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It was not long ago that I was standing with one of our young people after a tragic event occurred to a loved one. I did not have to engage in conversation to learn that he was hurting; I could see it in his eyes the minute I walked into the room. Our embrace simultaneously felt too long and not long enough. It was as if we both wanted to cling to each other until the pain was gone.

It was not long into the visit that he asked the question I have heard so often: why did this happen? The question has different answers depending upon the person to whom it is directed. A doctor or nurse will be able to answer from an anatomical perspective, and a police officer or investigator will be able to offer theories based on motive and circumstance. When asked to a rabbi, the question necessitates a response from the theological or communal perspective.

Why did this happen? Why do bad things happen? Why do bad things happen to good people? Why do our loved ones struggle; why do they suffer? Why do our parents, who give us so much, fall to illnesses that rob them of what makes them unique? Why do our children ache in ways that we cannot cure with an outpouring of love and support? Why are we left to walk the path of mourners when those we care about are gone too soon?

Our Torah portion this week, Chukat, begins with Moses leading the people through the wilderness together with his brother and sister, arguably the two family members with whom he was the closest (his spouse and children are not mentioned since before the giving of the 10 Commandments in Exodus). The Torah records that after the deaths of both Miriam and Aaron, the entire community mourned for 30 days. Though we have no record in Torah of Moses’ feelings, it would not be difficult to surmise that Moses, too, may have asked some form of that key question: why did this happen? A modern Midrash imagines Moses too sorrowful to continue on, at which point several of the Israelites lift him up and carry him the rest of the way through the wilderness.

The truth is that bad things happen; sad things happen. We inhabit a world where none are immune from the pain and harshness that accompanies living. When those we love are hurt or are taken from us, it is not because they didn’t do enough good; it is not because we didn’t do enough good. Difficulties and tragedies are not dispensed by God.

When bad things happen, hopefully, we have people, as did Moses, who can console us or carry us when we are too pained to walk on our own. Sometimes, we turn to family members or friends; sometimes, we turn to our clergy or our community. While none can remove our sadness, there is something powerful about receiving compassion from others.

Why did this happen? When I am asked the question, I try to respond the only way I know how. I say, “I don’t know, but I do know that God didn’t make this happen. If anything, God is making sure that you are not going through this alone.”

However we experience them, may our days of sadness be few. Rather than experiencing the disquiet that comes from searching for answers to questions without answer, may we find succor in the kind eyes and the warm embrace of those who lift us up when we need them the most.

Shabbat Shalom