Photo Credit: Jewish Press
“If you will say: What will we eat in the seventh year? … I will ordain My blessing for you in the sixth year … “(Vayikra 25:20-21)
The rest for the land, known as shemittah, is the seventh year of an agricultural seven-year cycle, at which time the Torah mandates that the land of Eretz Yisrael be left to lie fallow and all agricultural activity is forbidden.
Since the farmers will not be farming the land during the shemittah year, there may be a concern as to what they will eat during that year and the following year, since nothing will grow. Hashem therefore promises that the land will yield a crop that will be sufficient for the sixth, seventh, and eighth year, until the new crop grows.
The question is asked: If the miracle of the blessing will already be obvious, as our pasuk indicates, in the sixth year – when the land produces a crop that is sufficient for three years – why would the people be worrying any further?
R’ Moshe Toledano posits that although a person may experience a miracle, he often does not internalize it, ergo the concern about the future.
The Talmud in Taanis (25b) describes where one erev Shabbos R’ Chanina ben Dosa saw that his daughter was sad. When he asked her the reason, she explained that she inadvertently prepared the Shabbos lights with vinegar instead of oil. “Why should this trouble you?” remarked R’ Chanina. “He who has commanded the oil to burn will also command the vinegar to burn.” Indeed, the Shabbos lights burned all day.
The great Gaon R’ Chaim Friedlander points out that the narrative seems to indicate that R’ Chanina’s daughter had already lit the wicks immersed in the vinegar and they were, in fact, burning. Why was she sad? Indeed, that is the discussion at hand. A miracle had occurred before her eyes, yet she was concerned whether the wicks would continue to burn, or how long they would burn. R’ Chanina ben Dosa was able to calm her down, noting that if the miracle had taken place, it would certainly continue.
In this context, R’ Simcha Bunim of Peshischa speaks of the Selichos that we recite during the Yomim Nora’im (and on fast days during the year). We say there, “Hashem Who answered our father, Avraham on Har HaMoriah, may He answer us; He Who answered Yitzchak when he was bound on the altar, may He answer us … He who answered Eliyahu on Har HaCarmel, may He answer us …” We should continue, in our hearts and our minds, says R’ Simcha Bunim, “He Who has answered me until now, may He answer me also in the future.”
Similarly, R’ Moshe Midner of Slonim notes that we in Nishmas we relate with confidence and gratitude all the instances throughout history where Hashem saved us and we conclude, “Until now Your mercy has helped us, and Your kindness has not deserted us.” Then we begin to tremble with fear, apprehension, and we plead with tears in our eyes, “Do not abandon us, Hashem, forever.” We have already acknowledged that Hashem has not left us until now, where is our bitachon that He will continue to be with us?
The Alter of Novardok takes this a step further, citing the preceding pasuk (ibid. 19), “and you will eat your fill …” He asserts that this is not merely a promise and/or a blessing; it is a commandment. Rather than considering rationing the food for fear that there may not be enough in the approaching years, you should eat your fill, and have faith that you will not be lacking on the morrow.
The pasuk in Yirmiyah (17:7) says: “Blessed is the man who trusts in Hashem, then Hashem will be his trust.” Our sages question the double expression of trust. The Satmar Rav, the Divrei Yoel, observes that bitachon, strengthening one’s trust in Hashem, requires great effort and hard work. Therefore, the first part of the pasuk refers to the individual who begins to develop his bitachon. The second part of the pasuk tells us that then Hashem will help him to completely master bitachon.
Before R’ Zusha of Anipoli became renowned, he would travel from place to place as a self-imposed exile.
One day as he sat in the corner of a bais medrash in the town where he had arrived the night before, a distraught woman entered the bais medrash. She wanted to know whether anyone had seen her husband who had left her. Afraid of becoming an agunah, she traveled from town to town, trying to locate him.
As she described her husband to the people present, hoping that someone had seen him, R’ Zusha overheard her conversation. He told her that there was a house of hachnosas orchim in the town where wayfarers could get food. “You will find your husband there,” he assured her.
The woman immediately went to that building, and she indeed, miraculously, found him there.
Since R’ Zusha himself had never actually gone to the hachnosas orchim house – as he spent his days and nights in the bais medrash – all the people in town began to talk about the “miracle” that he had performed. He was lauded and celebrated for his abilities to perform such a miracle.
“It was no miracle at all,” said R’ Zusha. “When I went to the mikvah this morning, I overheard two people talking between themselves, and one remarked that a new person had come to the hachnosas orchim house. I wondered at that moment why it was necessary for me to hear this piece of news as it had absolutely no value to me.
“When the woman entered the bais medrash I momentarily flashed back to that conversation, and I immediately realized that I had overheard that conversation in order to help this woman locate her husband. It was indeed a wonder that I had overheard the information about a new visitor in town when I was in the mikvah so that I was able to help this woman.”