Hashem’s Curriculum

My car refused to start. For the umpteenth time, I tried the ignition and heard an unfamiliar whir, reminding me of the sound a hair dryer makes when something catches in the motor.

Thankfully, the car stood in the driveway of my employer’s office in Kfar Adumim, and not somewhere less safe. I called the towing service. The dispatcher and I arranged for the service man to come between 7:00 – 9:00 the following morning.

As I walked to the main road and hitched a ride home to Ma’ale Adumim, my mind was spinning. I envisioned missed workdays and thousands of shekels in repair bills. Later, these worries kept me from falling asleep. However, somewhere inside the fog of worry existed a greater lesson, a spiritual message for me of which I was not yet aware. After all, the date was mid Elul, two weeks before Rosh Hashanah.

The next morning I boarded the 173 bus. The slow ride back to Kfar Adumim through resort-like scenery worked its magic, relaxing me. I felt refreshed, like the afterglow of a two-day mountain trek.

I arrived at the car, and tried the ignition. Zilch. I had taken a writing tablet with me, so I began to write; stream-of conscious scribbling, nothing more.  Five minutes passed.  Ten.  The writing, coupled with the peaceful surroundings, slowly quieted the noisy voices inside my head. For the first time in weeks, I heard myself breathe.

I wrote about prayer. I wrote about my biblical namesake, Chana, and the gift of a son she gave back to Hashem.  I wrote about Divine gifts, musical talent in general, King David’s in particular.  I wrote about how King David and others did not begrudge their gifts.  On the contrary, they shared them willingly.  I wrote about my Divine gift, a talent for writing that I had been keeping locked up, inside me.  Oh sure, there had been many good and valid reasons for not writing: two years of caring for a dying husband; nurturing our four teenagers before, but especially after their father’s death; working a full-time job.  “I feel the gift. I know its power,” I wrote. “Now is the time to give it back to Hashem.”

Suddenly, my cell phone rang.  The sound gave me a fright, like a vocal exclamation point added onto my last sentence.

It was the service man. “Start the ignition,” he commanded when he arrived.

My car started right up.

“But, but…”

“I can’t fix it if it’s not broken,” the service man explained with a smile as he got back in his truck and drove away.

Whenever I think on that incident, I remember neither the minor electrical malfunction nor its low cost of repair; rather I am amazed anew at Hashem’s creative methods for getting His messages across. The issue was—and is—one of trust.

Life’s journey is not a nine-to-five job. Neither is it a series of time-wasting distractions, as entertaining as they may be. Life is a blessing; sometimes difficult, often challenging, yet always to be savored. Moreover, the fact that our individual talents give us immense joy when used for holy purposes is Hashem’s special kindness. We can trust that joy and move forward in confidence provided we follow the operative words “when used for holy purposes”.  

Western logic does us a great disservice. Platitudes such as “you can be anything you want” mislead millions and misrepresent reality. Rav Arush’s The Garden of Wisdom illuminates this point. Possessing a strong intellect, the Clever One flew from one career to another like a wind-blown weed, never content, always despairing. His problem and that of hundreds of thousands of young people today who believe another Western platitude that they cannot succeed without a college education, is that they put their trust in their solely limited logic rather than in Hashem.

Perhaps it is life experience, or maybe it is living in Israel, but many people here have begun paying attention to Hashem’s messages. My fixer-upper is a trained statistician yet makes a good living working as a home repairman. My married son never went for his matriculation yet is supporting his wife and toddler quite nicely learning Torah in the mornings and teaching Capoeira (Brazilian martial arts) to youth and adults in the afternoons.

“Everyone is unique,” the Baal Shem Tov said. “Compare not yourself with anybody else lest you spoil Hashem’s curriculum.” Just as each class in an academic curriculum is essential to fulfilling the course requirements, so too each of our unique personalities and talents is essential to the perfection of the world.

In other words, if you are alive then it is clear the world cannot exist without you or your talents.