Prisons and Possessions

Parshas Vayigash: On navigating our inner turmoil

"To live is to suffer," wrote Friedrich Nietzsche. Suffering is an inescapable facet of the human condition. During one's lifetime, every human being, rich or poor, strong or weak, will endure a period of anguish. Distress can manifest in emotional, financial, physical, and interpersonal forms, yet all are bitter nonetheless. But how are we expected to navigate periods of inner turmoil? 

One approach has been to ignore the pain altogether, maintaining what the British call a 'stiff upper lip', thereby allowing life to take its course. Whilst perhaps this worked in previous generations, maintaining such a veneer can lead to repression and emotional scarring. On the other hand, the current correction of the 'old-fashioned' perspective has promoted total self-acceptance. But this position, too, is heavily flawed. Unconditional tolerance of a harmful condition serves to exacerbate the problem. In extreme scenarios, this has normalised mental health issues as a legitimate aspect of a person's character rather than a struggle to be faced. Clearly, God does not desire us to regard challenging circumstances as an opportunity to check out from all responsibilities in life. What, then, is the resolution to our difficulty?

The great Hassidic masters understood that individual suffering is universal. They posited that in the same way that God required the Jewish people to undergo Galus' exile' on a collective level before the Messianic dawn. He intended for us to similarly experience a private sense of psychological alienation before achieving self-realisation. Establishing a parallel between the national and personal Galus allows us to draw critical lessons from one to the other. 

For many, the settling of Yaakov and his children in Egypt signifies the start of our first exile, Galus Mitzrayim. In the view of Rav Moshe Shapiro, it serves as an archetype for all subsequent persecutions. The verse states:

Israel lived in the land of Egypt in the region of Goshen; 

they took possession of it (Vayei'achazu)

and they were fertile and significantly increased [in numbers]

{Bereishis 47:27}

Fascinatingly, the word Vayei'achazu has two opposite meanings. Rashi explains its basic understanding as being that the Jews took possession of the land. In contrast, the Midrashic interpretation is that "the land held them and grasped them . . . like a man who is forcefully held." In other words, they both held the land and were held by it.

According to the last Lubavitcher Rebbe, Vayei'achazu's dual meaning reflects the necessary attitude of Jews toward exile in general. We must be constantly aware that even though our material and spiritual growth may appear to thrive, galus essentially obscures our moral vision and corrupts our connection to God. Only through the Holy Temple in Israel can we truly grasp the divine presence in the world. Yet the exile we are in also has a purpose. We know that God dispersed us worldwide to reach and influence humanity. And that these tribulations are a developmental process preparing us for the final coming of redemption. 

As a result, exile is an achuzah in both senses of the word. Galus is equally a "possession" to develop and a "captive web" from which we must perpetually disentangle ourselves. It can only be one if it is also the other. If we treat Galus solely as a prison, we will fail to realise its tremendous potential. Yet by growing complacent in an alien environment, we risk losing our essence amidst the nations. Thus being reduced to a mere shadow or adumbration of what we should really be. Attempting to develop and elevate the galus reality from a position of comfort would be inconceivable. It would be like pulling one's own hair in a quest to lift oneself.

We now appreciate the national exile's dual nature. It is an achuzah - both a 'possession' and a 'prison'. The question is, how do we apply this insight to the personal 'Galus' we have all experienced? As we shall see, this teaching suggests a nuanced response rather than a single strategy for dealing with suffering.

We cannot deny that our pain is a real experience. Moreover, God doesn't want us to. Every day in prayer, we declare that God' forms light and creates darkness'. To say that He 'creates darkness' sounds counterintuitive. Surely darkness is the mere absence of light? In fact, darkness is a creation that God actively willed into existence rather than a mere by-product of his desire for light. Our sensations of stress, distress, anxiety or depression are not some glitch in the program. They are the will of God himself. Rav Tzadok HaChohen explains that this is what Iyov meant when he declared, “From my flesh, I perceive my God.” Implying that:

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Even within our deepest anguish, it is possible to discern the voice of God calling out to us. He has not, and will not, abandon us.

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What all this means is that just like the large-scale exile of the Jewish people, our personal inner Galus is equally a "prison" and a "possession". It is a prison because we must do all we can to escape or alleviate the dire situation we may find ourselves. It is a possession because it's paradoxically a unique opening through which we can cleave to God. 

I'm often surprised by a subtle odd nostalgia towards the periods when I was most vulnerable and grappled with a level of anxiety. I'm surprised because I felt no fondness towards my predicament as I lived through it; actually, I despised every second. Yet, in retrospect, I realise I wouldn't be half the person I am today if I hadn't experienced those moments of despair. Desperation led me to discover my authentic identity and what a relationship with God means to me. Those painful experiences have now become my greatest treasures.

As the Psalmist predicted, "When God returns the captured people of Zion, we will be like dreamers". It can take years and even a lifetime, but what we once looked at as prisons will someday be revealed as beautiful possessions.

Good Shabbos, and Keep Pondering!