MEDICAL UPDATE AUGUST 10 2025

We are in a place of great uncertainty right now. The upcoming MRI and CT will, b’ezras Hashem, tell us more — and while there is a possibility they may show the treatment hasn’t had the effect we’ve hoped for, we simply don’t know yet. It’s a difficult space to be in, but it’s also a space that leaves room for what we can still do: to daven, to ask Hashem for the best possible outcome, and to add as much prayer, kindness, and merit as we can in the time we have. I will continue the update towards the end.

Your tefillos, your messages, and your acts of care have carried us more than you can imagine. Please continue to daven for a refuah sheleima for Michal Chava bas Feiga Aviva, and for strength for our family in the days ahead.

At a time when the “why” and “what next” are hidden from us, I’ve found myself immersed in Sefer Iyov. In my last post, we explored the idea of not questioning Hashem — recognising that there are realms of Divine wisdom beyond human grasp.

But Sefer Iyov is more than just a call to accept the unknown. It is, in many ways, the Torah’s most sustained meditation on human suffering. It’s an extraordinarily complex work — a tapestry of voices and perspectives, each offering a different lens on why suffering exists.

Over forty-two chapters, friends, bystanders, and Iyov himself put forward explanations — some comforting, some challenging, some unsettling.

And here’s the thing: every one of those approaches has its place in Jewish thought.

Some see suffering as a test.

Others view it as a cleansing.

Others still see it as a catalyst for growth, or as part of a bigger picture we simply can’t see.

I’m not here to advocate for one over the other — partly because Sefer Iyov itself doesn’t hand us a single, neatly packaged answer, and partly because, when it comes to real people living through real pain, answers can land very differently than we intend.

To be honest, I’m a little hesitant about writing this at all. The subject is deeply personal for many, myself included. My goal isn’t to declare a position, but to share ideas I’ve heard from Rabbi Eliyahu Kin, who has given an outstanding 22-part lecture series on Sefer Iyov that I highly recommend. You can find it here:

In the coming posts, I plan to unpack some of these perspectives — not as definitive truths, but as windows into how our tradition has wrestled with the hardest questions of human experience.

Before We Begin: Two Caveats

Before weighing the explanations for suffering, we have to remember who Iyov was, and the world in which he lived.

First, Iyov is described as a tzadik, someone so attuned to spiritual accountability that he would bring sacrifices just in case his children had harboured sinful thoughts. That’s a level of righteousness most of us can hardly fathom. This matters when his friends suggest that suffering must be the result of sin. Iyov rejects that because from his vantage point, he truly believed himself without sin. For us, that’s not a claim we can honestly make.

Second, according to opinions in Chazal that hold Iyov was a real person who lived before Matan Torah, it is unclear to what extent he knew of — or believed in — certain Torah concepts, including fundamental beliefs such as Olam Haba* (the World to Come) and Techiyat HaMeitim* (resurrection of the dead), at least in the opening chapters of the book. (*This point involves a complex discussion which we unfortunately cannot explore here.) That context explains some of the harder passages, where Iyov grapples with the point of “this” life and struggles to imagine a reality beyond it.

These two points keep us from reading our own post-Torah assumptions back into Iyov’s pre-Torah reality.

1. Suffering as a Test

One of the clearest explanations the Sefer itself gives us is that Iyov’s suffering was, in fact, a test. The text lets us peek behind the curtain — something Iyov himself is never granted.

In the opening chapters, Hashem allows the Satan to strip away everything from Iyov: first his wealth, then his physical possessions, then his children, and finally his own health.

The stated goal is to test the limits of Iyov’s faith and integrity. Will he remain loyal to Hashem when everything else is taken from him? Will he cling to righteousness when the blessings that surrounded it are gone?

But here’s the key: Iyov doesn’t know any of this.

From his vantage point, tragedy is not the conclusion to a cosmic bet, nor a carefully designed spiritual exercise. It is sudden. It is brutal. It is without warning, without explanation, without any obvious cause. He has no idea that in the heavenly court, his name has been spoken, his faith has been singled out, and his resilience is being weighed.

This gap — between what we as readers know and what Iyov knows — is not an accident of storytelling. It is the point.

Most of us live on Iyov’s side of the story. We experience our trials from the inside, with no narrator stepping in to tell us, “Don’t worry — this is just a test, it’s going to last six months, and here’s the exact spiritual growth you’ll gain from it.” We don’t get a syllabus. We don’t get the grading rubric.

