Tracht Gut Vet Zein Gut

 

The Rebbe consistently emphasized the importance, and preference of “preventive medicine.” He critiqued approaches that focus exclusively on treating illness—“curative medicine”—rather than pouring equal resources into fortifying stable health, preventing maladies and suffering to begin with. Thus, a book on the Rebbe’s guidance for emotional wellness must begin not with problems, but with the mindsets and habits that keep us strong in the first place. These are the core concepts we’ve explored until this point.

 

However, our discussion would be profoundly incomplete without also addressing some of the common ailments we experience. In the following chapters, we will explore a few specifics (discontent, worry, bad moods, self-criticism), as well as general coping methods useful for all emotional struggles.

 

But before we begin, it is important to introduce a foundational principle that informs many of the ideas to come.

 

In a letter from 1959, responding to the dilemmas of a young woman, the Rebbe wrote the following:

 

Regarding your question about the role of your intellect and emotions:

 

You are correct in thinking that you should not suppress your emotions. Rather, as with all areas of a person, your emotions should be activated so you can reach your fullest potential.

 

However, the activity of your emotions should be under the guidance of your intellect. Put differently, in the words of our Sages, “The mind should rule the heart.”This teaching indicates two points: The mind should rule.  The heart must indeed be active—but under the rulership of the mind.

 

Our emotions can seem beyond our control. They react instinctively—emotionally—to stimuli around us and inside us. They make us upset, worried, or depressed, without quite waiting for our approval.

 

However, the Chassidic masters taught that “the mind rules the heart.” We can redirect our heart—by redirecting our mind. This doesn’t mean becoming extremely cerebral or forcefully suppressing our passions. That would be a gross neglect of the powerful and beautiful range of emotions we were purposefully imbued with. What it does mean is that we can utilize our mind’s innate influence to steer our heart towards healthier, better, and deeper feelings.

 

This foundational Chassidic approach sets the tone for the next chapters. As we will see, the way the Rebbe counseled people to prevail over negative emotions often involved applying a different mindful perspective to them.

 

With this established, let’s continue.

 

One of the primal characteristics we share as human beings is the quest for that special something we call happiness. Or contentment. Or serenity. And yet, for many of us, it can feel perpetually elusive.

 

We tell ourselves, when my situation falls into place (when I get promoted at work… when I have a family of my own… when my kids grow up…), that’s when I’ll finally experience happiness. But now? No. The present is just too broken for happiness to be possible.

 

Jewish wisdom, however, offers a different perspective.

 

Choose from the Mix

 

When people turned to the Rebbe feeling down about the difficulties of their lives, he would often remind them of the Kabbalistic teaching that everything in this world is composed of both good and bad.Our personal lives are no exception. That perfect life—an image of which might occupy our imagination and amplify all that we’re missing—doesn’t actually exist. As one letter puts it:

 

Human life on this earth is unfortunately not free from various factors that bring about unhappiness, and this is universal, though the causes vary. In some cases, it is children; in others, health; in still others, livelihood; and so on. To go through life in complete happiness is not destined for man.

 

Considering this reality, the true frontier to achieve lasting happiness is in the internal realms of our minds, not the circumstances of our lives. No matter how great our state of affairs, there will always be something to feel down about. The primary path to happiness is therefore to proactively train our minds to focus on the good.

 

“Despite the tone and content of your letter,” reads a 1960 letter to a woman who wrote of her bleak feelings about life,

 

I have not, G‑d forbid, lost hope that eventually you will see the good in life—including the good in your own life, and, moreover, that you will feel it in your heart as well. This is especially so considering the Chassidic teaching that in our world everything is composed of both good and bad, and human beings must choose which aspects they will emphasize, contemplate, and pursue. In everyone’s life there are two paths—to see the good or to see the opposite….

 

Needless to say, my intention is not to imply that anyone deserves suffering, G‑d forbid. My point is simply to underscore the reality: the type of lives we live, whether full of satisfaction and meaning or the opposite, depends in large measure on our will, which dictates whether we focus on the positive or the negative.

