by Rabbi Daniel Huebner

This week we read in the Torah that sometimes even G-d begs forgiveness. The story of Genesis tells us that when G-d first created the luminaries, He made the sun and the moon equal in stature—two equal rulers. How did the moon become so small and dependant on the sun for light?

The Talmud fills in the details. The moon complained that two kings should not be made to share a single crown. G-d replied, "You are right. Go diminish yourself." The moon objected, "Should I be humbled just because I made a valid point?" To which G-d replied, "Bring an atonement for Me for I diminished the moon." Indeed, on every Rosh Chodesh, the first day of each Hebrew month, an offering was brought in the Temple in honor of the new moon. This, says the Talmud, was to atone for G-d diminishing the moon.

It is a strange story. If G-d had something to atone for, if he agreed with the moon that it should not be diminished for making a valid point, then why didn't He restore the moon to it's former greatness? Instead, He kept it small and He cries every month for atonement. G-d begs forgiveness. Why? He is G-d. Let Him go and fix it.

The answer, my dear friends, is that some tragedies can't be undone. They must happen as they do. But that inevitability does not ease the associated pain and trauma. The moon had to be diminished, so G-d did not reverse what He had done. But the pain and loss could not be overlooked. It is so visceral, so deep, that G-d begs forgiveness.

The moon here is a metaphor for a much broader discussion. There are many tragedies that occur in the world. Each one can be prevented by G-d. Those that He does not prevent need to occur precisely as they do. But they are, oh, so painful.

Six days days have passed since the Hamas massacre of Jews in Israel. We cry bitter tears over the more than twelve hundred beautiful precious souls that were cruelly and inhumanely snuffed out. We are paralyzed by the sheer magnitude of the horror that our brethren experienced. We imagine their terror, the agony of knowing that they were about to die, the unbearable trauma of watching their loved ones tortured to death, the sheer pain of their own death. We wring our hands. We close our eyes, but the images remain.

We are in grief. We are in mourning. We are numb. And we are enraged. We want to rise up like lions and reverse this tragedy. We want to turn back the clock and erase it from the history books. But we can't. G-d can. But He won't. He alone knows why this had to happen, so He begs forgiveness. G-d cries with us, clutches our hands and clings to us. "Please, please, forgive Me. I atone for what I had to do. I diminished the moon. I diminished the nation. I allowed exquisite, magnificent souls to be heinously cut down."

We live in dread of tomorrow's news. What is the fate of those taken hostage? We hope, we pray, because that is the Jewish way. What of G-d? What is He doing? He is crying bitter tears as His loved ones suffer. For reasons known only to Him, it had to happen this way. No one can explain it. No one can know why. But He does, and he does what must be done even though He doesn't like it. "Bring an offering for Me and atone for Me." G-d begs forgiveness.

The Zohar tells us that when the moon was diminished and began to wane, many souls were born within its concavity, its dark side. These souls are fated to encounter darkness in life in the form of suffering and cruelty. These are the victims of human cruelty, illness, tragedy, etc.

However, the Zohar tells us that these challenges touch only the external surface of these people. Not their souls. Not their internal selves. Those remain unmarred. Undiminished. Untouched. On the contrary, when the body suffers, the internal dimension, the inner core, shines powerfully.

You see, the moon is full when earth is between the moon and the sun. This way, the side of the moon that faces the sun is visible to us. The moon disappears when it is between us and the earth. At this time, the side of the moon that faces the sun faces away from us, which makes it appear dark to us. This is why the Talmud declares that the sun never saw the concavity of the moon. To the sun, the moon is always full.

Now let us pause and consider: when the moon is full, it is furthest from the sun. When it disappears, it is closest to the sun. What does this mean for us?

The souls that experience trauma, abuse, addiction, bullying, illness, disease, cruelty, torture, and even death emerged from G-d when the moon had waned. They were selected by G-d for these terrible fates even before they were born. This does not mean that they deserve it, G-d forbid, but that in ways that are beyond our mortal comprehension, each of these terrible experiences serves a powerful purpose that elevates them and the world around them. As the moon is closest to the sun when it wanes and disappears, so are the heroes who suffer closest to G-d at the time of their suffering. Their soul is whole.

At that moment, when our brethren in Israel were murdered simply for being Jewish, they reached their highest spiritual state. When the enemy reached the height of his cruelty, our loved ones were closest to G-d. At that moment, they were face-to-face with G-d. Not just at that moment, but for the rest of eternity, for that moment is timeless. It stands still for each of us, indelibly etched upon our psyches forever.

Why these precious souls were chosen for this gruesome, yet holy, fate, to give their life for G-d, is beyond our mortal comprehension. We hope to see the outcome of their sacrifice soon. We hope to see the downfall of the entire terror infrastructure. We hope it ushers in a prolonged period of calm, peace, stability, and unity for the entire region. Most importantly, we hope that this immense suffering, this stranglehold on life, will bring about the end-goal of all history, the coming of Moshiach.

You see, the Jewish prophets taught us that history is not circular. It doesn't take us in tragic circles repeating the horrors and tragedies of yesteryear. History is linear. It is always marching toward a single goal. Sometimes, it feels like we are sliding backward, but like the waning moon, those are the times that bring us closest.

Our sages taught that when Jews are desperate for refuge, when they wring their hands and ask, "Where is my refuge, where shall I go?" G-d replies, "Fear not, all that I have done, I have done for you. The time for your redemption has arrived." May this finally be that time. Our people have not experienced such horrors since the Holocaust. If ever there was a sacrifice worthy of Moshiach, this one is it. May it be so.

Yet, G-d cries for every tortured soul, for every lost life, for every hostage, for every injury, and for every person that barely escaped with their lives. These are terrible sufferings, and no one should have to bear them. G-d, who loves us, can't stand to see His children suffer, so G-d begs forgiveness, "Bring an offering for me to atone for what I did to your loved ones. To My loved ones."

Will we find the strength to forgive G-d? I believe that with time, we will. Right now, it is too much to ask. Right now, we grieve. Right now, we reach as deep as we can and muster our inner reserves. Right now, we march forward and snatch victory from the jaws of this heinous, inhumane evil.

But soon, we hope, very soon, G-d will bring the Moshiach. At that time, if not earlier, I feel certain that we will forgive G-d. For He will finally atone for the unimaginable cruelty our brethren have suffered.

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Rabbi Daniel and Raizel Huebner moved to San Miguel from New Jersey in 2018 with their family to start Chabad SMA. They enjoy living in San Miguel and integrating with the community through classes, Jewish activities and social events.

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