The ancient rabbis grappled with these questions too, and in Bereshit Rabbah, a collection of rabbinic interpretations of the Book of Genesis, we find a fascinating, if somewhat unsettling, perspective.
The passage opens with a quote from the Book of Job: "If a lash causes death suddenly" (Job 9:23). Antoninos, a Roman emperor known for his dialogues with Rabbi Yehuda HaNasi (the compiler of the Mishnah), poses a question about this verse.
Rabbi Yehuda responds with a rather intriguing hypothetical situation. Imagine, he says, a person sentenced to one hundred lashes. Now imagine that same person is offered one hundred dinarim (coins) to endure those lashes. Sounds like a fair trade. But Rabbi Yehuda explains the inherent injustice: if the person is strong enough to withstand all the lashes and collect the money, then the punishment becomes a mockery. It's all about the money, not about justice or atonement. But if the person can’t endure the pain and dies, then they suffer for nothing, gaining neither the dinarim nor any sense of justice. This, says Rabbi Yehuda, is a form of mocking "the undoing of the innocent."
But the interpretation doesn't stop there. Rav Aḥa adds another layer, suggesting that even the pursuit of tranquility by the righteous can attract unwanted attention. He argues that when righteous people seek to live peacefully in this world, the <em>satan</em> – the accuser – steps in. The accuser questions whether the reward awaiting them in the World to Come isn't enough. Why, the accuser asks, do they also need peace and comfort in this world?
To illustrate this point, Rav Aḥa brings up the story of Jacob, our patriarch. Because Jacob sought tranquility, he was confronted with the ordeal of Joseph's disappearance. As we all know, Jacob’s favorite son, Joseph, was sold into slavery in Egypt, causing Jacob immense grief.
The passage then quotes Jacob himself from the Book of Job: "I was not tranquil, was not silent, and I did not rest, but turmoil came" (Job 3:26). The rabbis interpret each phrase as referring to different periods of suffering in Jacob's life. "I was not tranquil" – from Esau, his twin brother. "Was not silent" – from Laban, his deceitful father-in-law. "And I did not rest" – from Dina, his daughter, and the tragedy that befell her. And finally, "But turmoil came" – the ultimate turmoil of Joseph's disappearance.
So, what can we take away from this? It's a complex and perhaps challenging idea. Are we to believe that seeking peace and comfort is somehow wrong, or that it invites divine scrutiny? Perhaps the message is more nuanced. Maybe it's a reminder that life is inherently filled with challenges, and even the most righteous among us are not immune to suffering. It could also be a commentary on the importance of perspective; that true tranquility comes not from the absence of hardship, but from how we navigate it.
The rabbis are not saying we shouldn't strive for peace. But perhaps they are reminding us that true righteousness isn't just about avoiding hardship; it's about how we respond to it, and how we maintain our faith and integrity even in the face of turmoil. It's a reminder that even in our moments of apparent tranquility, we should remain vigilant and compassionate, aware of the suffering in the world and ready to act with kindness and justice. Because, ultimately, it's not about avoiding the lashes, but about how we endure them, and what we learn from the experience.