 

Good Deserves More Attention

 

Focusing on the positive is obviously sensible from a pragmatic perspective—the end result is a happier you. But Kabbalah explains that an objective assessment calls for it, too.

 

Yes, everything in the universe—including our personal lives—contains both good and bad. But these two forces are not equal. Good, Kabbalah teaches, is inherently real and thus unlimited and eternal. Bad, on the other hand, is distant from the essence of existence and is ultimately transient. Hence, in the objective scale of reality, what’s truly good in our lives outweighs the bad by infinite proportions.

 

The 1960 letter continues:

If this imperative to focus on the good within life’s mixture of good and bad speaks to every individual, how much more so for a member of the Jewish people, who believe firmly in the eternity of the soul, which means the eternity of the spiritual, which means the complete triumph of good. For it is impossible that something fleeting and transient will not be overtaken entirely by the truly existing and everlasting; why, there isn’t even a comparison between them.

 

Even when the negative components of our lives are searingly painful (say, a major career disappointment or the passing of a loved one), nevertheless, life’s real treasures (say, our positive accomplishments or our meaningful relationships—including with the souls of our departed loved ones) are resilient and everlasting. The bad, distressing as it might be, will ultimately be outlived by the good.

 

The following letter, written in connection with Rosh Hashanah (the Jewish New Year), uses this principle to address the dejection that might set in when we measure the good we’ve accomplished against our failures and wasted opportunities. After noting that our minds tend to exaggerate our shortcomings and misdeeds (see chapter 9 for more on this), the Rebbe continued:

 

It is possible, however, that even without exaggeration the “balance sheet” may reveal that the liabilities’ side is quite substantial, perhaps even outweighing the assets’ side.

 

But even in such a case, there should be no room for despondency. For alongside the feelings of sincere teshuvah [repentance] and a firm resolution to change for the better—which must be the necessary outcome of such self-searching—there is an encouraging feature in the general conduct of man, which should be borne in mind at this time.

 

It is that every positive and good action—positive and good in accordance with the definitions of our Torah, the Law of Life—is indestructible and eternal, being connected with and stemming from the divine spark that is in man, the neshamah [soul], which is eternal; while any negative and destructive action, being connected with and stemming from the nefesh habahamit [animalistic soul] and yetzer hara [evil inclination] in man, which are essentially limited and transient, is likewise of a temporary and transient nature, and can and must be corrected and completely wiped out through sincere and adequate repentance.

 

Bearing this in mind, everyone, regardless of what their personal “balance sheet” reveals, will find encouragement and renewed hope in the future, knowing that their good deeds in the past year are eternal, as are the light and benefit which these deeds brought into their own life, as well as [the lives of] their family and of our entire people.

 

Appreciating this principle allows us to see our past and present in a new light. This letter to a grandfather puts it succinctly:

 

Even by your own assessment, the positive aspects of your life are of incomparably greater importance than the matters that are temporarily not as they should be. And when a businessperson makes an evaluation, they do not appraise every item separately; rather, they evaluate the general balance of the inventory.

 

Begin With Nothing

 

Humility is a prerequisite for joy, the early Chasidic masters would emphasize.

 

When we evaluate our lives, our most fundamental abilities—that we can hear or walk, for instance—are often overlooked. It is easy to perceive such immense blessings as inalienable rights we somehow deserve. A humbler, less entitled perspective allows us to begin counting our gifts from zero.

 

In Jewish tradition, every day starts with proclaiming eighteen blessings expressing gratitude for our most essential assets. One blessing celebrates that we were able to open our eyes, another that we have clothes, another that our body moves, and so on.

 

“If you pay attention,” reads a note to a young woman,

 

to the simple meaning of the eighteen morning blessings with which you bless HaShem at the beginning of every day, you will see that you have been blessed with all of them. In addition, you have been blessed with good health, good parents, good education, a good community, a good profession, livelihood, and more. If so, what is the justification for complaining?!

