אִם יִרְצֶה הַשֵּׁם
Rav Reuven's chiour
"The One who pushed me down is the same One who will raise me up."
Say it again.
"The One who pushed me down is the same One who will raise me up."
This is the tzaddik's superpower. Not that he doesn't fall. Not that he doesn't bleed. But that he never never loses sight of the Hand. The Chida didn't know how Hashem would save him. He didn't know a dayan would be waiting on the dock. He didn't know that man's mind would work fast enough to catch the code. But he knew Who wrote the script.
The Story That Opens the Heart
There is a story told about the great Chida (Rabbi Chaim Yosef David Azulai, 1724–1806) that reveals something essential about the soul of a tzaddik.
The Chida was traveling across Europe on a fundraising mission for the poor of Eretz Yisrael—a journey that would take him away from his wife and children for years. On one boat, a Jewish cheese merchant approached him. This was no God-fearing man; he was a man who "knew an opportunity when he saw one." He demanded that the Chida give his cheese a hechsher. When the Chida examined the cheese and found it not kosher, the merchant threatened him: "See that water? That's where you're going if you don't give me the kashrut."
Now, the Rambam teaches that one need not sacrifice one's life for kashrut. The Chida, under duress, signed the certificate. But he added something: a verse from that week's parashah, as was customary. Only he didn't write the verse from Parshat Va'etchanan—the parashah they were actually in. He wrote a verse from Parshat Bo instead.
When the boat reached shore, a local dayan happened to examine the certificate. He recognized the Chida's beautiful signature, but something troubled him. "How could the Chida write a verse from Parshat Bo when we're in Parshat Va'etchanan?" This rabbi, an extraordinary talmid chacham, thought deeper. He consulted Onkelos on the verse: "Your waist girded, your shoes on your feet." The Aramaic word for "your waist" (mochasecha) can also be read as "your cheese" (michasecha).
The Chida, trapped in an impossible situation, had planted a hidden message: Your cheese is not kosher. He relied not on his own cleverness alone, but on Hashem to send a Torah scholar who would look deeper and discover the truth.
The Question That Haunts Us
The story is remarkable. But it leaves us with a question that cuts to the core of our spiritual lives:
How does a person keep going?
The Chida was not on vacation. He was risking his life for years to help others. And in the middle of that sacred mission, he faced a gun to his head (or rather, a threat to be thrown overboard). How did he not despair? How did he not say, "I give up. The Jewish people are not worth this sacrifice"?
We see this pattern everywhere. A dayan in Eretz Yisrael issues a psak based on gedolei Yisrael, warning people about certain products—and a food company sues him for a million dollars. The Ponevezher Rav, the Klausenburger Rebbe .. so many who built Torah in our generation endured gehennom in this world. How?
The Chovot HaLevavot (Duties of the Heart) takes us deeper into this question. He teaches us that there is a path from believing in Hashem to knowing Hashem .. and this knowing is what sustains the soul through the impossible.
Isaiah's Two Questions
The Chovot HaLevavot brings a proof from Isaiah 40:28:
"Have you not known? Have you not heard? Hashem is the God of the universe, creator of the ends of the earth."
The Chovot HaLevavot explains: "Have you not known?" refers to knowledge gained through rational argument—the intellect, the mind, the gift of understanding that Hashem gave us. "Have you not heard?" refers to tradition—what we received from our parents, teachers, and the mesorah.
This is not accidental. The prophet mentions knowledge before tradition. Why?
Because if you rely only on tradition, you never develop your mind to its full potential. But if you rely only on your mind without tradition, you can end up in heretical beliefs far from Torah truth. They must be coupled together.
The Double Comfort, The Double Pain
Isaiah opens Chapter 40 with words we sing every Shabbat:
"Nachamu, nachamu ami—Comfort, comfort My people, says your God."
Why twice? The sages explain: for the destruction of the First Temple and the Second Temple. Two catastrophes, each enormous beyond imagination.
And then Isaiah says something that speaks to every human heart:
"She has received double for all her sins from the hand of Hashem."
Wait—Hashem is just. How could we receive double what we deserve?
The answer is: it feels like double. When you're in the middle of the pain—depression, illness, financial ruin, divorce—it feels worse than the crime. You know you weren't perfect. You know you made mistakes. But this? This feels like too much.
The prophet is telling us: this feeling is real, and it is universal. Am Yisrael went after false beliefs: Greek philosophy, foreign ideologies, man-made gods. Even when they were warned by prophets who endured beatings, curses, and eventual murder, they persisted. And when the punishment came, it felt like: Why did I do this to myself?