From the inside, suffering often feels like chaos. From the outside — or from the heavenly perspective — it may be the most precise, purposeful process imaginable.

This approach frames suffering not as punishment, but as an opportunity:

• To reveal strength we didn’t know we had.

• To affirm our loyalty to Hashem when it’s hardest to do so.

• To demonstrate that our faith is not dependent on comfort or blessing.

It also comes with an important caution: if we are not told explicitly that a hardship is a test, we can’t claim that’s definitely what’s happening. That knowledge is reserved for the One who designs the test. Our role is simply to respond in a way that would make sense if it were a test — with patience, trust, and the determination to emerge with our integrity intact.

And in a strange way, the very not knowing may be part of the test.

2. Suffering as a Result of Sin

The second approach is the one most strongly voiced by Iyov’s three friends — Elifaz, Bildad, and Tzofar — though each frames it in a slightly different way, and with increasing intensity.

It begins with Elifaz, who speaks almost tentatively, couching his words in general principles rather than direct accusation:

הֲזָכַר־נָא מִי הוּא נָקִי אָבָד, וְאֵיפֹה יְשָׁרִים נִכְחָדוּ׃

 (Iyov 4:7)

“Remember now — who, being innocent, has ever perished? And where have the upright been destroyed?”

It’s as if he’s saying, “Iyov, look at the pattern of life — when have we seen a truly blameless person brought down?” He’s not yet pointing a finger, but the implication is clear: perhaps there is something, however small or hidden, in your past that brought this on.

Bildad moves beyond implication. His words are sharper, more personal, and, frankly, harder to hear:

אִם־בָּנֶיךָ חָטְאוּ לוֹ, וַיְשַׁלְּחֵם בְּיַד פִּשְׁעָם׃

 (Iyov 8:4)

“If your children have sinned against Him, He sent them away for their transgression.”

Here Bildad suggests that not only might Iyov’s suffering be due to sin, but the loss of his children was also the result of their own wrongdoing. He presents it almost as an equation: sin leads to consequence, so the way forward is to identify the sin, repent, and be restored.

He is followed by Tzofar who proclaims:

וְיֹדַע לְךָ אֱלוֹהַּ כִּי יַשֶּׁה לְךָ מֵעֲוֹנֶךָ׃

 (Iyov 11:6)

Know then that God exacts from you less than your iniquity deserves.”

Not only does Tzofar claim Iyov’s suffering is deserved, he asserts that it’s actually merciful — that Iyov is getting off lightly.

Chazal don’t dismiss the principle here. Torah sources are clear that sin can bring suffering. Sometimes the connection is obvious; other times it’s hidden. There is a well known concept of cheshbon hanefesh, taking spiritual stock in times of trouble, to see if there is something in our lives that needs correction.

But the Sefer itself tells us that in Iyov’s case, this wasn’t the reason. And this is where our earlier caveat matters: unlike Iyov, none of us can honestly say we are without sin. We cannot claim this explanation never applies to us.

That said, there’s a crucial difference between using this approach on ourselves and applying it to someone else. When we examine our own hardships and say, “Maybe there’s something I need to fix,” it can be an act of humility and growth. But when we say it to someone else who is suffering, it can wound more deeply than the suffering itself.

Hashem Himself rebukes Iyov’s friends at the end:

כִּי לֹא דִבַּרְתֶּם אֵלַי נְכוֹנָה כְּעַבְדִּי אִיּוֹב

׃ (Iyov 42:7)

“For you have not spoken the truth about Me, as did My servant Iyov.”

Their error wasn’t necessarily that their theology was wrong — it was that they presumed to speak with certainty about why someone else was suffering, and in doing so, misrepresented Hashem.

It’s here that the lesson begins to sharpen: even when we believe we’re speaking truth, we can still be wrong in the way we speak it.

3. Suffering as Refinement or Growth

Just when the conversation between Iyov and his three friends seems stuck in a cycle — accusation, defence, counter-accusation — a new voice steps forward.

Elihu ben Berachel, the youngest in the group, has been listening quietly until now. His patience has a purpose: he wanted to hear the elders first, but now, frustrated with both Iyov and the friends, he speaks.