 

Think of one difficult situation you are currently dealing with, and try to identify two genuinely good elements within that same situation.

 

Does this make it easier for you to manage, without waiting for circumstances to be perfect ?

When studying the Rebbe’s correspondences, one repeatedly finds the Rebbe reminding people of the Torah’s dictum, “Serve HaShem with joy.”

 

Just knowing that to be happy is a divine imperative can have profound impact. Sometimes, it appears from the letters, it is specifically the higher calling of joy that can motivate a person to rise above their depressing thoughts and nevertheless choose happiness.

 

“First and foremost,” concludes a letter to a young man deeply bothered by his spiritual state, you should live in a way of serving HaShem with joy. When you ask yourself, “How can I be happy knowing my spiritual state?” remember the teaching of the holy Tanya that states, “One should not temper the joy of the soul with the dejection of the body,” and everything has its proper time. And when you persist, with a strong will, in the service of joy—you will find success.

 

It can be easy to get caught in thinking that being down or bitter carries some kind of virtue. We might tell ourselves that being pessimistic is a sign of superior character. The Torah teaches a different outlook.

 

“Please express my surprise to [name omitted],” reads one letter, that It seems he has not yet abandoned his method of serving HaShem specifically with melancholy. Why this method is out of the question needs no explanation, as the verse clearly teaches, “You shall serve HaShem with joy.” This should be especially clear to one who belongs to the Chassidic community, as the Baal Shem Tov [founder of the Chassidic movement, 1698–1760] taught us about serving G‑d specifically with joy.

 

Avraham Shlonsky was a writer, poet, and linguist, considered one of the fathers of modern Hebrew. Having grown up in interwar Europe, his first writings reflect the optimism of the early twentieth century, and his early poems are filled with evocative descriptions of new beginnings and revolutionary ideas. However, as he aged, his poetry assumed a darker tone.

 

During a yearlong stay in Paris, Shlonsky came to recognize the silent isolation spreading beneath the cacophony of modernity, and he was exposed to the horrors of the Holocaust on a later visit to postwar Europe. These experiences resulted in painful expressions of alienation, grief, and terror in his poetry. For example, one verse about Paris:

You will cry out

And the screaming metropolis

Will silence your howl

With its encaging tumult.

Only a stranger’s ear will notice

The cry from the prison.

 

One more: 

Then at night I will make pilgrimage to you

O’ tower of Eiffel/darkness

To pray by radio

To the master of the universe.

 

Much of his later work expresses questioning and doubt, and his final collections are imbued with a dismal, tragic note.

 

In honor of his seventieth birthday, all his writings and translations were collected in a celebratory ten-volume set. As it happens, the last volume included his translations of Shakespeare’s plays, the last of which ended with a character saying these words:

 

The weight of this sad time we must obey,

Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say.

The oldest hath borne most; we that are young

Shall never see so much nor live so long.

 

The play then instructs the actors and musicians to reflect the gloomy mood and “exit with a dead march.” Shlonsky’s translation of this instruction into Hebrew—yotzim l’kol neginas eivel—became the concluding line of his entire collected works.

 

Enjoying a long-standing relationship with the Rebbe—he had Chassidic roots and was profoundly influenced in his childhood by the Rebbe’s father, who was his first cousin—he sent his books to the Rebbe as a gift. “With great delight,” Shlonsky finished his letter to the Rebbe, “I am sending to you these ten volumes—the fruits of my spiritual labor in the field of song (original and translation).”

 

After congratulated him on this milestone and commenting on other parts of his works, the Rebbe concluded his response with the following:

 

After requesting your apologies, it is regrettable that the [collection] concludes with [the words] yotzim l’kol neginas eivel “they exit with a dead march”. Although it is only a translation of another’s works, nevertheless, it is unfortunate. For it is the role of every individual, and particularly a Jew, and especially one who has been fortunate enough to grow up in a Chassidic environment and to have a profound appreciation for it, to fulfill the directive of “you shall serve  HaShem with joy” in all the particulars of his life.

