Theodicy, known as the problem of evil or
why bad things happen to good people, has long been a conversation. If there is
an omnipotent, omniscient, good G-d, how can He let bad things happen? The
notion of this question and its ubiquity in philosophical circles was upended
by the Holocaust. The question was brought to the forefront by the atrocities committed,
the scale of which is unfathomable. In a Revel Graduate School course dedicated
to the problem of evil, a month was devoted specifically to the Holocaust. The
painful question: how can we believe in a Being that let His people be
destroyed in such a fashion?
Leading up to Yom Ha’Shoah this year, I
read two books related to the Holocaust: Out
of the Depths and Responsa From the
Holocaust. These two books and a visit to my Bubbe (grandmother) have
framed this year’s experience for me.
- Amazingly, Rabbi Lau in Out of the Depths completely sidesteps the question. Out of the Depths is the thrilling and chilling tale of how Rabbi Lau survived the Holocaust at the young age of 5 years old. Despite the horrors that Rabbi Lau faced at such a young age, he had a remarkable belief in divine providence. After each time he is saved in the book, he stops the narrative and thanks G-d for the miracle. He never entertains the possibility that G-d has forsaken him and he does not try to rationalize what went on around him in Buchenwald. For Rabbi Lau, G-d was a source of hope—a source of meaning that helped him and continued to help him throughout the rest of his life. He could never ultimately question G-d because he felt He was there helping him. Even though everything around him should intellectually have proven G-d was not there with him, his feeling to the contrary was so strong that it helped him through that awful time.
My sister and I
had a very similar interaction with my Bubbe a couple weeks ago. As she is
turning 100 in July we decided to start taping our conversations with her. On
this occasion, I am very glad we did. Watch this clip: http://youtu.be/UC5C8u3l30k?t=4m29s.[1]
When she said: “I lost my whole family. I’m the only one who survived. No
brothers, no sisters. Nobody. Thank G-d I’m here, G-d gave me years.” I was
blown away. Everyone else died, but G-d gave me years. This is a concept she
repeats often. She doesn’t know why, but thank G-d, G-d gave her years. I find
a very similar quality in my Bubbe. She lived through unknowable horrors,
living through six different concentration camps, including Auschwitz,
Majdanek, and Bergen Belsen. However, she had an undeniable feeling that G-d
was with her. She does not know to this day why that is, but she speaks of it
every time we visit her.
When thinking about what happened during the Holocaust, I
personally find that I have no right to question G-d. My Bubbe didn’t and she
lived through it[2].
Throughout it all she (and Rabbi Lau) did not lose their faith, for they felt
G-d was with them.
We live in such an intellectual world that even faith has
become subject to intellect. However, an emotional faith is lasting in a way
that intellectual faith cannot be. I do not mean to demean faith arrived upon
by intellectual pursuits. I see G-d in history, in nature and in humankind.
However, at the end of the day, I have faith because I feel that G-d is with
me. Many Jews were able to feel this way even when they were in a place and
time that should have forced them not to. In times of affluence and freedom, we
must try to do the same.
In no way do I blame those that felt the way Eli Wiesel
describes at the end of Night when he
and others lost their faith in G-d. Holding on to one’s faith is the anomaly,
and an act of heroism. It is our responsibility to continue the chain of
finding G-d in our lives, even if everything makes it seem as if He is not
there.
This comes to an even greater forefront in Responsa from the Holocaust[3]
by Rabbi Ephraim Oshry. In the book, he describes the types of questions Jews
would ask him in the times of the Ghetto and the Holocaust. The questions he
received were simply unbelievable. I will highlight two that caught my eye.
After being forced to clean toilets with their hands from before dawn to after
nightfall, two Jews asked the Rabbi how they could make up prayers they missed
throughout the day. They knew they could make up Mincha, and not Shacharit, but
how could they say Birchot HaTorah since they never had a moment away from the
toilets. Ever while in such a despicable scenario, these holy people were
worried about praying to G-d. They felt He had not forsaken them, despite everything that was going on.
One day, several men in a concentration camp were able to
get together a minyan and pray, saying the words from memory. When the chazzan
got up to the blessing Shelo Asani Aved (Who
has not made me a slave) he cried out. How can we say this? We truly are
slaves. However the Rabbi replied that we are not thanking G-d for being free
men in the classic sense; we are thanking him for being spiritually free. That
type of freedom could never be taken away, even under Nazi force.
Our forefathers and grandparents were able to find and hold
on to their faith, even during the hardest of times. In times of blessing and
fortune, it is no less than our responsibility to follow in their hallowed
footsteps.
[1]
Feel free to listen earlier to hear what type of guys my Bubbe thinks Margot
should marry (guys listen up) and when Hannah and I should have kids. Also, the last ten seconds are hilarious.
[2] Eliezer
Berkovitz argues this point in Faith and
the Holocaust. He argues that a person only has a right to lose faith over
suffering that happens directly to him.
[3] It
is an English summary of Sheilot
UTeshuvot Mimamakim making it appropriate to go with Out of the Depths.