Elihu’s approach is strikingly different. He doesn’t insist suffering must be punishment for sin. Nor does he take the hard, almost condemning tone of Tzofar. Instead, he frames suffering as a form of Divine communication — not to crush, but to guide; not to punish, but to correct.

He says:

הֶן כָּל־אֵלֶּה יִפְעַל אֵל, פַּעֲמַיִם שָׁלֹשׁ עִם־גָּבֶר׃ לְהָשִׁיב נַפְשׁוֹ מִנִּי־שָׁחַת, לֵאוֹר בְּאוֹר הַחַיִּים׃ 

(Iyov 33:29–30)

“Behold, God does all these things twice, even three times, with a man — to bring back his soul from the pit, to be enlightened with the light of life.”

The image here is powerful. Elihu pictures Hashem as a shepherd, steering a wandering sheep back to the path, even if it takes a painful poke from the shepherd’s staff. The suffering, in this view, is not about settling accounts — it’s about preventing a greater loss, or bringing someone to a place they couldn’t have reached otherwise.

Chazal speak of this idea in terms of yissurin shel ahavah — “afflictions of love.” These are difficulties that come not to destroy, but to elevate. The Ramban notes that such hardships can wipe away small transgressions, refine character, or prepare a person for a greater spiritual role.

It’s a concept that can be both comforting and challenging. Comforting, because it means the pain isn’t pointless — it’s part of a process with an upward trajectory. Challenging, because growth through pain rarely feels like growth in the moment.

Elihu’s voice adds something missing from the earlier speeches: hope. His message is that suffering can have a future-oriented purpose — not just to settle the past, but to shape the future.

4. Suffering as Part of a Larger Divine Plan

After all the speeches — the careful reasoning of Elifaz, the bluntness of Bildad, the severity of Tzofar, the measured correction of Elihu — something extraordinary happens.

Hashem Himself speaks.

It’s what we’ve been waiting for. For almost forty chapters, human voices have circled around the question of “why,” each giving partial answers, incomplete pictures. Now the Creator of the universe is about to respond directly to the man who has lost everything.

At this point we are bracing for The Answer — the neat explanation that would make all the suffering make sense. But that isn’t what happens.

From the whirlwind, Hashem says:

אֵיפֹה הָיִיתָ, בְּיָסְדִי־אָרֶץ; הַגֵּד, אִם־יָדַעְתָּ בִינָה׃

 (Iyov 38:4)

“Where were you when I laid the foundations of the earth? Tell Me, if you have understanding.”

הֲתֵדַע חֻקּוֹת שָׁמָיִם, אִם־תָּשִׂים מִשְׁטָרוֹ בָאָרֶץ׃

 (Iyov 38:33)

“Do you know the laws of the heavens, or can you set their dominion over the earth?”

Hashem’s “answer” isn’t an explanation — it’s a reminder of perspective. It is as if He is saying, “Iyov, there is a whole architecture to this universe, layers upon layers of design and purpose. You see one small corner of it; I see it all. You live inside the story; I wrote the story. You’re not missing the answer because I’m hiding it from you — you’re missing it because it’s too large to fit inside a human mind.”

This is perhaps the hardest approach to accept. It means we might never know the reason in this lifetime. It asks us to trust without resolution.

But there’s another layer here — one that connects directly to our lives.

If Hashem were to reveal the reason for every hardship, our free will would collapse. It would be like handing out the exam answers before the test. If we knew exactly why each difficulty came, and exactly what behaviour it was meant to shape, the spiritual struggle would be purely academic. There would be no real choice, no test of loyalty or love.

Instead, Hashem gives us the space to live without the answer — not because the answer doesn’t exist, but because living without it allows our choices to be genuine.

This is also where Iyov’s restraint becomes significant. Throughout the Sefer, he has questions. He struggles. He voices his pain. But he never crosses the line into casting reproach on Hashem or questioning His justice directly. Chazal count this as his greatest achievement.

So the takeaway from Hashem’s speech is not “Don’t ask questions.” The Torah never tells us to pretend we aren’t hurting, or to suppress our cries. Rather, it’s “Accept that you can’t fully know, and keep your faith intact anyway.”

Where This Leaves Us

When we step back from the forty-two chapters of Sefer Iyov, we see something striking. The book doesn’t give us one neat, definitive explanation for suffering. Instead, it gives us multiple lenses — each valid in Jewish thought, none mutually exclusive.

