Due to my more relaxed schedule during the summer months, I’ve found myself with more time to think. I’d like to say that I’m gearing up for Elul early this year, but that would not be honest. One of the ideas I’ve spent too much time thinking about is the concept of hishtadlus (effort) vs. emunah (belief) and how they seem to manifest in all of our daily lives. It’s always been taught to me that emunah is the trust that Hashem has a bigger picture in mind for us, while hishtadlus is the idea that we have to put in an effort in order to get what we want out of our life. Once we throw in the idea of bitachon (trust/security), the mix can get even more confusing, so maybe I’ll save that for another piece. [Don’t worry, I’m not bringing up bechira (choice) for a long time.] One could say to themselves that if they truly have emunah in Hashem that His master plan is what’s meant to be, then why should one make any effort in life for anything to occur?

There are times when we feel compelled to make an effort, and it’s not really about emunah. For example, packing up my daughter for sleepaway camp. Yes, I believe it is Hashem’s master plan that this is supposed to occur, but there is no mechanism for this to occur without considerable effort and organization.

On the opposite extreme, I’m sure I’m not the only one who struggles with this same idea as it applies to prayer. Tefilla is another one of those ideas that we are taught from a young age as a means to bring about a change. To me, that’s the prime example of hishtadlus. Yet, so often with tefilla, such is not the case.

We have all been to Tehillim rallies to daven for a refuah sheleima or complete shalom in Israel, and all too often it feels like Hashem just ignored any effort we made. One can say that too, about studying for a test, pushing for a promotion at work or even baking the perfect chocolate chip cookies. (Then again, I do make the most perfect chocolate chip cookies, so maybe hishtadlus works for that one.) These are all things that presumably should yield our ideal outcome if we put in the effort and work. Maybe because we tend to forget that Hashem has anything to do with that outcome and it seems like it’s all about our physical efforts.

Dare I say that we made an effort and now we simply feel we deserve it? Do we somehow think we have the power to negotiate with Hashem—I did everything that could be done in my opinion, and on top of that I believe in the master plan. Even more so, I truly believe that what I’m trying to make happen in my life will make me a happier eved (servant of) Hashem.

So how is it possible that I’m not getting what I want? I’ve done my part to make this happen, now Hashem—shouldn’t You do Yours? I think about this a lot when I hear about someone who is experiencing fertility challenges. It’s as if all this person wants is to create and raise a Jew. How could Hashem possibly think that it’s not a good idea for good people to be raising more good Jews? Yet, we hear of so many of our friends and family who are struggling with this for years and put their whole soul, along with hundreds of thousands of dollars, to make this a reality, while their friends seem to be blessed with children with what appears to be no effort.

This is all based on the assumption that the people in this world who have genuine emunah in Hashem are just trying to live their best life aligned with their own unique way to live in a way that makes them feel complete and fulfilled. It’s no one’s place to judge whether or not his/her wishes are aligned with the appropriate derech, but it’s certainly our place to only wish the best for others in whichever way they see fit. Even more so, the judgment is almost subconscious when you see someone have something you are working so hard to obtain, and you can’t help yourself but think that you would do so much better if Hashem would give you that specific blessing. (Be it a child, a great job, the ability to truly pray or even a new pair of shoes.)

So how does one reconcile this juxtaposition? I think we don’t, rather we simply have to find a way to incorporate these two ideas in our lives without losing our mind. Maybe that’s even the highest level of achievement—when we have the ability to keep making the hishtadlus and not feeling that it’s fruitless, while fully having the acceptance of Hashem’s plan—however difficult it could be for us to live with.

Over the summer, we have the Three Weeks/Nine Days that give us a structure to the main limitation presented in the summer. While we’re not bound by getting home in time to light a menorah or a hunt for a sukkah, vacation and simcha plans revolve around this specified time for mourning.
I recently heard the same idea from Rav Soloveitchik referenced in two different shiurim; he pointed out that when a person loses a family member, the intensity of the aveilus diminishes as you go from shiva to shloshim to yahrtzeit. Yet with mourning the loss of the Beis Hamikdash, our mourning intensifies as it culminates with Tisha B’Av. For some who have experienced loss, this time is relatable in a sense, when you have experienced the pain of loss.

For me, each year during the Nine Days, I’m clueless on how to feel any concrete pain because the Beis Hamikdash is not a part of my life. Over the years, I’ve spent more time reviewing the kinos we read on Tisha B’Av and realized that it’s not just about the loss of the Beis Hamikdash, but it’s a time in our year where we focus on many other tragic times throughout our history, from the Asara Harugei Malchus to the Holocaust. Perhaps I’m too busy thinking about the trip to the water park or grilling up the Delmonico steak that’s in my freezer. It’s like I just want it to be over so I can go back to my regularly scheduled unprogrammed summer.

And while this is all happening, we sit on Tisha B’Av and we long for next year for the day to be a Yom Tov. Have we made any efforts for that change to occur? Do we even have any emunah that this change is even a remote possibility? There are certainly times in my life in galus when I’ve got a lot of good things going, and the idea of a life with a Beis Hamikdash just seems complicated and daunting. There is much irony when really analyzing the relaxed summer as its juxtaposition to the Yom Tov season and the end of another year. We’re lucky enough to have the buffer of the month of Elul when we get this time meant for introspection and refocus. In the meantime, I just hope I’m not the killjoy of summer as I try to make the most of my Three Weeks while pondering all the amazing foods I can grill in a few short weeks.

As part of the Option Z series, Rachel will take a few months at the end of the year and will explore theories she’s sure others have spent time thinking about, but seemingly too daunting to discuss, all in an effort to approach the new year with a clearer head.

By Rachel Zamist