You don’t have to have a degree in philosophy to be a philosopher. All you have to do is ask, using a simple, three-letter English word: “Why?”
Millions are constantly asking this question. After the Holocaust, after Oct. 7, after the Bondi Beach massacre, and every time tragedy strikes, God forbid. It may be a national catastrophe, a natural disaster or a single individual’s heartbreaking, sad story. And the question is perfectly legitimate.
“Why?” or “Where was God?” or “How could God allow such a thing to happen?” All these questions and more are valid and reasonable. They do not mean you are a heretic or an atheist. In fact, just asking the question proves that you do believe in a higher power. Otherwise, who are you challenging? If no God is running the world—and everything is purely random, helter-skelter and the luck of the draw—then there are no questions to ask and no one to ask them to. Heads you win, tails you lose. You’re either lucky or unlucky, and that’s it.
This week’s Torah reading, Va’era, begins with God responding rather critically to the challenge faced by Moses. At the very end of last week’s Torah reading, we read how Moses himself asked this question of God. His first appearance before Pharaoh, asking him to “Let my people go,” resulted not in deliverance but in a worsening of the conditions suffered by the Israelite slaves. Pharaoh made them find raw materials to make the bricks themselves and still demanded that they produce the same results.
“Why have you dealt badly with these people?” asks Moses of God. “Why have you sent me?” Moses complained to God that his efforts to free the Jewish slaves backfired and only made things worse for them. God assured him that the Israelites would be delivered from slavery with a mighty hand; still, Moses asked the question: “Why?”
So, should we be asking the question when inexplicable tragedy strikes, or is it a waste of time and energy?
On the one hand, while it doesn’t necessarily indicate a lack of faith, it is nevertheless a pointless question. God is infinite, we are finite, and a finite mortal can never grasp the infinite wisdom of the immortal supreme being.
We cannot measure a pair of pants with a scale, and we cannot weigh a sack of potatoes with a measuring stick. They are the wrong tools. Likewise, the mortal mind is simply the wrong tool to measure the infinite mind of the Creator.
But does that mean there is no reason why things happen as they do? Of course, not. Everything has a reason. The fact that we cannot fathom it in no way means that there is no reason, and a good one at that.
It may even be that if God Himself came down and whispered the reason in our ear, we still would not get it. These things may well be beyond human comprehension.
On the other hand, only a true believer will ask, “Why?” because he believes that there is a reason for everything. Nothing happens by chance. We believe in Divine providence—that everything, big or small, good or bad, happens for a reason. So we ask “why” because we know there is a reason, and we would dearly love to understand why these things happen.
We believe that there is a plan, a higher plan with a higher purpose. Furthermore, we believe that God is good. So when bad things happen to good people, we naturally shout: “Why?” How can a good God allow so much pain and suffering? And that is a legitimate question, just as Moses’s question was—precisely because Moses believed in a good and fair God.
But Moses didn’t suffice with asking questions. He persisted and was ultimately successful, and went on to become the great redeemer of his embittered people.
And so must we.
We may be entitled to ask “why” if it is done with humility, faith and trust. But we may not leave it at that. When tragedy strikes, the Jewish response is not only to ask this question but to see what can be done about it. Philosophizing is fine, but what will be gained by it? There is much more to be obtained by doing something practical about the situation, by reaching out, and by lending a helping hand to those who are suffering pain and misery.
May we never know pain and suffering. May we never witness pain and suffering. But if we do, let us not simply wring our hands in despair and wonder what befell us.
Let us not be mere philosophers but active providers. Let us make sure to be among those who do our very best to remedy the situation, and to bring strength and solace to those in need.