We’ve seen:

a) Suffering as a test — an opportunity to prove the depth of faith, to reveal hidden strength, to show that our loyalty to Hashem is not conditional on comfort or blessing.

b) Suffering as the result of sin — sometimes obvious, sometimes hidden, sometimes even connected to the sins of family members where we were passive or complicit.

c) Suffering from sin, tempered with mercy — the idea that even the worst pain could still be “lighter” than the full measure of justice, a slap on the wrist compared to the sentence deserved.

d) Suffering as Divine communication — corrective rather than punitive, the spiritual goad that nudges a wandering soul back onto the right path.

e) Suffering as part of a larger Divine plan — not random, but beyond our comprehension, woven into a tapestry too vast for human eyes.

None of these cancel the others out. In a single moment of suffering, more than one may be true. Or all of them may be partially true. And when it comes to another person’s suffering, the most honest thing we can say is: We don’t know which applies here.

Other Frameworks in Torah and Kabbalah

Our mesorah doesn’t end with Sefer Iyov. Later Torah teachings, and particularly Kabbalah, add layers to how we think about hardship. One of the most challenging — and potentially most illuminating — is the concept of gilgulim (reincarnations).

In this framework, some suffering may be connected not to anything in our current lifetime, but to rectifications from previous ones. A hardship that looks unexplainable from the surface — “How could this be happening to this person?” — might have a backdrop we simply cannot see.

Far from making things easier, this perspective deepens the humility we need when speaking about suffering. We’re not just missing part of the picture — we may be missing whole lifetimes of context.

You Can Be Right… and Still Be Wrong

There’s a reason Hashem rebukes Elifaz, Bildad, and Tzofar at the end of the book:

כִּי לֹא דִבַּרְתֶּם אֵלַי נְכוֹנָה כְּעַבְדִּי אִיּוֹב

׃ (Iyov 42:7)

“For you have not spoken the truth about Me, as did My servant Iyov.”

Their theology wasn’t necessarily false. Much of what they said is echoed elsewhere in Torah. But they presumed to apply it with certainty to Iyov’s situation — as if they knew the mind of Hashem.

Elihu, notably, is not rebuked. Chazal debate why: perhaps his words were closer to the truth, or perhaps he avoided overstepping into presumption. Either way, the point is clear: being right in theory does not mean you are right in practice.

The same lesson plays out in the story of Chana and Penina (Shmuel I 1). Penina may have intended to push Chana toward greater prayer. But her approach caused pain, and for that she was held accountable. Good intentions, even sound reasoning, don’t absolve the harm of poorly timed or insensitive words.

That’s why our tradition draws a distinction between two very different situations:

• The sufferer speaking about their own pain — here, searching for meaning can be empowering.

• An outsider speaking to someone else in pain — here, humility and restraint matter far more than “getting it right.”

The Hardest Balance

And so we return to Hashem’s answer from the whirlwind. It is not that there is no answer — it’s that you cannot possibly know the answer. Revealing it would undermine the entire purpose of this life, collapsing free will into inevitability. It would be like leaking the exam paper before the test.

From this comes one of the deepest truths in Sefer Iyov: we do not need to know the reason to respond the right way.

Not all suffering is the result of sin. But teshuva never goes to waste. In times of pain, our tradition urges us to examine our deeds, to refine our actions, to draw closer to Hashem — not because we’re certain that’s the reason for our hardship, but because it’s always the right response.

And maybe that’s the point. We’re not meant to be certain. We’re meant to be faithful in the uncertainty.

At the end of it all, we don’t have the answers — and that’s okay. What we do know is that there is a reason, even if it’s hidden from us.

There is a real possibility that Michal's upcoming scans will show progression. If that is what Hashem decrees, we will accept it, knowing that He is taking this test, or cleansing, or growth to the next level in ways we may not yet understand.

Hashem runs the world with purpose and precision, and nothing that happens is by chance. We accept that. We have no questions and no complaints. We trust that whatever He does is for the ultimate good, even when we can’t see it right now. Our job is to keep going with faith, to keep doing what’s right, and to hold on to the hope that one day, whether in this world or the next, it will all make sense.

This hasn’t been an easy challenge, but it has been made infinitely easier by all the people who are walking this path with us — for every person and every family member who has shown up with love, with kindness, with chessed, and with tefillot.

Thank you.