My wife attended the International Conference for Chabad Emissaries this weekend while I stayed home with the children. Seven-month-old Zalman was giving me a tough time and taking up lots of my attention. While I was trying to settle the baby, my daughter Rosie dragged over a board-game and an assortment of pieces and asked me to play with her. I told her, “I wish I could play with you but right now is not a good time. Right now Baby Zalman needs me.” Hands on her little hips, Rosie pouted and insisted, “You love Zalman the most in this family. You love him more than you love me!” That got me thinking about kids and parents and the capacity for love.
A couple of days later a congregant came to my office. Unfortunately, he is feeling the brunt of the economic downturn. He is good, honest and hardworking, but he was laid off sometime last year and has yet to find a new job. He’s done all the right things. He networks, sends out his resume, polishes his skills and maintains a cheerful disposition. But every time he thinks he’s about to be hired, the job doesn’t materialize. It’s rough. And it’s getting to him. So he came to talk. “Why is it so hard, Rabbi? Has G-d forgotten about me?”
I shared an analogy with him. Think about air travel. We all use it when necessary. But every time we board that plane we’re entrusting our lives into the hands of a stranger. We don’t research the pilot, we often don’t even know the pilot’s name! Yet we feel confident this pilot will get us safely to our destination.
But when it comes to medical procedures, or surgery, we will not enter a doctor’s office or hospital without doing extensive research! After all, who wants an amateur sticking a knife in his belly?
Why the inconsistency? Pilot gets free reign, surgeon gets the third degree. How come?
It’s simple. Simple and brilliant. When we board the plane, the pilot boards with us! If we go down, he goes down. His life is equally at stake. So we trust him. We trust that he wants to stay alive, so we feel confident that we will have a safe trip.
But when a surgeon operates on us, his life is not in any danger at all! He risks nothing, so we must establish his credibility. We must make sure we trust him to get us through safely, even though he himself is in no danger.
And life is like that airplane. G-d is not off vacationing while His children are suffering. He is on the plane together with us. Our pain is His pain; our suffering is His suffering, our anguish is His anguish. He is with my friend, feeling his frustration. He has not forgotten my friend. Not at all. In fact, He loves each of us unconditionally; the way a parent loves his or her child. The way I love my daughter Rosie AND my son Zalman. The love for one does not deplete my love for the other.
In this week’s Torah portion, we read about the vessels in the Tabernacle. On top of the Ark were the Keruvim – two human-like forms, carved out of gold. According to the Torah, when the Jewish people followed G-d’s directives, the Keruvim faced each other. Conversely, when the Jewish people sinned, the Keruvim faced away from each other. But strangely, years later when the Jewish people had abandoned G-d so much that he allowed the Temple to be destroyed,
instead of facing away from each other, the Keruvim embraced. This was G-d’s message to the Jewish people: even at the hardest of times, G-d is with us, G-d is hugging us. He has never and will never abandon us.