Chizkiyahu, one of the last kings in ancient Judea, was quoted as saying, אֲפִילּוּ חֶרֶב חַדָּה מוּנַּחַת עַל צַוָּארוֹ שֶׁל אָדָם, אַל יִמְנַע עַצְמוֹ מִן הָרַחֲמִים

“Even with a sharp sword on one’s neck, one should never despair of G-d’s compassion.”

It’s an appropriate sentiment to reflect upon as we await news about the fate of the remaining hostages, and most specifically, the Bibas children. Not that they are more important than anyone else who has been held in captivity, but those two redheaded boys captured the hearts of so many of us. How could you not fall apart when watching the footage of their desperate mother as she tried to shield her children from the barbarians who were kidnapping them?

Though it is not confirmed, and therefore we will not give up hope, but with the release of every hostage that does not include them, it would seem to indicate that these two precious and innocent children are not alive.

As people of faith, as people who believe in a Judge and in justice, it is nearly impossible for us to wrap our heads around this. It’s a question we could ask in so many circumstances, but it’s especially acute when we see children suffer: What did they do wrong? Why did these innocent souls deserve to suffer? Where is G-d?

The Gemara in Sanhedrin describes Moshe grappling with this same question. The horrifically cruel Egyptian taskmasters had a practice. If the Hebrews were unable to supply the correct amount of bricks, the Egyptians would grab an infant and stuff that infant into the walls of the edifices being built. Moshe, upon seeing this, turned an accusatory finger to heaven and cried out, “G-d, how could you?! What did this infant possibly do to deserve such a gruesome death?”

G-d, in this Medrashic telling, picks up His hands and says, “Moshe, if you know better than me, go ahead, do what you think is best.” Moshe rescues one lifeless boy from this wall. This boy, Micha, grows up to be the man behind the golden calf, and an idolatrous cult in the land of Israel.

This Medrash represents the classic answer as to why bad things happen to good people. It does not mean that every child who dies young would have been evil. What it means is that He is G-d, and we are mortal man. Have a little humility; recognize that our little minds – even minds as great as Moshe – cannot begin to understand the complexity of human history; how something that seems so bad is good and vice versa.

And while this answer is undoubtedly the most accurate – who are we to think we could understand G-d’s ways? – it does not always resonate. There are times when we are overcome by the sheer magnitude of evil or by the weight of our pain that simply humbling ourselves is not enough.

In modern history no event reawakened this question more than the Holocaust. The senselessness. The scale. And the sinister nature of unbridled evil on display compelled every believing person to ask, why?

On Monday, the world will observe Holocaust Memorial Day. Perhaps it’s time to move on from the empty slogan of Never Again. Every time I hear those words come out of the mouth of a world leader it sounds more and more like a 4-year-old claiming to never again misbehave. The world has stood by as thousands of innocents were butchered, the world has remained silent as hundreds of women were violated, and the world has been indifferent to the plight of hundreds of hostages. It has happened again.

Perhaps we can gain some solace not from platitudes uttered by politicians, but by the profound philosophy that was developed in the wake of the Holocaust. Today, with the memory of the Holocaust on our minds and the fate of the Bibas children and so many others unknown, I’d like to share with you how two of our Torah leaders addressed the question of ‘why’ in the wake of the tragedies that they experienced.

The first is from Rav Yaakov Moshe Charlap, a student of Rav Kook, who lived in Israel during the Holocaust. Like his teacher, he was a mystic and a dreamer. Just to give you a sense of who he was – As he lay on his deathbed in Jerusalem, there were jackhammers making a lot of noise right outside his window. His family was going to request that they stop, but Rabbi Charlap insisted that the construction workers continue. “My whole life,” he said, “I prayed for the rebuilding of Jerusalem. And now I finally get to hear it happening.”

In Israel, until the Eichman trial, survivors of the Holocaust were looked down upon. They were accused of being weak like sheep. Why couldn’t they stand up to the Nazis? As ludicrous as that sounds today, that was the sentiment of the Israeli street.

With this in mind, Rav Charlap shared the following idea with a group of survivors: You are all aware of the binding of Isaac. That was the turning point of our history, when Avraham demonstrated that there was nothing that stood in the way of his love for Hashem. It was at that moment that G-d promised Avraham that his descendants would become a nation. But Yitzchak was never slaughtered. Despite the devotion, despite the sincerity, despite the intentions of Avraham, G-d forced him to stop. In Yitzchak’s place Avraham offered a lamb.

