He Decrees and Sustains: Lessons on Faith, Suffering, and Divine Kindness from Joseph and the Rebbe of Skulen

When Yosef HaTzadik (Joseph) was sold by his brothers to a caravan of Ishmaelites — torn by force from his home and family, he was filled with sorrow and anguish. Yet the Torah notes a “small” kindness that God showed him in that dark moment: “Behold, a caravan of Ishmaelites was coming from Gilead, and their camels were carrying spicery, balm, and ladanum.” (Bereishit 37:25)

Rashi asks: why does the Torah bother to tell us what the camels were carrying? What relevance does this detail have?
He answers: this teaches us how deeply God cares for the righteous. Normally, such caravans carried foul-smelling tar and kerosene. But for Yosef, God arranged a caravan that bore sweet fragrances — a subtle kindness amid tragedy.

This seems puzzling. Yosef is being sold into slavery, torn from his land and family, facing an uncertain and frightening future. Is this minor comfort — pleasant-smelling spices — really meaningful enough to mention in the Torah?

Yes, even in suffering, God notices the smallest details. The greater hardship may be necessary, known only to the Divine plan — but within it, God weaves small mercies, gentle comforts, and signs of love. These “little kindnesses” are often the threads of encouragement that help us endure, reminding us that Divine Providence never leaves us, not even for a moment.

Our task, then, is to open our eyes — to notice those subtle mercies even in times of pain. They are proof that God is with us, that He watches over every moment, and that not a single drop of suffering exceeds what is ultimately for our good.

“God Has Made Me Fruitful in the Land of My Affliction”

Years later, after all his struggles in Egypt, Yosef rose to greatness and was blessed with children. He named his second son Ephraim, saying: “For God has made me fruitful in the land of my affliction.”
(Bereishit 41:52)

Even while living in a foreign land, far from his father and all he loved, Yosef saw and acknowledged God’s hand: “Yes, I am in the land of my suffering — and yet, He has made me flourish.”

A bereaved Torah scholar once quoted this verse in a letter of comfort to a friend who, like him, had lost his wife: “Let us imagine what ‘the land of my affliction’ meant for Yosef — once exalted in his father’s home, now reduced to slavery in a corrupt nation, tormented by his master’s wife, and separated for years from his family. The pain of his soul must have been immeasurable. Yet even through the tears, Yosef saw the hand of God accompanying him. He expressed it in the name of his son: ‘For God has made me fruitful.’ 

Though I dwell in affliction, God’s kindness never leaves me. The name Ephraim reminded him — and reminds us, that even in anguish, God’s mercy endures. This is the perspective we must hold: even when God chastises us, we must keep our eyes open to see His kindness. Many times, when I was overwhelmed by thoughts of my own pain, these words revived my spirit — like cool water to a weary soul.”

“He Decrees — and Sustains”: The Rebbe of Skulen’s Story

Rabbi Eliezer Zusia Portugal, the Skulener Rebbe, was renowned for his boundless love of Israel and his extraordinary acts of kindness. After the Holocaust, he and his wife personally adopted nearly four hundred orphaned children, providing for all their physical and spiritual needs.

Every year, he would gather his followers and recount a powerful story from his youth:

As a young scholar in Romania, he devoted himself to inspiring others to return to faith. He persuaded Jewish youths not to enlist in the Romanian army — a path that would cut them off completely from Torah and Judaism — and encouraged them instead to enter yeshivot and study Torah, preserving their heritage.

One day, someone denounced him to the authorities, accusing him of encouraging draft evasion. The charge was true, and the regime acted harshly. They arrested Rabbi Portugal, threw him into a filthy, dark dungeon, and confiscated even his kippah and eyeglasses.

Sickly and frail, he thought his end had come. Alone, in a damp cell with only the cold ground to sit or rest upon, he had no idea how long he would be imprisoned. Officials threatened that he might remain there for life.

Wanting to pray but lacking a head covering, he pulled his jacket over his head and began reciting the prayers he knew by heart. The Rebbe was known for his long, heartfelt prayers — but in that dungeon, his prayers stretched even longer, filled with deep melody and emotion.

When he reached the blessing “Baruch She’amar” (“Blessed is He who spoke and the world came to be”), he lingered over each phrase: “Blessed is He who decrees and fulfills…”

He paused. The words “He decrees and fulfills” struck him. Usually, “decrees” refers to harsh judgments — painful fates beyond human control. But why should such a phrase appear in a prayer of praise to God for His mercy and goodness?

He pondered and pondered — until suddenly, insight illuminated his heart. The word mekayem — “fulfills” — can also mean “sustains,” or “gives strength.”

And he understood: Sometimes God must decree hardship upon a person, for reasons known only to Him. But in the very same moment, God also gives that person the strength to endure — the power to withstand, to persevere, to rise.

From that moment on, the Rebbe looked at his suffering differently. He realized that the same God who decreed his imprisonment was the One sustaining him within it. His despair melted into faith. He began to believe that it was only a matter of time before he would be freed.

Indeed, after several days — through the intervention of compassionate outsiders — he was released from the Romanian prison.

Every year on the anniversary of his liberation, the Rebbe retold this story, explaining the new and comforting meaning he had discovered in those words: “He decrees — and sustains. Even when God decrees hardship, He gives the strength to those who walk in His ways to withstand it.” (From “Around the Table of the Maggid”)