We, too, walk between two walls — one of hishtadlus, and one of bitachon

There is a famous line, I think said by the Kotzker Rebbe (all clever sayings are attributed to him). Someone once asked him, “We believe that Hashem created every single thing for a purpose. Why did He create the apikorus?”

The Rebbe answered, “When it pertains to your fellow Jew’s parnassah, you have to be an apikorus” — meaning, you cannot get yourself off the hook by saying, “I have bitachon in Hashem. He will take care of that fine Yid.” No — it’s up to you to provide him with his needs.

This idea seems particularly relevant to the situation at hand, but first, a short thought.

At Kri’as Yam Suf, the Torah tells us, “And Moshe stretched out his hand over the sea, and Hashem drove back the sea with a strong east wind all that night... and the waters were a wall for them on their right and on their left.”.The Imrei Yehudah highlights something striking in this event: There were in fact two walls of water — one held up through a revealed miracle and the other through seemingly natural means.

The Imrei Yehudah brings from the Yalkut that when Moshe stretched out his staff over the sea, it did not split, even though the staff had Hashem’s Name engraved upon it. Only when Hashem sent a ruach kadim azah, strong easterly wind, did the sea yield. Why? Because Hashem intended for one side of the sea to appear as if it were being held up by the natural force of wind, while the other side stood through an open miracle — without disguise. This duality was intentional. The east wind was real. It blew all night. But one wall was nature cloaked in Divine will, and the other was pure Divine will. And the Jewish people walked between the two.

This imagery is more than historical. It is a metaphor for every Jew’s life journey. We, too, walk between two walls — one of hishtadlus, and one of bitachon. We are constantly challenged to put forth effort and initiative in the natural world — whether through earning a livelihood, pursuing health, or ensuring security — but at the same time, we are commanded to remember that all success comes only from Hashem. This balancing act is perhaps the most difficult test of bitachon: The more effort we invest, the more we are tempted to believe it is us.

When Israel carries out a stunning military operation that appears to wipe out enemy defenses with breathtaking precision, it is natural for us to attribute the victory to the extraordinary planning, courage, and technology of our defense establishment. And surely, we must express endless hakaras hatov to these brave men and women who literally risk their lives to protect their fellow Jews. But at the same time, we must be vigilant not to fall into the spiritual trap of believing that the salvation is theirs.

The test of hishtadlus is not just whether we make the effort, but whether we mistake the effort for the cause of our success. This is why humility — anavah — is the key to passing this test. The more a person sees his own role as nothing more than a vessel for Hashem’s will, the more he aligns himself with truth. Just as at the sea, Hashem orchestrates our lives with a blend of hidden and revealed miracles, and we must learn to recognize Him in both.

This dual approach — effort on one side, and open trust on the other — mirrors the structure of the sea itself. As the Ramban points out, the east wind could not possibly explain how two walls of water stood firm, one to the right and one to the left. Nature alone cannot account for this. But the Egyptians, blinded by desire and arrogance, ignored the impossibility and charged forward. We should not be like them.

Chazal tell us that parnassah (livelihood) and shidduchim (finding one’s match) are as difficult as the splitting of the sea. That is, they, too, occur through a mysterious partnership between our work and Hashem’s will. Sometimes Hashem chooses to act through nature — through résumés, business meetings, or dating — and sometimes He bypasses it all and sends blessing in a way that makes no earthly sense. In both cases, the blessing is entirely His.

This is the unity of the Names of Hashem — Havayah (the miraculous) and Shakkai (the natural). The Yalkut even interprets the verse, “Hashem will fight for you, and you shall be silent,” as applying not just to that generation, but to all future generations. In every era, Hashem saves us sometimes through nature, sometimes through open miracles — and sometimes through both at once.

We walk daily between the wall of miracle and the wall of effort. The danger lies not in making an effort, but in believing the wall stands because of us. The safety lies in humility — in knowing that while we build, plan, train, and try, it is Hashem who holds the sea up around us.

Our instinct when hishtadlus supports Torah is to thank the machzikei Torah. For exhibit A see the well-deserved hakaras hatov expressed to them at the Adirei HaTorah event. We fear not that we will say “kochi v’otzem yadi” — the great business acumen of the gvirim was the source of their success. Yet when Hashem sends a miraculous victory through the army our hakaras hatov is muted because we are afraid of the kochi v’otzem yadi aspect. Why the distinction? It must be because in the case of the wealthy donors, they themselves are frum and preach siyata d’Shmaya. As such, we instinctively jump to hakaras hatov. In the case of the army, the warriors do not necessarily see themselves as being vehicles for Hashem’s plans, so we instinctively jump to the “watch out — it’s kochi v’otzem yadi.” But that is silly. Their view of themselves should not color our celebration of hakaras hatov. And dare I say, if we would express our hakaras hatov to the chayalim for their bravery and courage, how must more likely it would be that they would express their hakaras hatov to Hashem.

It has long been recognized that Bibi’s greatest failing is his hubris. It is one factor in the chareidi sector’s reluctance to join the army. Are decisions made solely for survival, or are they driven to varying degrees for political reasons, for those in power to maintain power, to feed an ego? No one can say. But let’s fantasize a moment. Let’s dream that Bibi would somehow rid himself of his hubris — that he would have the humility to see himself as a vehicle of Hashem’s ratzon. Let’s dream he would become a baal teshuvah. Now that would be Mashiach’s tzeiten…bimheirah beyameinu.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1066)