Don’t Waste Your Suffering
Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz once wrote about the advice he received when suffering from encroaching burnout:
In my last letter to the Lubavitcher Rebbe, I told him I was holding down three full time jobs: scholarly writing, outreach work in Russia, and a network of schools in Israel. Since it all seemed like too much for one person, I asked him what to focus on. His answer was typical of him, that I should “continue to do all these things and to do more things and work even harder.”
It's a strange thing to tell a person that feels overwhelmed – you should take on more. But that was always the Rebbe's position. Both for himself and his Chassidim. This wasn’t some life-hack to somehow get more done. It was a re-orientation of the concept of working hard.
In contemporary society, we tend to take the opposite approach:“Work smarter, not harder.”
I was reflecting on this idea a little while ago when trying to convince one of my children to do something they didn't want to do. I found myself telling them “You can either do this the easy way or the hard way.” Then I caught myself wondering what exactly I meant. And the implications were as obvious as they were disturbing: easy means without fear or pain or punishment. Hard means all these things; fear, pain and punishment.
And then it hit me. Have we, as parents, as teachers, as society, been training ourselves and our children for generations, that easy is good and hard is bad? What message does that send when things get difficult?
It means that we do everything we can to avoid the the challenge. That challenges indicate some moral or personal failure. If things are tough, then I have done something wrong, so I need to do all that I can to make sure nothing is tough.
But perhaps the worst result of this approach is that when there is no way around it, when we are forced to endure some discomfort, we make the mistake of wasting our suffering.
In a recent interview, Arthur Brooks shared this insight:
Never waste your suffering. I ask my students in my happiness class to keep a failure and disappointment list. And each time something bad happens that feels like a loss or it feels like a disappointment or feels like a failure, you write it down and leave two lines blank.
And on the first line you write down, it's like that thing really bothered me. And then a month later, you come back to the first line that you left blank under it and write down, what did you learn? And then three months later, you come back to the second line and write down a good thing that happened because of that loss. And you're filling in the notebook.
And by the time you're going to a new thing that's really bugging you, really bothering you, you start to look forward to it because you're gonna be looking back at the knowledge and growth from past negative experiences and the benefit that actually has come from those negative experiences. Never, never, never waste your suffering.
In essence, this means reorienting ourselves to see difficulties as opportunities. It shifts our understanding of ourselves, our lives, and our challenges.
And perhaps it offers a new window into understanding all of Jewish history.
This Shabbos, Rashi tells us:
למה פרשה זה סתומה... שבקש לגלות את הקץ לבניו ונסתם ממנו
Why does this parsha begin without any break in the text? ... Because Yaakov wished to reveal the End of Days to his sons but it was concealed from him.
The simple reading of this Rashi is upsetting. The concealment comes as an unpleasant surprise to Yaakov, and a tragedy for his children. If only we have known... if only he could’ve told us... if only it didn’t have to be that way...
Not so, says the Yismach Yisrael:
Since Yaakov wanted to reveal to his children the world of Mashiach, of Geulah and of Redemption, by definition, Hashem needed to demonstrate to them that light comes from darkness.
Chazal explain: In that moment of darkness, Yaakov was worried about his children. Would they see this darkness a punishment, or an opportunity?
He invites them to consider: Why can’t we see through to the end? Perhaps we are unworthy?
To this, His children respond with a resounding “Sh’ma Yisrael...”. Listen, Yaakov, they say, we all believe in Hashem.
Two things are accomplished by this affirmation of Emunah:
It reframes the darkness as an opportunity. Even in this place, in this space, in this confusion, we can still declare that Hashem is present. This is not a punishment, it’s a challenge.
In the recognition that this darkness is an invitation for growth, we reveal that there is no darkness at all. The way forward is not in avoidance, but in engagement. The person that comes out the other side of this will be better than the one who entered.
All this is to say, if we want to experience redemption, personally and nationally, we need to get comfortable with the darkness that precedes it. Lean in to the difficultly; work smarter and harder.
This is Yaakov's final message to his children. You can do this the easy way or the hard way. I beg you: Do it the hard way. It’s the only way that you’ll grow. Don’t run from the darkness. Choose the challenge, do the difficult thing. Don’t waste your suffering.