It's like the gambler who bets $50,000 on a coin flip and loses. He feels a double pain: first, the loss itself; second, the crushing realization that even if he had won, it wasn't worth the risk. He lost for nothing.
When we chase false dreams .. ego, lust, greed, the approval of a world that doesn't know Hashem .. and we fail, we feel punished twice. Once for the failure. Once for realizing we were wrong the whole way, even if we had succeeded.
Who Taught Him Wisdom?
Isaiah continues his rebuke in chapter 40:
"Who can prepare the spirit of Hashem? His man of counsel who informs Him? Who taught Him wisdom? Who explained the way of knowledge to Him?"
The prophet is ridiculing the human tendency to humanize God. We think: "God needs me." "I helped God." "I counseled Him." "I know better than the Torah." We fashion idols—not because we're stupid enough to think wood and stone are gods, but because we want a god we can control, a god in our image.
The Radak explains the degradation of idolatry: First, people made images to represent heavenly powers, thinking this was a way to serve God. But over generations, habit replaced intention. They began to believe the stone itself had power. They poured wine and burned incense without remembering the Creator at all.
This is what habit does. The child says Shema Yisrael with fire in his heart, screaming it like a public announcement. The adult mumbles it while reviewing his grocery list. The blessing over a candy becomes a rushed blur. We forget. We degrade. We fall further from ourselves.
Look Up
The Chovot HaLevavot says there is an obligation to look at the heavens and realize Hashem created the world. Not a suggestion—an obligation.
Look at the clouds: one moment floating, the next pouring rain for hours. Where does the water come from? It starts from a grain of sand. The more you learn about creation, the more impossible it becomes that this came from "some explosion."
Look at the sun and moon, perfectly positioned to sustain life. Move the moon slightly, and the oceans become tsunamis. This is not happenstance. This is design.
And when you look up, remember: Hashem calls each star by name. Not because He needs a filing system, but to teach us the infinite gap between Creator and creation. We can barely count the grass in one field, one blade at a time, losing track, forgetting what we already counted. Hashem knows every atom He ever created, simultaneously, eternally.
The Secret of the Eagles
Isaiah concludes with the answer to our original question:
"Hashem gives strength to the weary and grants abundant might to the powerless. Youths may weary and tire, and young men may constantly falter. But those whose hope is in Hashem will have renewed strength. They will grow a wing like eagles. They will run and not grow tired. They will walk and not grow weary."
Here is the difference between the tzaddik and everyone else.
It is not that the tzaddik has no difficulties. If anything, he has more.
It is not that the tzaddik does not sin. Everyone falls. Everyone makes mistakes.
The difference is: he never loses sight of the Hand that pulls the strings.
The One who fed him is the same One who slapped him. The One who raised him is the same One who pushed him down. And the One who pushed him down is the same One who will raise him up again.
The tzaddik knows the address. When the Chida was threatened with death, he didn't despair. He did what the Torah required to save his life, and then he relied on Hashem to send the solution. He didn't know how. He didn't know when. But he knew Who.
This is why the Chofetz Chaim said thank you for every step on the stairs. Not because he was a saintly robot, but because he saw—truly saw—that every breath, every step, every moment is a gift from the One who runs the world.
From Belief to Knowing
The Chovot HaLevavot is telling us: Start with belief. But don't stay there.
Use the mind Hashem gave you. Reflect on the miracles you forgot: the job that came at the last minute, the test you passed when you didn't know the material, the spouse you found when you thought you'd be alone, the cure when the doctor said there was no chance.
Write them down. Keep a notebook. Document the hidden kindnesses. Because the next time you feel like you're getting "beaten up twice" for one sin, you'll need to remember: Hashem is just. The punishment is never more than deserved. The "double" feeling comes from forgetting, from chasing dreams that were never the right path to begin with.
In Parshat Bo, Hashem tells Moshe: "Bo el Paro"—Come to Pharaoh. Not "Go." Come. Because Hashem is already there. In your test. In your difficulty. In your darkest moment.
He is the same hand that pushed you in, and He is the same hand that will pull you out.
May we all merit to travel the path of the righteous—not without difficulties, but with the knowledge that transforms every difficulty into a deeper connection with the One who runs the world.
May Hashem bless us all to succeed in serving Him on the greatest path there is: the path of the holy Torah, the Torah of truth.
Shabbat Shalom.