Finding Purpose In Calamity

Finding Purpose In Calamity
Lessons from Parashat Vayigash (Genesis 44:18—47:27)
By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman


The question of why bad things happen to good people is as eternal as humanity itself. The Bible deals with it many times and attempts to offer its own answers. The Torah teaches that bad choices and deeds result in bad consequences. There’s no doubt that there’s truth to this teaching, but it can’t explain the many times we see good people suffering for no reason at all—and certainly for nothing they themselves had done.

The Prophets, teachers of the Torah for nearly 800 years prior to the emergence of rabbis, realized that the Torah’s explanation is too simplistic. They offered an additional explanation: bad things happen so as to help us turn into better people. Proofing by pain, as it were.

But if that were so, surely there are many people among us today whose undeserved suffering would be considered great enough to turn them into living saints, angels treading earth.

The Bible’s book of Job is a multi-faceted discussion of this eternal question. Still in the end, God appears and flatly states that we can’t even begin to comprehend the reason for the many bad things that befall the best of us, since we have no inkling of God’s real purpose in designing the universe. We are, after all, nothing but dust and ashes, barely microscopic particles in the vastly larger picture of ongoing Creation.

Yet in this week’s Torah portion, Vayigash, we might be able to find some satisfaction, or at least consolation.

Vayigash (referring to Judah’s stepping forward to confess before Joseph and plead for the release of Benjamin) begins the transformation of the twelve sons of Jacob from the wily and irresponsible individuals they had been into the nation they are to become—B’nai Yisrael, the People of Israel. From the young boy that Joseph was when his brothers sold him into slavery in Egypt, he has grown into manhood and become the second most powerful man in all Egypt. He changed so much that his brothers did not—could not—recognize him. But they, too, changed in all those years. Their transformation wasn’t so much on the outside as it was internal, however, and it took several tests of their character for Joseph to recognize this. Now, finally, the time had come for re-acquaintance and reconciliation.

Understandably, the brothers are dumbstruck. Joseph takes the initiative and extends his forgiveness, telling them: “It was not you who sent me here, but God; and He has made me a father to Pharaoh, and lord of all his house, and a ruler throughout all the land of Egypt. Hurry and go up to my father, and say to him, ‘Thus says your son Joseph: God has made me lord of all Egypt; come down to me, do not tarry. You shall dwell in the land of Goshen, and you shall be near to me, you and your children, your children’s children, your flocks and your herds, and all that you have. There I will provide for you, lest you and your household, and all that you have, come to poverty; for there are still five years of famine”’ (Gen. 45:8-11).

True to the message of Judaism, Joseph’s words are testament to the belief that there is a larger plan—one we cannot understand, but that sometimes we may get a glimpse into. But this plan does not preclude our human participation. At any moment during the story, Joseph could have taken a different route. It was his choice—and his alone—to bring about reconciliation. If he leaned toward revenge at earlier points in the story, now he allowed things to take a different direction. Listening to his brother Judah telling of their father’s grief, gazing once again upon his beloved younger brother, Benjamin, the wall of estrangement Joseph built up brick by brick simply melted away. It was a transformation as truly human as it is Godly. Memories of the lost past, of his happier childhood years—memories he tried to suppress for many years—resurfaced with unexpected strength, eliciting pity, compassion and an outburst of cathartic tears.

One can only imagine God sighing with relief and smiling through His own tears. Joseph made the right choice, thus setting his family—and the nation-to-be—firmly on a course toward redemption.

Imagining a reason behind everything that happens to us assumes that everything is predetermined and precludes human intervention. The reasons why things—good or bad—happen may sometimes be clear. However, it is up to us to find purpose and redirection from that point forward.

Years ago, my father of blessed memory received a letter from his brother. Written as he was being led to extermination by the Nazis, the uncle I never met managed to smuggle this letter to a Polish man on the other side of the fence. When the letter finally found its way to my father, two years after the end of the war, it left him devastated. Yet, unlike others who received such final letters and couldn’t pick up and restart their own lives, my father made a different choice. He took to heart his brother’s closing words: “Work for your homeland so that your children will not have to experience and live through what we did.” Throughout the remainder of his life, my father fulfilled those wishes. Israel is a stronger land and a stronger people today because of that choice.

Who will ever understand why evil exists in the world? Who will ever be able to tell why bad things happen to good people?

Though the reason may not be clear, these pivotal events can define the remainder of our lives. They can enable each of us to discover a new purpose for our existence. The past may define how we came to be who we are; but it is the path we choose to take from that point on that defines and shapes the future.

May we all discover moments of clarity such as those experienced by Joseph and my father. May we all find the strength to recover from times of darkness and bless the future with our choices of goodness and light, compassion and love.



© 2011 by Boaz D. Heilman