שִׂמְחוּ בַיהוָה וְגִילוּ, צַדִּיקִים;    וְהַרְנִינוּ, כָּל-יִשְׁרֵי-לֵב.

The translation of the verse above (Tehillim or Psalms, Chapter 32) is “Rejoice in God and be happy, righteous ones; and rejoice all who have a “straight” heart (literally – meaning upstanding or virtuous). Think about what it means – to remain upstanding (or even standing up…) – faithful, when things go “south”. Keep the message in mind over the next few paragraphs.

In difficult and trying times, we are challenged in multiple ways. For some, the definition of “trying” is not having the car start or missing the bus – an inconvenience, for sure. For others, difficult is not being able to get out of bed in the morning because of a debilitating acute or chronic illness or injury. Some of us “go with the flow”, others need order and stability – a sense of control, to move through the day. Those with cognitive or mental challenges, from Alzheimer’s to OCD and ADHD, are challenged by the smallest of quirks, changes, or obstacles. There are many tools in our “toolbox” of coping mechanisms – learned and innate. Some of us are natural optimists or go-getters, others hide in the shadows with their anxiety, angst, or lack of confidence. Pop culture and 21^st century therapies offer every imaginable cure and help – from tapping or CBT, to nutritional supplements and medications, such as SSRI’s.

So, when the world turns us upside down – as it has done in recent months and years – from social and political polarization to wars and conflicts, to increasing natural disasters and environmental events – we are forced to develop coping strategies, to effectively “sink or swim”. Much has been written about resilience and its many component parts: optimism, connectivity, wellness, and purpose. Pragmatically, it means remaining strong (both physically and emotionally) and working at problem-solving and networking. Where I live, in Israel, our people have learned to apply every possible aspect of resilience building to our armamentarium. From the first day following the attack and murder of men, women, and children on October 7, 2023, we have had to unite and respond to survive. At grassroots levels and with support from the diaspora, we’ve launched massive community initiatives to help every sector: soldiers, wives of soldiers, injured, orphaned, and those abandoned or lost – including farm animals, pets, and agricultural fields. And finally, over 600 days later, we are treating those who suffer ongoing personal losses through injury or death, and those with PTSD.

In a land that harkens back to the Biblical era, and a nation built on millennia of traditions, sacred texts, and an ancestral homeland it is not surprising that another key component of resilience in this current war is faith, or “emunah” (Hebrew). Faith can be rooted in religion – in God or a Universal Being who intervenes in our world, or it can be a general faith in mankind and “goodness”. In any case, faith is about trust and belief; emunah is more accurately translated as faithfulness – meaning the expression and demonstration of that belief through actions. I recently heard optimism defined as “actionism”; more than a state of mind, it is an actionable response to external forces that creates and maintains hope for the future.

How do we build emunah when we are surrounded by daily material and life losses and constant insecurity (think missiles 24/7)? How do we stay faithful, never mind upbeat (see “rejoice in God”, above,) when confronted by bad news? Is it reasonable to expect faithfulness in the face of what I will call the evil axis of the world? These questions were coming fast and furious after I read a recent article in the Jerusalem Post about a tragic family loss- a young mother murdered by a terrorist while en route to the hospital to give birth, and the subsequent death of her baby. The mother-in-law of the murdered woman, Naomi Gez, is a true example of someone who exemplifies emunah. She finds strength in times of sorrow because (her words) “God is King, the commander; He decides everything”. At the end of the article, the writer gave some obvious advice about how to deal with tragedy and stress, like “avoid the doom scrolling”. Yet another pithy but arguable recommendation was: “Remember that there is no point in being sad”.  

I immediately felt confused and frustrated, then infuriated. Could such a statement even be ethical? How can we deny grievers the right to grieve? Everyone knows that process and time are required to work through loss (Elisabeth Kubler-Ross developed the now well-known cycle of grief in her book On Death and Dying, in 1970). I ran upstairs and dusted off one of the books from my library that was suggested reading in the above article: The Garden of Gratitude, by Rabbi Shalom Arush. The fact that I own the book means that in the past I’ve tried to genuinely understand the book’s messages and to be inspired by prophets and spiritual leaders like Rebbe Nachman. Yet I continue to have trouble with statements like the following: “Truly there is no evil in the world, only absolute good”, or “A person must understand that suffering comes to cleanse his soul of the blemishes caused by his sins,” and “Everyone who gives thanks for their tribulations, and is happy with them, is given life in this world and in the Everlasting World to Come”.

I mulled over this quandary during the following week, during which we had daily barrages of missiles, hits (including Soroka Hospital in Beersheva), and human loss – sad reminders that there is indeed daily suffering out there. Thankfully, two people came to my rescue over this past shabbat (sabbath): one was the illustrious, wise, and articulate renaissance man of Jewish tradition and religion, the late Rabbi Jonathan Sacks. In referring to this past week’s Torah portion (parsha) – Shelah in his book “I Believe”, he discusses the mistake of the spies who were sent by Moses to check out the Land of Israel (Eretz Canaan). Their report was a negative one simply because of misunderstanding, Sacks points out. Their directive was to “tour” (the Hebrew word, used 12 times, is “latour”) the land – and like a tourist, they should have been looking for the good aspects of the land, not the negative. He states: “Narrative plays a major role in making good decisions in an uncertain world. We need to ask: Of what story is this a part?” In other words, when life (or God) deals us a bad blow – and this is inevitable in life – what is our story; how do we “see” it, perceive it, and then deal with it? Additionally, Dr. Tanya White in her podcast “Books & Beyond” describing Rabbi Sacks’ most powerful ideas, refers to the concept of “sacred discontent” – being alert to the poverty and suffering of others, and acknowledging that the world will not improve on its own. Our role is to be proactive in repairing the world’s imperfections.

The second person who gave this issue some context and, to my mind, a more compassionate solution, is Jonathan Lieberman – a rabbi and physician who writes for the Jerusalem Post. In this week’s article (June 20, 2025), titled “David’s Dilemma”, he describes the hard questions a young man and reservist who has been serving for over 450 days has about faith. Lieberman offers the following: “In times of darkness, uncertainty can shroud our faith, and our prayers may feel like whispers in the void. First, and perhaps most crucially, we must acknowledge the legitimacy of doubting our faith in times of such profound darkness. Some people [like Naomi Gez] are able to maintain unwavering faith. While their conviction is admirable and maybe even enviable, it is a path that proves challenging for many, especially when the world is on fire.”

Thank you, Rabbis Sacks and Lieberman, for steering us clear of guilt, dismay, and disappointment when we fall short of achieving perfect emunah. Thanks for validating feelings of loss, sadness, despair, and full, blown-out grief while suggesting that faithfulness is a virtue worth aspiring to – but only when we’re able and ready for it.

In this tumbling, topsy-turvy world where good and evil – black and white – roll into a muddy, grey mix of fear, confusion, and uncertainty, I pray – with whatever hopeful and sometimes broken faith that I can muster – for a better day, one amazing, living moment at a time.