Editor’s Note: Rebbetzin Jungreis, a”h, is no longer with us in a physical sense, but her message is eternal and The Jewish Press will continue to present the columns that for more than half a century have inspired countless readers around the world.
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A single woman in her late thirties sent me a letter in which she lamented that despite her having become a ba’alas teshuvah – despite forsaking her secular life, committing herself to Torah and mitzvos, going to rabbis and receiving berachot – she has failed to find her bashert, her soul mate.
She wondered where G-d was and whether all her sacrifices were worth it. “My joy in Judaism has disappeared,” she wrote.
The following was my response:
You have resentment in your heart. You feel you have been treated unfairly and that your commitment to Torah and mitzvos has been futile. In your disillusionment, you are angry at G-d and ready to give it all up.
Look into our Torah and consider the lives of Moshe Rabbeinu and his siblings Miriam and Aaron. These were giants of our people, yet they had their hopes dashed. Their dream of entering Eretz Yisrael was never realized. They could have argued, “For this we sacrificed? For this we labored? The nation has the privilege of entering Eretz Yisrael and we do not? Where is justice? It’s just not fair!” But they accepted the will of G-d with equanimity, love, and a full heart.
Throughout the long centuries of our painful history, the emblem of our people has been unconditional faith. No matter where life took us, no matter what catastrophe befell us, we clung tenaciously to our G-d. Obviously there were individuals whose faith faltered, who disappeared into the melting pot of assimilation, but we as a people triumphed, and our “Shema Yisrael” reverberated and continues to reverberate throughout the world.
I myself, a child of the Holocaust, can testify to this. With my own eyes I saw the indescribable suffering of our people. I will never forget the holy countenance and the voice of my saintly father, HaRav HaGaon Avraham HaLevi Jungreis, zt”l, who, after our liberation from Bergen Belsen, received the catastrophic news that he was the only surviving son of the glorious rabbinic house of my grandfather. In a trembling voice, his eyes filling with tears, my father called out: “Ribbonoh shel Olam, I ask only one thing – that all my children, all my generations, should remain by Torah.”
Think about that. Wouldn’t my father have been justified in saying, “I am through! If this is the reward of great tzaddikim, if this is how You, Hashem, protect Your beloved ones, there is no reason for me to remain true to Torah.”
Wouldn’t that have been the logical response? Wouldn’t that have been the reaction of so many in our generation who recognize entitlement but not indebtedness, rights but not responsibilities, privileges but not obligations? My revered father, however, like millions of others spanning many centuries and continents, had only one request, one prayer – that the light of Torah forever shine in the hearts of his descendants.
Having said this, I will try to address your personal dilemma and individual struggle.
For many years before I had the zechus, the merit, to establish Hineni, one of the first ba’al teshuvah movements in the world, I had already been involved in outreach efforts. My father was a visionary, way ahead of his time. To the dismay of many in the chassidic world, he went to Szeged (not to be confused with Sziget, a shtetl in Romania). Szeged was a cosmopolitan city, the second largest in Hungary, as well as the most assimilated. Nevertheless, my father created an Orthodox community there and kindled the light of Torah in the hearts of our people.
So it was from a tender age that I was nurtured in outreach. Over the years I learned it is dangerous to tell a secular person that if he or she would only do such and such, the heavens would open up and all their dreams would be fulfilled. Our Torah way of life is not a candy store; lollipops do not fall from the sky, nor are there any guarantees of living “happily ever after.”
Life is a test – as a matter of fact, that is the title of one of my books. Our journeys are filled with turbulence. There are ups and downs and darkness and joy. But even in the best of times the skies can quickly darken with menacing clouds and terrifying storms can take over our lives. And yet our faith remains unshaken.
The legacy of our forefathers and the Covenant of Sinai are forever emblazoned on our hearts and souls. We understand it is our duty, our responsibility, to uphold that covenant, to cling to it and hold it dear. We do so because we believe and are committed to our G-d and expect no reward or accolades for our loyalty. Even as citizens of a country know it is their obligation to pay their taxes without fanfare or reward, so we realize that living in G-d’s world is a privilege, and we too must pay our taxes through our adherence to Torah and mitzvos.
This does not mean we cannot reverse our fate through the power of faith – but whether we succeed or not, we must pay our taxes. To be sure, prayer and mitzvos are our most potent weapons. We need only use them and “the help of G-d can come in the blink of an eye.”
Your bashert might just be waiting around the corner, and you may yet be blessed with children and grandchildren. I have witnessed such wonderful stories, even with women who were older than you. So don’t lose faith. Rather, follow the guidelines of King David (Psalm 27): “Place your trust and hope in G-d…. Strengthen your heart and continue to pray…”
Be proactive. Don’t give up. Bear in mind that even after the densest darkness, the dawn eventually comes.