The Path Back: Finding Hope in the Shadows

The human soul is like a flame - fragile, flickering, and easily swayed by the winds of the world. And yet, even the smallest spark has the power to ignite the human heart and illuminate the darkest paths. Sometimes, the most moving stories about teshuva (repentance) and resilience are quiet moments of Divine connection and human compassion.

One such story, shared by Rav Elimelech Biderman, recounts the remarkable journey of a young man who had strayed far from a life of Torah observance. Though he came from a strong home, this young man descended into spiritual ruin and transgressed almost every mitzvah (commandment) in the Torah. His devastated parents spared no effort to help him find his way back and invested hundreds of thousands of dollars in rabbis, tutors, and therapists. Years passed, but nothing seemed to work. Then, rather suddenly, this young man returned to his parents’ home and way of life.

His father, both astonished and relieved, asked him, “What brought you back? We tried so many things – which one tipped the scales and did the trick?” The son replied, “It had nothing to do with any of the interventions that you tried. I’ll tell you what happened.”

The son recalled one particularly low day, when he was involved in especially dubious behaviors. He chanced upon a certain rabbi, who greeted him warmly with the words “Shalom Aleichem,” and radiated kindness. The young man was stunned. “Do you know who you’re talking to?” he asked, and began listing the terrible things he was involved in. The rabbi responded, “You’re still beloved. You’re still a child of Hashem. Hashem is waiting for you to come back - because you are His son.”

“What do you mean?” the young man countered and continued to list the awful sins he had committed recently. The rabbi, undeterred, remained steady in his approach: “Your Father in Heaven is yearning for you.” He gave the young man a kiss on the forehead and walked away, leaving behind a heart that had begun to soften. That brief encounter, that single moment of sincere affection, planted the seed of return. Eventually, it blossomed into full teshuvah (repentance).

This story reminds us that even in our darkest moments, Hashem is waiting, listening, and loving.

The Gaon of Tchebin manifested this message in the dark days when he was exile in Siberia. On a frigid Friday afternoon, he ventured deep into the forest to recite Kabbalat Shabbat (the prayer service recited at the onset of Shabbat) with joy and devotion. There, amid the snow and silence, he remembered a teaching from the Belzer Rebbe on the verse, “Kol Hashem yachil midbar” (The voice of Hashem shakes the wilderness). The word yachil, he explained, can also refer to miyachelim, those who yearn. Even the barren desert yearns for the voice of Hashem.

As he stood there, the Gaon of Tchebin thought about the Midrash that divides the world into three parts - ocean, settled land, and desert - and wondered: “Who praises Hashem in the desert?” Certainly, in the cities and at sea, there are voices that express gratitude. But in the wastelands? In spiritual barrenness? There too, Hashem longs for song. That thought ignited the Gaon’s heart, and in the heart of frozen Siberia, his soul blazed with the sacred melodies of Shabbat.

Years later, after he moved to Israel, he shared this lesson with his Hasidim: every Jew has “desert days,” times of emptiness, disconnection, or coldness. But even then, Hashem yearns to hear their voice. In fact, precisely then, in their moment of personal disconnection and estrangement, their song is most precious. It’s not surprising that people erupt in song when they feel elevated and connected. But when a person who is engulfed by doubt, guilt, or distance, erupts in song, this moves Heaven.

This Divine longing isn’t just poetic; it’s foundational. Rabbi Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev taught that anyone who believes Hashem no longer desires their service, even out of misplaced humility, has strayed dangerously close to heresy. In Kedushat Levi, he writes that the essence of a Jew’s Divine service is to bring nachat ruach (pleasure) to Hashem. If a person despairs and comes to believe that his actions don’t bring joy to the Creator, he is not being humble. He is effectively denying Hashem’s love and involvement in his life.

The Maggid of Mezritch similarly emphasized this truth. “Hashem rejoices in our mitzvot, our Torah, and our efforts,” he taught, quoting the verse, “A wise son gladdens his father.” We are called “children of the Omnipresent,” and, like any parent, Hashem derives joy even from our imperfect offerings. This understanding demands a careful balance. We need to avoid false humility while embracing the confidence of “vayigbah libo b’darkei Hashem” (his heart was uplifted in the ways of Hashem).

Rav Biderman offers some practical advice for those who feel discouraged by spiritual failure. When a person says, “How can I not give up? I’ve strayed so far from Hashem,” the answer, he insists, lies in recognizing the value of every small step. Even the smallest good deed brings genuine pleasure to Hashem. By celebrating each positive action, no matter how minor, we reaffirm our connection and rebuild our relationship.

Each of these teachings - whether whispered in a dark forest, spoken in a gentle greeting, or shared across generations - points to one eternal truth: Hashem loves His children, especially when they sing from the shadows.