When Faith Offers No Answers
When tragedy strikes, we almost always try to find an explanation. Why did this happen? Why were these particular people made to suffer? Why did the Almighty allow something that seems completely incompatible with His mercy and justice? And it seems to me that the hardest thing in such circumstances is not only enduring the pain, but also accepting that there are questions to which we simply have no answers. The absence of an answer does not make the questions themselves wrong. A person has every right not to understand what is happening, to feel fear, confusion, grief, and even an inner sense of protest. Faith does not mean that we are always capable of explaining the actions of the Almighty. And it certainly does not require us to regard tragedy as something good simply because we believe in His Providence.
There is a profound idea in Jewish tradition: when confronted with misfortune, a person should not only ask why it happened, but also consider what the situation demands of them. Here I would make an important distinction. We cannot claim to know what actions caused other people to suffer, or what particular purpose the Almighty intended by allowing their suffering. Such explanations can be not only mistaken but also cruel to those who have suffered. Yet we can ask ourselves: What should I do now? Whom can I help? How can I preserve my humanity? How can I prevent fear, hatred, or despair from determining my actions? Perhaps this is one of the most important aspects of spiritual responsibility: not explaining someone else’s pain, but responding to it properly through our own actions.
This brings to mind the story of Abraham’s trial, described in the book of Genesis (22). We usually understand it as a test of obedience: would Abraham be able to carry out the command of the Almighty, however difficult it might be? But Rabbi Shimon Schwab invites us to consider another aspect of what happened — a test of the human mind itself. Abraham was confronted with more than a painful demand. He faced a contradiction that he could not resolve through his usual understanding. The Almighty had promised him descendants through Isaac, yet now the command seemed to call the fulfilment of that very promise into question. Moreover, Abraham had spent his life teaching people about the merciful One Creator, contrasting this understanding with the cruel practices of the surrounding world. And now he faced an event that, from a human perspective, contradicted everything he knew about God.
In the Selichot prayers, there is an appeal to the Almighty asking Him to answer us as He answered Abraham on Mount Moriah. Yet the Torah itself does not record the words of such a prayer by Abraham. Rabbi Schwab suggests understanding it as a plea to preserve faith in the face of an irresolvable contradiction. And I think this is a very important idea. Sometimes a person must endure not only loss, fear, or suffering, but also the collapse of their familiar understanding of the world. What seemed understandable and just yesterday may suddenly become impossible to reconcile with what we see today. And then the question is no longer simply how to go on living, but how to maintain a relationship with the Almighty when we cannot understand what is happening at all.
But it is important not to confuse faith with a prohibition against asking questions. In the Book of Job, we encounter a man who does not conceal his pain and openly addresses God with difficult questions. The very fact that he speaks to God in this way shows that spiritual life is not merely silent acceptance of everything that happens. Sometimes prayer is gratitude, sometimes it is a request, and sometimes it is a desperate conversation with the Creator in which a person tries to understand what seems impossible to understand. And perhaps faithfulness to the Almighty is expressed not in the absence of doubt, but in continuing to turn to Him even with our doubts.
We must be especially careful when speaking about great tragedies such as the Holocaust. I do not believe we have the moral right to explain the deaths of innocent people as necessary for some spiritual lesson. Still less can we demand that someone who has endured horror immediately discover meaning in it. There are forms of suffering before which it is better first to remain silent, show compassion, and offer help. Only the person who has suffered, if they wish, can reflect on how their experience has changed their relationship with life and faith. We do not have to justify evil in order to continue believing in good.
In Jewish tradition, the period of severe trials preceding redemption is called Chevlei Mashiach — literally, the «birth pangs of the Messiah.» The image of birth pangs speaks of pain accompanying the emergence of something new. But I would be very cautious about applying this idea to specific historical events. We do not know which events belong to this period or exactly how the Almighty’s plan unfolds. It is therefore dangerous to declare every new tragedy a sign that redemption is approaching. It is far more important to remember that even in the most difficult times, a person is not released from the responsibility to preserve compassion, justice, and a sense of duty towards others.
And you know, it seems to me that sometimes we pay too much attention to how strong our faith is, and too little to what our faith actually helps us do. A person may speak of complete trust in the Almighty while remaining indifferent to the suffering of others. Another person may experience a profound inner crisis, struggle with painful questions, and still continue helping people, protecting the vulnerable, caring for loved ones, and remaining faithful to moral principles. And I am not convinced that the second person is further from genuine faith than the first.
Perhaps the deepest test of faith lies not in the ability to explain what is happening, but in the ability not to lose ourselves when explanations are absent. Not allowing pain to turn into cruelty, fear into hatred, or disappointment into complete indifference. We cannot always understand why the Almighty allows certain events to happen. But we can take responsibility for what we ourselves bring into the world in their aftermath. And sometimes the most sincere prayer is not a request to reveal all the mysteries of His Providence, but a few simple words: Help me preserve my faith, keep my heart from growing hard, and remain human even when I cannot understand what is happening.
