Too Quick to Comfort

My youngest brother called me last week to tell me he’d just been fired. He had been teaching Jewish studies in a school in Las Vegas and, after a year, they told him he didn’t have all the credentials required to continue at the school. Being that my brother is politically conservative, he suspects it is more about his politics than his credentials. The school is very liberal, with many non-Jewish students attending, and my brother is an orthodox Jew and traditional. For instance, during a school visit to Israel this summer, it was decided that the students would visit the birthplace of the man whom Christians consider their savior, as well as mosques and famous churches. My brother stayed outside during these particular excursions and the administration was not pleased.

My brother was summoned to a meeting with the new principal shortly after the trip and she fired him on the spot. Being that she herself is a member of the Women of the Wall, he was prepared for her to not like his opinions but he was definitely not expecting to be fired. After all, the students loved his classes and he got along well with the parents.

My brother was devastated. He had just rented a new apartment for his family and had already prepared for the next school year. Being suddenly out of a job was a hard blow and his wife was freaking out. Finding another teaching job this time of the year is nearly impossible and he’s not sure what do to.

My first impulse when he told me all this was to say that being fired from that school was a good thing, that he needed to have emuna, and to remember that Hashem loves him, and this hit was somehow a blessing in disguise.

But I held myself back because I knew that in the midst of his shock and humiliation, he would not appreciate those words, as true and well-meaning as they are. Even though he believes in God and understands that there is certainly a master plan, there is a time and place to be able to absorb even the sincerest words of comfort.

“Do not comfort a mourner when his dead lies before him” and “Do not reason with a man who is in the midst of his rage” are two pieces of sound advice directly from the Torah (see Avot 4:18).

People need time and space to collect themselves when their world splits open. To rush in with words of inspiration and comfort can come across as condescending (as if they never heard of emuna) or insensitive to the person’s emotions. Everyone wants to believe that there is a sound reason for “bad” things happening to “good” people but it is often a process (and it could be a long one) to arrive at acceptance and peace.

When I was training to be a bereavement counselor in Jerusalem, there was a man in the course who had lost several family members in the Sbarro restaurant bombing in August of 2001. He was a decent and spiritual man, an observant Jew who had taken custody of three of the family’s new orphans. He told me that for nearly two years after the tragedy, he had been unable to pray properly. His prayers lacked any concentration or sincerity. Some days he simply walked out of shul after only a few minutes.

We are not robots. As human beings we yearn for knowledge and understanding. We want to be privy to God’s ways, especially the ones that cause us heartache and confusion. But this world is not the time or place for Hashem to reveal the truth. And to do so would be futile and maybe even destructive.

So too, we must be careful when people share their pain and their problems. The best thing to do is to listen and know that the person is grappling with the seeming inconsistency of what he feels with what he knows.

Be like God. Be patient, be compassionate, and be quiet.