Writings from Rabbi Glickman

God, sometimes I wish the world made more sense.

 For example, of my two younger brothers and me, our middle brother – Larry – is by far the sweetest (I’m second).  For the past nine years, Larry has managed a photo library for a publishing company.  He would have preferred more rewarding work, but when the CEO decided to publish a book about the Holocaust, Larry proudly volunteered extra time and energy to the project.  Larry also runs the youth programs at his synagogue, and has brought groups of its teenagers to Europe to help restore a neglected Jewish cemetery there.  He’s a doting father to his two adorable daughters, and a loving husband to his wife.  He somehow knows exactly when I need him to call and mumble some supportive niceties that mean a lot because they remind me I have a brother who loves me.  It may sound trite, but my brother Larry is a downright good person.

And that’s why it doesn’t seem to make any sense.

 You see, one morning a few weeks ago, Larry awoke to find that he was having trouble seeing out of his right eye.  His neighborhood optometrist sent him straight to an ophthalmologist, who ran some tests, scheduled a few more and, after several hours of poking and prodding, sent Larry to work.

 Finally, the diagnosis arrived:  A circulatory problem in Larry’s eye is impeding his vision.   The condition may improve on its own, and it may not.  They don’t think that it will get any worse, and they are reasonably confident that there is a good chance that it is unlikely that the condition will spread to his other eye and render him totally blind.  And those horrible possibilities that we say we don’t even think about, but which we really do think about and just refuse to say out loud?  The doctors ruled them out…at least some of them.

 Then, when Larry finally got to the office that afternoon, they laid him off.  After nine years of devoted work, Larry’s company had a security guard watch over him as he packed his things and walked to his car.

 As days go, this wasn’t one of Larry’s better ones.

 Why, God…why?  Couldn’t you have set things up so that Larry’s eye would stay healthy? If he had to have gotten laid off, God, couldn’t it have been another day?  And, why did it have to happen to Larry of all people?  Especially when I could give You a long list of others far more deserving of such misfortune.  It just doesn’t make sense! 

And while I’m at it, God, why are there so many other more horrific tragedies?  Why cancer? Why hunger?  Why September 11^th?

 AND WHY AREN’T YOU ANSWERING ME?!?!? 

 I stop and take a deep breath.  It’s one of those “count-to-ten” moments my mother warned me about.

 The answers remain shrouded in mystery, so I pause and search my memory for some useful wisdom.  I call forth the psalmist, who promised that “those who sow in tears will reap in joy.” I picture tears falling from Larry’s malfunctioning eye – and from my eyes, too – watering the soil beneath our feet so that it can one day yield wondrous produce.

 I remember Moses’ anguished plea to God on behalf of his ailing sister, Miriam – “El na, refa na lah – Please, God, please heal her” – and I hear an echo of his words in my heart. 

I recall C.S. Lewis’ observation that “God whispers to us in our pleasure, but He shouts to us in our pain.”  I don’t think he meant that pleasure and pain are clues as to what God wants to say; I think pleasure and pain may be the messages themselves.  Perhaps pain is, in part, a Godshout: Hey, you!  Yeah, you over there with the charmed life!  What made you think that things are supposed to be the way you want?    Try some anguish for a change.  Maybe it’ll knock some humility into you!

And maybe pleasure is a Godwhisper.  When a loved one takes our hand, God whispers, “You need not be alone.”  Blooming flowers make us forget all the ugliness for a moment, as God says quietly, “Remember, there is beauty around you.”  And as we see the sparkle our children’s eyes, we hear God whisper, “There is hope…there is hope.”

God, the world does seem senseless at times.  But we’re confident that You know what You’re doing, so we’ll take it anyway.  And as we face its unfathomable mysteries, we will try to hear your whispers and your shouts, growing and learning as we behold each one.

And as for Larry… oh please, God, heal him.

[back to top]