah tells us, “Vayehi ra'av ba'aretz—There was a famine in the land” (Bereishis 12:10).

Imagine Avraham's predicament. He had abandoned the security of everything familiar, solely because Hashem had instructed him to do so. And what awaited him in the very land to which Hashem had directed him? A devastating famine. An ordinary person might have become disillusioned. After everything I sacrificed to follow Hashem's command, this is what I receive in return? I left my entire life behind, traveled to an unfamiliar country, and now I cannot even find food to eat!

In fact, this is a reaction we sometimes encounter in our own lives. A person resolves to strengthen his observance of kashrus, only to receive an expensive parking ticket while purchasing kosher food. Immediately, he complains, “Rabbi, I tried doing the right thing, and look what happened! Clearly, this isn't working for me.” Another individual begins observing Shabbos, and has a particularly difficult week afterward. Rather than recognizing that challenges are an inevitable part of life, he concludes that his newfound observance has somehow brought misfortune upon him.

But is that what it means to serve Hashem? Does our commitment depend upon receiving immediate rewards? Are we prepared to observe Shabbos only if we are guaranteed financial prosperity, or strengthen our emunah only if every difficulty disappears? True devotion is not a transaction in which we agree to fulfill Hashem's will provided that He fulfills ours. Emunah is not our willingness to serve Hashem when life unfolds according to our expectations. It is when circumstances are difficult and the anticipated rewards are nowhere to be seen.

This was the extraordinary test confronting Avraham Avinu. He had followed Hashem's command, only to discover that the Promised Land was suffering from famine. Yet rather than abandoning his faith or questioning his commitment, Avraham continued forward, ultimately traveling to Mitzrayim in search of sustenance. His response illustrates the essential distinction between obedience and loyalty. A servant whose devotion depends entirely upon personal benefit is not truly devoted to his master. Avraham, however, demonstrated that his relationship with Hashem was not contingent upon reward.

But there was more to the picture.

Avraham's life's mission was to spread awareness of Hashem throughout a world immersed in idolatry. He sought to introduce humanity to the existence of a compassionate Creator and to demonstrate, through his own conduct, the beauty of a life devoted to Hashem. Yet how could people be receptive to G-d when they were struggling merely to survive? A person consumed by hunger and physical deprivation may have little emotional capacity to contemplate profound theological ideas.

This brings us to another remarkable dimension of Avraham's life. Chazal (Bereishis Rabbah 38:13) describe how Avraham faced fierce opposition for his religious convictions, including the famous episode in which Nimrod cast him into a fiery furnace. Yet Avraham was hardly the first righteous individual to live in a spiritually corrupt generation. Noach was a tzaddik and Shem and Ever were devoted to the service of Hashem. Why, then, did Avraham become such a threatening figure? What distinguished his approach from that of the righteous individuals who preceded him?

The answer lies in the revolutionary manner in which Avraham sought to influence the world around him.

The Torah relates, “Vayita eishel b’Be'er Sheva, vayikra sham b'shem Hashem Keil Olam—He planted an eishel in Be'er Sheva, and there he proclaimed the Name of Hashem, G-d of the universe” (Bereishis 21:33). What was this eishel? Rashi cites the explanation that it was an orchard providing fruit for travelers, as well as the interpretation that Avraham established a place of hospitality. Chazal associate the letters of eishel with achilah, shetiyah, and linah—eating, drinking, and lodging (see Rashi, Sotah 10a). In contemporary terms, we might imagine Avraham establishing a magnificent roadside hospitality center, welcoming weary travelers with comfortable accommodations and delicious meals. His doors were open to anyone who needed assistance, regardless of background or social standing. A traveler would arrive exhausted and hungry, and be greeted with extraordinary warmth. Avraham would provide him with food, drink, and a comfortable place to rest. After enjoying this unexpected generosity, the guest would naturally turn to his host and express his gratitude.

“Avraham, thank you so much for everything you have done for me!” But Avraham would redirect that gratitude toward a far greater Benefactor. “Why are you thanking me? I am merely a human being. The One you should truly thank is Hashem, the Creator of the world, who provides us with everything we possess.”

The guest would be puzzled. What does Hashem have to do with the meal I have just enjoyed? Was it not Avraham who prepared the food and placed it before me? Avraham would then gently guide his guest toward a deeper understanding of the natural world.