The Binding of Isaac, Akeidas Yitzchak, suggested Rav Charlap, is an ongoing historical process. It started with the kavannah of Avraham, but it culminates in the death of any Jew who is killed because of their connection to our faith. Yitzchak had to survive for the Jewish People to come into being, but every Jew who died by the hands of the Nazis is part and parcel of the most significant moment in our history. Their death is part of the greatest expression of G-dly love.

Rav Charlap, you may have noticed, was cleverly flipping the sheep narrative on its head – those who died in the Holocaust were not sheep to the slaughter, they were the sheep of the Akeidah. They were not victims, they were heroes. They may have been physically weak, but their spiritual impact was powerful.

He continued: As Jews we believe in a Messianic Era, a time of brilliant spirituality and G-dly light. But the world is not ready for such a powerful expression of G-dliness in the world. And so, as the Talmud tells us, there is something known as Mashiach ben Yosef, a messianic figure who will tragically die. The pain and shock we experience over his death shields us from the brilliant light of Mashiah ben Dovid and creates an entranceway for the Messianic Era. This tragic Messianic figure is not a person, it’s a collective experience of overwhelming pain. Without it we will never get to our final destination. The 6 million Jews who died in the Holocaust did not die for no reason, they died to pave the way for the most brilliant light of Mashiach.

Yes, these ideas are esoteric, but the message is clear. When we look at one child or six million children in a vacuum we cannot begin to understand. But when we see them and we see ourselves in the context of a people and in the context of human history, we can understand that it is all part of a bigger and better picture, that the pain is paving the way for our collective joy.

While Rav Charlap was following the news of the Holocaust in Israel, there was a man by the name of Rav Kloynamous Kalman Shapira who was living it. Rav Shapiro, also known as the Aish Kodesh, was a Polish Chassidic rabbi who spent much of the war in the Warsaw Ghetto. Immediately before the war his wife died, in the opening days of the German attack on Poland, he lost his only son and daughter-in-law, and his mother. He was given many opportunities to flee but he did not want to leave his followers behind.

Every Shabbos, despite it being punishable by death to do so, he had a Shabbos morning minyan. Almost every Shabbos he would deliver a sermon to those who joined him. After Shabbos he would write the sermons down, and thanks to the hand of Divine Providence we have access to his incredibly moving and inspiring sermons.

It is both fascinating and heartbreaking reading these sermons. You could see, as time goes on, how his message changes. At the outbreak of the war, he shares classical messages of inspiration; if bad things are happening to us it is G-d’s way of telling us we need to change. As time goes on and he experiences more and more anguish, as the realities of what is happening become clear to him, he moves away from this classical approach of G-d punishing us for our misdeeds. But with few exceptions he does not deal with theology; he does not attempt to explain why. Instead, he focuses on the what. What can we do in this circumstance? Initially, he tells his followers that they should study more and pray more. With time, that becomes impossible and so he tells them we should be kinder to those around us, to help one another. As there is less and less to give, he instead begs them to think kindly of one another. And finally, he implores them to not give up hope.

This approach is beautifully summed up by Rabbi Dr. Norman Lamm who suggests that instead of reading the famous words, Keili, Keili, lamah azavtani, Lord, O Lord, why did you forsake me, they should be read as lemah azavtani, to what end did You forsake me; not why but what can I do.

Why did G-d allow the most sophisticated army to let their guard down on October 7th? Why did G-d allow so many innocents to be butchered? Why did G-d allow so many innocents to not come out of those tunnels of hell? Why does G-d allow so much overwhelming pain exist in this small fragile world?

Ultimately, we do not know, and that is not always satisfactory.

But perhaps those who lived through the Holocaust, perhaps Rav Kloynamous Kalman Shapira and Rav Charlap can provide us with some direction. To humble ourselves and recognize that even Moshe could not understand G-d’s ways. To be motivated by the fact that our suffering is part of a cosmic plan, and somehow the tears we plant will bring forth great joy. And to not ever be debilitated by the pain. These martyrs and survivors, through their words and actions, can teach us that you can be in the depths of hell and still find meaning, and still find purpose, that there is always a what that can be done, even when we don’t know why.

May we merit to see the day when all the hostages are returned, when all the soldiers go home, and the brilliant light of Mashiach will sprout forth from the field of our tears.