 

While we cannot know for certain, it would appear that this comment is more than a simple editorial remark. It seems the Rebbe was trying to impress upon Shlonsky that his life’s work should end on a different note, that he shouldn’t “exit with a dead march,” that he should find within himself poetic inspiration in the spirit of joy. He should be able to see joy as a value, a Jewish and Chassidic one no less, that contains depth and beauty to write about and sing about. And, contrary to literary convention, he should see it as a powerful way to end a career.

 

A response to another poet, Zelda Mishkovsky, contains similar themes of encouragement. Mishkovsky was a humble person who, despite experiencing significant tragedy in her life, never resigned herself to despair. Alongside many poems expressing torment, her writing is filled with an unceasing love for life, other people, and HaShem. For example, while the Second World War was wreaking havoc on everyone’s lives and moods, she wrote:

I see joy—particularly today, in this terrifying darkness—as the most precious thing, as the most moral thing. I very much desire to kindle in the hearts of my students, frightened by the fear of war, a joy that will guard them from despair…. If only I had enough love and patience and warmth! If only I could teach them the joy in the sight of a living person… who is molded with such strength and tenderness… then the joy of life would elevate them to the starry heavens, even in the depths of a dark cellar.

 

However, considering Mishkovsky’s life experiences, this wasn’t always easy. Her struggle to maintain her spirit often spilled over in her writing. For example, in a poem published in the years following her husband’s death in 1970, she wrote:

And I awoke and the house was lit

–But no one was with me in the house

And such sadness

And pain.

Isn’t the sun’s joy

A daily occurrence?

Aren’t there mountains?

Isn’t there fire?

Oh!

The beauty is like a knife

To the heart.

 

Responding to a letter of hers in 1977, the Rebbe began by noting the special timing of his writing. It was the Eve of the Shabbat of Song, commemorating the song the Jewish people sang at the Red Sea when HaShem saved them from the Egyptians. Additionally, it was just after the 15th of Shevas, the Jewish New Year for Trees, and this date carries extra significance as “man is like a tree of the field.” Moreover, being just after the fifteenth of the lunar month, the moon had reached its full glory and completion. The Rebbe then went on to wish Mishkovsky that she find the strength to continue her literary celebration of life:

With blessings to publish (in the near future) additional books of poems/songs [the Hebrew word for both poems and songs is shirim], and may they be songs in spirit too [reflecting an uplifted, not dejected mood], and with blessings for joy of life, which stems from the Source of life and goodness—HaShem.

 

A poem in her next book reads as follows:

 

Let’s conclude with a letter to a young woman encouraging her to take charge of her mind and proactively pursue joy:

 

Even a brief reflection will reveal that this change [from gloom to contentment] is less dependent on the world outside of a person than it is on the person themselves. Everyone can find examples of individuals around them who exemplify this for the good and for the better.

 

This means that even those who until now have seen things through a dim lens have the ability—and therefore the responsibility and privilege—to put their mind in control, as the known dictum states, “The mind rules the heart,” and as the Alter Rebbe [Rabbi Shneur Zalman of Liadi, 1745-1812] adds that “this is part of our nature, embedded from birth".....

 

This will change your own small world into one filled with joy and light, and, by extension, your surroundings and wherever you reach will be similarly transformed. And, in the words of the known dictum, the full ability is there—it is only dependent on the will.

 

Happiness (or a lack thereof) is not an inevitable consequence of your life’s circumstances; it is a decision.

 

This world will always be composed of good and bad—positive developments and stressful setbacks. Life will never give you only reasons for happiness, so it is your focus that matters most.

 

Take a step back and look at the broader picture of your life—all those tremendous treasures and blessings hiding in plain sight. They are far more important and enduring than what’s temporarily lacking. They deserve so much more of your attention.