Consider the meat upon your plate. Where did it originate? From an animal. And how did that animal grow and develop? By consuming grass and other vegetation. Think about the extraordinary process through which something as simple as grass is transformed into nourishing meat and milk. Imagine if someone invented a machine into which one could place grass and, through an astonishing process, produce meat and milk. Such an invention would revolutionize the world. Yet Hashem has already created living creatures that perform this remarkable transformation as part of the ordinary functioning of nature.

And once they began to appreciate this truth, Avraham would encourage them to express their gratitude directly to Hashem. In this manner, a simple meal became an opportunity for spiritual awakening. An ordinary act of hospitality became a vehicle for introducing another human being to the Ribbono Shel Olam.

This idea is reflected in the Gemara (Berachos 35a) that one who derives benefit from this world without first reciting a blessing is considered to have improperly appropriated something belonging to Hashem. By reciting a beracha, we acknowledge the true Source of our sustenance and recognize that the pleasures of this world are from Hashem.

The same awareness underlies the blessing of Asher Yatzar, which we recite after attending to our bodily needs. The complexity of the human body is beyond belief. Every day, without conscious effort, countless physiological processes work together to preserve our health and sustain our lives. Our bodies absorb necessary nutrients, eliminate waste, and maintain an astonishing degree of internal balance.

Most of us take these functions entirely for granted. We rarely contemplate the extraordinary precision required for them to operate properly. Yet the moment something goes wrong, we suddenly become acutely aware of how dependent we are upon their continued functioning. A person may spend decades without giving a second thought to the ordinary processes of digestion. But if he suddenly notices an unusual symptom, he immediately recognizes that something may be wrong and seeks medical attention.

Why do we appreciate the significance of these bodily functions only when they cease to operate as expected? The blessing of Asher Yatzar teaches us to cultivate gratitude before a crisis forces us to recognize what we have been taking for granted. It reminds us that even the most ordinary aspects of physical existence reflect extraordinary Divine wisdom.

This was the perspective Avraham sought to instill in the world. He taught people to look beyond the apparent simplicity of everyday life and recognize the presence of Hashem within the natural order. Yet perhaps even more powerful than his words was the example he provided through his conduct.

When people encountered Avraham, they witnessed a man of extraordinary generosity, compassion, and concern for others. He welcomed strangers, provided for their needs, and treated them with genuine dignity. Naturally, they wondered what inspired such remarkable behavior. Avraham's answer was simple: he was striving to emulate Hashem.

Just as Hashem bestows kindness upon His creations, Avraham sought to extend kindness to everyone he encountered. His generosity was not merely an expression of personal benevolence; it was a reflection of his relationship with the Creator (see Sotah 14a). And this is what made his influence so profound. People were not simply hearing about the greatness of Hashem. They were witnessing, through Avraham's conduct, what a life devoted to Hashem could look like.

His actions gave credibility to his teachings. His extraordinary character inspired others to reconsider their own lives and aspire toward something greater. This is the essence of Kiddush Hashem.

Avraham Avinu understood that the most effective way to bring others closer to Hashem was to become a living example of the values he wished to impart. He did not merely speak about chesed, but practiced it. He did not simply proclaim the existence of a compassionate Creator; he demonstrated compassion in his own relationships. He did not demand that others recognize Hashem's goodness while remaining indifferent to their suffering. He first attended to their needs and then gently directed their gratitude toward Heaven.

Perhaps this is one of the most enduring lessons of his remarkable life. The greatest influence we can have upon another person is not simply through what we say about Hashem, but through what our conduct reveals about Him.

When our actions reflect kindness, integrity, generosity, and genuine concern for others, we become ambassadors of the very values we seek to teach. And like Avraham Avinu, we transform ordinary encounters into opportunities for a Kiddush Hashem, allowing others to discover the beauty of Torah not merely through our words, but through the lives we lead.

Rabbi Dovid Horowitz

A Perfectly Designed World

Rav Samson Raphael Hirsch raises a profound question in his commentary on Chumash. If Hashem is perfect and His creation reflects infinite wisdom, why is life filled with suffering and adversity? Why must we experience setbacks and challenges rather than inhabit a world of uninterrupted comfort and tranquility?

Rav Hirsch explains that precisely because Hashem is perfect, His world is perfectly suited to its Divine purpose. What appears imperfect to us is essential to our spiritual development. As the life of Avraham Avinu demonstrates, every nisayon presents an opportunity to express our profound love for the Ribbono Shel Olam. Through adversity, we demonstrate our faith and devotion, while Hashem expresses His love by providing opportunities to discover our inner strength and draw closer to Him. Life’s challenges are therefore not imperfections in creation, but opportunities for spiritual elevation within Hashem’s perfectly designed world.