Rabbi Sruly Shain

Nothing Can Stop the Plan

Let us examine the very first shidduch described in the Torah, the marriage of Yitzchak and Rivkah. Eliezer, the servant of Avraham Avinu, approaches Besuel, Rivka's father, and Lavan, her brother, with a proposal that Rivka marry Yitzchak. And what is their response? They agree! No arguments, no objections, no resistance. Just like that, the shidduch moves forward.

But this is rather surprising. We know that Lavan was anything but an honest man. Years later, when Yaakov sought to marry Rachel, Lavan employed all sorts of deception, substituting Leah for Rachel and compelling Yaakov to work another seven years. Yet here, when Eliezer proposes that Rivka marry Yitzchak, Lavan agrees without hesitation. Why?

The seferB’chori Avraham explains that this entire episode reveals how Hakadosh Baruch Hu orchestrates every detail of a shidduch, even through the seemingly ordinary decisions and ulterior motives of the people involved.

Chazal (see Daas Zekeinim, Bereishis 24:55) teach that the wicked Besuel attempted to poison Eliezer, intending to kill him and seize the considerable wealth he had brought. But Hashem ensured that his scheme would not succeed. From Besuel's perspective, however, the immediate objective was simply to persuade Eliezer to eat the food placed before him.

When Eliezer declared, "Lo ochal ad im dibarti devarai—I will not eat until I have spoken my words" (Bereishis 24:33), Besuel and Lavan were eager to accommodate him. What did he want to discuss? A marriage between Yitzchak and Rivka? Certainly! He wanted Rivka to return with him to Yitzchak? No problem! Whatever would bring the discussion to an end and allow Eliezer to begin eating was perfectly acceptable to them. Unbeknownst to them, their sinister intentions were advancing the very shidduch that Hashem had arranged.

But the story does not end there. The Daas Zekeinim adds that an angel switched the plates while Eliezer was speaking, and Besuel ultimately consumed the poisoned food himself and died. At that point, why did Lavan not reverse the agreement? He could easily have declared, "My father was the one who consented to this marriage. Now that he is gone, I am in charge, and I refuse to allow Rivka to leave!"

Yet Hashem had already arranged matters so that this objection would be impossible. When Eliezer initially presented the proposal, Lavan had jumped forward and spoken before his father, declaring, "Mei’Hashem yatza hadavar—The matter has come from Hashem" (ibid. 24:50). By publicly expressing his agreement, Lavan had committed himself to the arrangement. Even after Besuel's death, he could not plausibly claim that the decision had been made without his consent.

But here comes the most remarkable part. Why did Lavan speak before his father in the first place? Why did he behave so disrespectfully?

Chazal (Bava Basra 110a) teach that a person's children may resemble their maternal uncle. Lavan therefore deliberately displayed his own disrespectful character, hoping that Eliezer would reconsider the match. By speaking out of turn and demonstrating his lack of derech eretz, Lavan intended to suggest that Rivka's future children might inherit the undesirable qualities of their uncle.

Lavan thought that his disrespectful behavior would prevent the shidduch. But instead, that very behavior helped ensure that the shidduch would succeed! The action he intended to use as an obstacle became the very means through which Hashem secured the agreement.

When navigating the world of shidduchim, of course, everyone must fulfill their responsibilities. There are shadchanim, resumes, families, references, and, most importantly, the individuals who are dating. Everyone must make a sincere and responsible effort to do their part. But ultimately, we must remember the words of the Torah: " Mei’Hashem yatza hadavar—The matter has come from Hashem." Behind the scenes, beyond everything we can see or understand, Hakadosh Baruch Hu is orchestrating the details. Sometimes, even the very circumstances that appear to be preventing a shidduch may ultimately become the means through which it comes about.

Rabbi Moshe Donnebaum

All Good

We are encouraged to complete the weekly Parshah with Rashi's commentary. This is not merely because Rashi clarifies the meaning of the Pesukim, nor simply because his commentary incorporates so many of the profound teachings of Chazal. Rashi is also filled with hashkafah, an entire philosophy of life. His commentary teaches us how to understand the world around us, how to approach the challenges within our own lives, and how to develop the attitudes and perspectives that should guide our relationship with Hakadosh Baruch Hu.

Perhaps this offers an additional dimension to the teaching that a yerei Shamayim should study Shnayim Mikra Ve'Echad Targum together with Rashi (Shulchan Aruch, Orach Chaim 285:2). Learning Rashi is not merely something that a yerei Shamayim ought to do. The very act of studying Rashi, absorbing his insights and incorporating them into our lives, can itself help us become greater yirei Shamayim.

