Nahum Ish Gamzu was a man whose name became his philosophy. Whatever happened to him, no matter how terrible, he would say "Gam zu l'tovah" — "This too is for the good." But the reason he lived in such extraordinary suffering was not a mystery. He knew exactly why.
Nahum was afflicted with devastating pain throughout his entire body. His eyes grew dim. His hands withered. His legs could barely carry him. He was a ruin of a man, and his students could not understand why God would allow such suffering to befall a righteous sage.
Nahum told them the story himself. Once, long ago, he was traveling on the road with three donkeys loaded with food, drink, and fine delicacies. A poor man stood at the side of the road and called out to him: "Rabbi, feed me!" Nahum replied: "Wait until I unload the donkey." It was not a refusal — just a delay. He fully intended to help. But by the time he had climbed down and unpacked the food, the poor man had collapsed and died.
Nahum threw himself upon the dead man's body and wept. "Let these eyes that saw your suffering and did not rush to help — let them go blind," he cried. "Let these hands that were slow to feed you — let them wither. Let these legs that did not run to your aid — let them fail." Every affliction he suffered for the rest of his life was, by his own testimony, the punishment he demanded for himself.
His students were horrified. "Should we be grieved to see you like this?" they asked. Nahum answered: "I would be grieved if you did not see me like this." His suffering was his atonement, and he wore it willingly.