Faith After Loss: A Torah Scholar’s Reflections on Guilt, Divine Decree, and Finding Comfort in Grief

There are mourners who ask themselves: Did we do everything possible to save our loved one? Could we have done more?
Such feelings of guilt arise especially when the person passed away after an illness, and they can weigh heavily, tormenting the mind and heart.

When one looks through the lens of Torah, it becomes clear that there is no place at all for these feelings. Our task is to strengthen our faith and believe with complete conviction that everything — both what was done and what was not done — to save the deceased, was part of the Heavenly decree.

While our loved one was alive, it was our duty to make every possible effort to help and to heal. But once they have returned their soul to the Creator, our obligation changes: we must now be certain that there was nothing more we could have done — not even to extend life by a single moment.

In truth, the very same thoughts that were once mitzvah-thoughts while the person was alive — ideas of how to save them, which treatments to try, which doctors to consult — become forbidden thoughts after their passing. For in hindsight, everything that was or wasn’t done was not in our control, but directed entirely by the Master of all deeds and Lord of all souls.

On errors or misjudgments, if there were any, the sage Maharam Chagiz wrote beautifully: “The mistake of the doctor — is the intention of the Creator.”

This includes not only the physician’s errors, but even our own decisions — which doctor to see, what treatment to pursue, what questions to ask. Therefore, we must repeat and engrave upon our hearts the pure faith: “The Lord gave, and the Lord took; blessed be the name of the Lord.”

There Is No “Who’s to Blame” — Only God’s Will

Just as one should not blame oneself, one must not blame others — not a negligent doctor, not a reckless driver, or anyone else. They were merely instruments in the hands of Heaven. The divine decree would have been fulfilled regardless of their involvement.

(Of course, this does not contradict the fact that one may, and sometimes must, seek justice for negligence or recklessness in a court of law.)

The Torah says: “And you shall make a fence for your roof... so that you will not bring blood upon your house if one who falls should fall from it.” (Devarim 22:8)

The Midrash notes: “The one who falls” — in the present tense — meaning: this person was destined to fall since the six days of Creation. Rabbeinu Bachya adds: every created being was formed with its own will and consent. God informed each of its path, events, lifespan, and moment of death — and each one agreed to it.

The Zaritsky Family’s Story

When Rabbi Zaritsky’s young daughter Batya was struck and killed by a car while running an errand for her mother, her mother later wrote: “She went out this morning — and then we heard screeching tires. How long did it last? Half an hour, maybe just minutes. When people entered our home, faces pale, they couldn’t find words. But my husband and I understood. 

We guarded our daughter as long as she was in our home. Now she left because she was called. Could she have gone otherwise? Our Sages say: ‘A person does not so much as stub his toe below unless it is decreed from Above.’ If even a stubbed toe is proclaimed, then surely her last walk to the store — on our errand, was decreed above. Otherwise, we would never have sent her, for no word leaves the mouth without the Creator’s permission.”

The Encounter with the Driver

“When we returned from the cemetery,” she continues, “a young man approached us, head bowed. Perhaps a tear glistened in his eye; perhaps not. But inside, he was surely weeping. ‘I am the driver,’ he said, and fell silent. My husband looked at him calmly, without anger, and said nothing. Again the driver spoke: ‘I am the driver of the car. I… I am not at fault. The child suddenly ran into the road; I couldn’t stop in time. I have no words for my sorrow. Please forgive me. I am willing to do anything—’

My husband looked at him with wonder. What difference is there between this death and death by illness? Our neighbor’s four-year-old died after months of agony and tears. And you, my dear driver, the same God who sent that illness sent the car that struck our daughter. No one stubs a toe unless it is decreed above.

We hold nothing against you. Be calm. But you can do a kindness for our daughter if you wish.’

The man stammered: ‘Of course, anything, whatever I can do.’

My husband said, ‘Do you know she is here right now?’
‘Y-yes,’ the man replied hesitantly, ‘if you say so, it must be true…’
‘It is true. When she left the house, she was not with us; now she is always with us — day and night, in cold and in heat. Wherever we travel, she will go with us. That is a great comfort. If you could, from now on, keep the Sabbath — don’t drive on Shabbat or holidays — that would be a great kindness for her soul. Nothing more does she ask of you. Would you agree to do this for our Batya?’

‘I always eat kosher,’ said the man. ‘But to pray… I rarely have time. Still, if she… if you… for her sake — yes, I will try to keep Shabbat. I will try. Only please forgive me, pray for my soul — I am so miserable over this…’ 

I saw my husband’s eyes light up with joy, a joy I hadn’t seen in years. He rose, embraced the bewildered driver, and said loudly:
‘In the name of my little daughter, in the name of my wife, in my name, and in the name of all my children — I thank you. You are always welcome in our home; we will receive you with all our hearts.’

The Comfort That Remains

“People came to the house,” she writes, “nodding, murmuring condolences, each in their own way. Some tiptoed in, others whispered among themselves, afraid to meet our eyes. Many entered and, before sitting down, were already weeping. Some shared words of Torah. Eyes met — eyes that perhaps would never have met otherwise. And maybe one or two thought to themselves, ‘Better to go to the house of mourning than to the house of feasting.’

That is our Batya’s merit. If those who leave here are moved to tears, and those tears wash and purify them — then she smiles. She smiles! Don’t you see her smile, spreading softly through all our rooms?”