In the opening Pasuk of this week’s Parsha, we encounter a remarkable example. Rashi offers an explanation consisting of only three words, yet those three words contain an extraordinary treasure of chizuk, capable of transforming the way we approach life's difficulties.

The Torah begins, "And the lifetime of Sarah was one hundred years, twenty years, and seven years, the years of Sarah's life” (Bereishis 23:1). The Pasuk has already informed us that Sarah lived for 127 years. Why, then, does it conclude with the seemingly superfluous words, “Shnei chayei Sarah—The years of Sarah's life”?

Rashi explains: "Kulan shavin letovah—All of them were equally good.”

But what does this mean? How can we possibly describe every year of Sarah Imeinu's life as equally good? Sarah waited ninety years to have a child. When we hear about a couple who finally welcomes a child after five, ten, seventeen, or twenty-five years of waiting, we rejoice with them, recognizing the tremendous pain and anguish they endured throughout those years. Yet Sarah Imeinu waited ninety years!

And that was hardly her only difficulty. She was taken into Pharaoh's palace and subsequently into the household of Avimelech. Imagine the anguish of this extraordinary tzaddekes, forced into the company of such wicked and immoral individuals. She also endured the disrespectful behavior of Hagar. Later, Sarah witnessed her precious son Yitzchak, the child for whom she had waited so long, being exposed to the corrupting influence of Yishmael. Rashi describes Yishmael's behavior in terms of the three cardinal transgressions: avodah zarah, giluy arayos, and shefichas damim. Eventually, Sarah had to insist that Avraham send Hagar and Yishmael away.

Where, then, was the kulan shavin letovah? How can Rashi describe a life filled with so many painful experiences as one in which every year was equally good?

I once heard a beautiful explanation. Rashi does not necessarily mean that Sarah's circumstances were always pleasant or that she never experienced pain. Rather, Sarah Imeinu had attained such an extraordinary level of emunah and bitachon that she recognized everything Hashem brought into her life as ultimately being for her good. Whether she was struggling with childlessness, confronting the dangers posed by Pharaoh and Avimelech, or enduring the difficulties involving Hagar and Yishmael, she possessed an unwavering conviction that whatever Hakadosh Baruch Hu was doing was for the good

Chazal teach, "Chayav adam levarech al hara'ah keshem shemevarech al hatovah—A person is obligated to bless Hashem for apparent misfortune just as he blesses Him for goodness (Berachos 54a). The Pasuk in Eichah likewise declares, "Mipi Elyon lo teitzei hara'os vehatov—From the mouth of the Most High (i.e. Hashem), do not evil and good emerge?” (Eichah 3:38). Even circumstances we experience as painful exist within Hashem's providence and ultimately serve purposes beyond our understanding.

The Chofetz Chaim elaborates upon this fundamental principle in several places, including (e.g. Shem Olam 1:3). He explains that even circumstances that appear distressing may ultimately serve our greatest benefit. Much depends upon the perspective through which we understand them.

There are different levels of emunah and bitachon. The more deeply a person internalizes the conviction that everything comes from Hashem, the more capable he becomes of approaching life's challenges with serenity and acceptance. At the highest levels, this perspective can become a source of genuine simchah. A person recognizes that just as the blessings he readily appreciates come from Hashem, so too do the circumstances he finds difficult to understand.

This is an extraordinary source of chizuk for anyone confronting adversity. Some people endure prolonged struggles, while others face unexpected challenges that disrupt the course of their lives. The more deeply they develop this perspective, the greater their capacity to find strength and emotional stability amid uncertainty.

Sarah Imeinu may never have understood why she had to wait so many years for Yitzchak, why she was taken into Pharaoh's palace, or why she had to endure the difficulties involving Hagar and Yishmael. But she knew one thing with absolute certainty: every experience came from Hakadosh Baruch Hu, and everything He did was ultimately l’tovah. That conviction was the common thread running through her entire life.

Toward the end of the Chofetz Chaim’s life, when he was already extremely elderly and physically weak, a young woman came to see him. Because of his frail condition, his attendants generally restricted visitors. But this woman was desperate. She had recently given birth to a child who was both blind and deaf, and she was overwhelmed by the prospect of raising him.

Somehow, she made her way past the attendants and entered the Chofetz Chaim's room. With tears streaming down her face, she placed the baby before him and cried, "Here, you look after him! I cannot cope anymore. Ich hob nisht kein koach! I simply do not have the strength!"

The Chofetz Chaim remained silent for a few moments. Then he began telling her a story.

