Or maybe, as our tradition teaches, there's a pattern, a cycle, that we can learn from.
Deuteronomy, the last book of the Torah, isn't just a farewell speech from Moses. It's also a prophecy. A roadmap, if you will, of the Jewish people's journey through exile and redemption. As Devarim Rabbah, a collection of rabbinic interpretations on Deuteronomy, puts it, "The Holy One blessed be He knows what was and what is destined to be." It's right there in Isaiah (46:10): "Telling the outcome from the outset…"
Moses, in this portion, lays it all out. Sin leads to exile. Repentance leads to redemption. Simple, right? Except, living it? That's the hard part.
First, the sin. "You will perform evil in the eyes of the Lord" (Deuteronomy 4:25). Then comes the inevitable consequence: "The Lord will disperse you among the peoples" (Deuteronomy 4:27). Scattered, vulnerable, a tiny minority among the nations. A tough image, isn’t it? But it's not the end of the story.
Because even in the depths of despair, there's hope. "When you are in distress, and all these matters befall you in the end of days, you will return to the Lord your God, and you will heed His voice" (Deuteronomy 4:30). But what kind of distress are we talking about?
This is where it gets interesting. Rabbi Yoḥanan, quoting Rabbi Akiva, makes a crucial distinction. "Any distress that is experienced by an individual is distress, and any distress that is not experienced by an individual is not distress." Wait, what? Basically, if only one person is suffering, that’s real suffering. But if the entire community is hurting together, God won't let it last too long. The verse uses the singular "lekha" ("you") instead of the plural "lakhem" to make this point, emphasizing the individual experience of hardship.
Rabbi Yoḥanan offers another perspective: "Any distress in which Israel and the idolaters are partners is distress, and any distress that is of Israel themselves is not distress.” Meaning, when we suffer alongside others, that’s real pain. But when the suffering is internal, within the Jewish community itself… well, that's different.
He illustrates this with the story of Purim, remembering the Jews in Shushan. Their distress was unique to them. "Great mourning for the Jews" (Esther 4:3). And what happened? "For the Jews there was light and joy" (Esther 8:16). Salvation came swiftly.
So, what does this all mean for us today? Are we doomed to repeat the cycle? Or can we learn from the past, break the pattern, and create a different future? Perhaps the key lies in recognizing the true nature of distress. In understanding that our individual suffering is valid, that collective suffering shared with others is powerful, and that internal strife can be just as dangerous as external threats.
Maybe, just maybe, by understanding these cycles of exile and redemption, we can write a new chapter. A chapter filled with more light, more joy, and less distress. What do you think?