We daven and Hashem answers our prayers — not always how or when we want, but when the time is right

“And it was at the end of two years and Pharaoh was dreaming…” (Bereishis 41:1)

Throughout the roller-coaster ride of Yosef’s early life, he’s a passive receiver, not an active doer. His father loved him and gave him the kesones passim. His brothers envied him and sold him. Potiphar’s wife tried to cause him to sin, and in jail he was approached by the butler and baker. Whatever happened to him was the result of someone else’s deed — he’s a ball thrown from hand to hand. (Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, Covenant and Conversation)

We all know what a picture’s worth. The family bar mitzvah photo sent to me by my former student Leah evoked a rush of memories and gratitude that she’d reached that milestone.

Leah was a sweet, unassuming, solid girl. She wasn’t the life of the party, nor was she painfully shy. She was funny but not silly, smart but not brilliant. In short, she was a normal, nice person.

Which meant that shidduchim weren’t so nice. Leah sorta had the perfectly generic Bais Yaakov shidduch résumé. She just didn’t stand out, for bad or good — which meant that she wasn’t suggested many shidduchim. Yet Leah accepted reality, telling me, “I don’t need a specific type. I just need my bashert.” I was always impressed with her ability to home in on the crux of her situation and recognize where her avodah lay.

Then, for essentially the first time, Yosef takes his fate into his own hands and asks the butler to remember him to Pharaoh. But the end of the parshah declares: “The cupbearer did not remember Yosef, and forgot him.” The anticlimax is intense, emphasized by the double verbs, “did not remember” and “forgot.” Yosef is waiting day after day for news. None comes. His last, best hope has gone. It seems he’ll never go free.

As time went on, Leah had more opportunities to practice this trait. She went through a few shidduch “parshahs,” one of which was quite painful. Her reaction was to up her tefillah and her volunteering for kids with special needs. Shidduchim were tough, but she was able to keep a healthy, focused perspective on her own hishtadlus.

After a while, she commented to me, “What’s really weird is that even with all the boys I’ve gone out with, I’ve never been the one to say no. Do you think that’s a red flag? Maybe there’s something I’m doing wrong?”

My esteem for her rose even more. Faced with this disheartening experience, her immediate reaction was, what can I do to fix this? Yet the more we spoke, the more convinced I became that this had nothing to do with Leah. Leah wore her usual rose-colored glasses when looking at this situation. “I mean, who likes saying no?” she asked. “This way I didn’t hurt anyone!”

Still, she wasn’t satisfied with my opinion. True to form, she went to a dating coach, who concurred she was giving it all she got.

Our parshah begins with Yosef summoned to interpret Pharaoh’s dreams. Within hours, he’s transformed from zero to hero. This extraordinary chain of events teaches us the fundamental relationship between our efforts and achievements. There’s no achievement without effort. Even a Divine promise is not a substitute for human efforts. But effort alone is not enough. We need siyadta d’Shmaya, the humility to acknowledge that we’re dependent on a higher Being.

No one in Bereishis invoked Hashem’s name more often than Yosef (Rashi, 39:3). Those who achieve great things know that it involves tremendous efforts, but they know their efforts alone will not decide the outcome. We daven and Hashem answers our prayers — not always how or when we want, but when the time is right.

Many people grow jaded and cynical after so many years on the scene. Yet Leah approached each date with enthusiasm as if it was her first and each experience with a determination to learn and grow. When she finally found her bashert, she was as bubbly and as delighted as a fresh-out-of-sem girl.

“It’s such chasdei Hashem,” she confided. “I never had to say no, until we both said yes!”

I looked again at the picture of Leah, surrounded by her children, she and her husband each wearing a look of sheer pride and nachas.

Leah, for someone like you, this picture is worth more than a thousand awards.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 722)