"When I was a young boy," he explained, "I had a rebbi named Reb Shloime. He was a tzaddik yesod olam, an extraordinary righteous man. He was meticulous in his observance of mitzvos, extraordinarily careful in his conduct, and utterly devoted to teaching his students. Every moment of his life was dedicated to serving Hakadosh Baruch Hu."

When Reb Shloime passed away, his neshama ascended to the Beis Din shel Maalah. Because of his extraordinary righteousness, he was destined for a very elevated place in Olam Haba. Yet when he approached the highest level, he was prevented from entering. There remained a particular spiritual deficiency from his lifetime that had not been rectified.

The matter was brought before the Heavenly Court, which explained that there was only one way to correct this remaining imperfection. His neshama would have to return to this world and complete what had been left unfinished.

Reb Shloime was frightened. "I am afraid to return," he pleaded. "Baruch Hashem, during my previous lifetime, I managed to accomplish a great deal. But who knows what might happen if I return? Perhaps I will encounter new temptations and commit additional aveiros. Instead of correcting my deficiency, I might make matters worse!"

The Heavenly Court responded that an arrangement could be made. He would return to this world under circumstances that would greatly limit his ability to transgress. He would be born blind and deaf.

At this point, the Chofetz Chaim slowly rose from his chair, approached the baby, and declared, "Baruch haba, Reb Shloime! Welcome, Reb Shloime!" He explained to the mother that the child she was holding was the neshama of that extraordinary tzaddik, who had returned to this world to complete his spiritual mission.

The woman wiped away her tears and embraced her baby. What she had previously regarded as an unbearable burden now appeared to her as an extraordinary privilege. She had been entrusted with caring for a precious neshama whose spiritual greatness she could scarcely comprehend.

Of course, we do not seek such trials. We ask Hashem to grant us health, tranquility, menuchas hanefesh, and lives free from suffering. Nor can we presume to know the hidden spiritual reasons for another person's difficulties. But remember, circumstances whose purpose is concealed from us may possess significance far beyond anything we can imagine.

This is the message of kulan shavin l’tovah. It applies not only to someone who has waited many years for a child or someone raising a child with significant disabilities. It applies to the countless struggles, disappointments, obstacles, and uncertainties that every person encounters throughout life.

Whatever our circumstances at a particular moment, we strive to recognize that Hashem has placed us in that situation for a reason. This does not mean that we must remain passive. We can daven, make changes, seek assistance, and take responsible steps to improve our circumstances. But while we are experiencing a particular difficulty, we can strengthen ourselves with the knowledge that even this moment exists within Hashem's providence.

The following is recorded in the seferBedidi Hava Uvda in connection with Rav Chaim Kanievsky and his father, the Steipler Gaon.

In Novardok, there was once a young boy whose physical development took a most unusual course. Instead of growing taller, he began growing wider and wider. His weight increased to such an extraordinary degree that eventually he could barely leave his bed. His condition was deeply distressing, and those around him wondered what would become of him.

Then the Germans arrived during the war. They began rounding up the inhabitants, entering homes and taking people away. Eventually, they entered the house where this young man lay in bed. When they saw his extraordinary physical condition, they decided to leave him behind.

Many of those who were taken away never returned.

After the war, according to the account, something remarkable happened. The young man's condition gradually changed. He began losing the excessive weight, his body developed more normally, and eventually he no longer suffered from the extraordinary condition that had confined him to his bed. What had appeared throughout his childhood to be a terrible misfortune had ultimately become the very circumstance that spared his life.

At the time, nobody could have understood why this young man had been afflicted with such an unusual condition. Yet years later, the events of his life revealed an entirely different perspective.

Perhaps we cannot attain the exalted level of Sarah Imeinu, who lived with unwavering emunah and bitachon through every stage of her life. But every one of us can strive to move closer to that level. The more deeply we internalize this perspective, the more capable we become of confronting life's challenges with emunah. We may not understand why particular events occur, but we can remind ourselves that there is a purpose beyond what we presently perceive. And the closer we come to living with that conviction, the closer we come to experiencing a life of kulan shavin l’tovah.

Rabbi Label Lam

Trash on the Floor

I once invited a colleague of mine, a master educator, to teach a group of students the importance of keeping their classroom clean. He began by asking them a seemingly obvious question. We know that Noach’s Teivah had three levels: the upper level for people, the middle level for animals, and the lower level for refuse. But why was an entire floor necessary for garbage? Why not simply throw it out the window, where it would disappear into the vastness of the floodwaters without causing any apparent harm? Why endure the unpleasant smell and sacrifice so much valuable space for an entire year?

He then offered a profound insight. All of humanity was contained within that Teivah. Had its inhabitants become accustomed to simply throwing their garbage out the window, what kind of world would they have created when they eventually emerged? That is something to think about.