 

Reflect on the higher calling to “serve G‑d with joy.” Don’t wallow. Pull your mind and heart towards this achievable goal. When you resolve to take up this call, no matter your circumstances, you’ll soon find that happiness is nearer than you thought.

 

However, even as we find contentment in our present life, it can be undermined by anxiety over the future of sunset ..

 

Even thorns glow bright.

Suddenly crowns dissolve

And thorns become thorns again

And mountains return to their nakedness

The attribute of judgment exposes itself

And the skeleton of existence emerges.

But we do not die from fear

For the kindness of night is coming

And the soul soars to a new appreciation

Of the Creator.

 

A model of the human capacity to take up the call of joy, no matter the circumstances, was the great medieval Jewish sage Rabbi Moshe ben Maimon (commonly known as the Rambam, or Maimonides, 1135–1204).

 

At the young age of thirteen, Maimonides was forced to flee his home in Spain and wander destitute from city to city for refusing to convert to Islam. After finally settling in Egypt, in a two-year period, his father, wife, and two of his sons died in a plague. Just a few years later, his younger brother David, with whom he was especially close and who was his financial benefactor, drowned in the Indian ocean on a business trip. Of this tragedy, Maimonides wrote, “On the day I received that terrible news I fell ill…. How should I console myself? He grew up on my knees, he was my brother, he was my student.”

 

And yet, despite it all, the works of Maimonides portray a persistently optimistic approach towards life and the world.

 

A letter to a man who had evidently experienced hardship combines this lesson from Maimonides’ personal life with a teaching from the Talmudic sage, Rabbi Elazer HaKapor (2nd–3rd century CE), that, “Against your will you are born, against your will you live, and against your will you die.”

 

The letter begins by explaining how the statement “against your will you live” implies the inevitability of suffering:

 

In general, among the list of things that are against our will, our Sages have also included the statement “against your will you live”—indicating that life is not a series of delights, nor peaceful experiences, nor even minor difficulties.

 

However, we see clearly that to a large extent, the effect of our life experiences depends on how we react to them. Who is a better example of this than Maimonides, whose life externally was filled with misfortune, turbulence, suffering, and tragedy—may the Merciful One spare us—to a greater degree than the average person’s. Nevertheless, internally he maintained a very positive—in today’s vernacular, optimistic—view of life, as articulated in his work, The Guide for the Perplexed. On the other hand, we see many people who, although apparently successful in their external life, nevertheless rarely feel any inner contentment….

 

It is hard to say this to someone else knowing what they have gone through. My intent is only to guide you to some ideas in our Torah that can alleviate the weight of your load and calm your spirit, at least in a small measure, until…HaShem will shine His countenance upon you in all that you need.

 

Let’s conclude with a letter to a young woman encouraging her to take charge of her mind and proactively pursue joy:

 

Even a brief reflection will reveal that this change [from gloom to contentment] is less dependent on the world outside of a person than it is on the person themselves. Everyone can find examples of individuals around them who exemplify this for the good and for the better.

 

This means that even those who until now have seen things through a dim lens have the ability—and therefore the responsibility and privilege—to put their mind in control, as the known dictum states, “The mind rules the heart,” and as the Alter Rebbe [Rabbi Shneur Zalman of Liadi, 1745-1812] adds that “this is part of our nature, embedded from birth”….

 

This will change your own small world into one filled with joy and light, and, by extension, your surroundings and wherever you reach will be similarly transformed. And, in the words of the known dictum, the full ability is there—it is only dependent on the will.

 

Happiness (or a lack thereof) is not an inevitable consequence of your life’s circumstances; it is a decision.

 

This world will always be composed of good and bad—positive developments and stressful setbacks. Life will never give you only reasons for happiness, so it is your focus that matters most.

 

Take a step back and look at the broader picture of your life—all those tremendous treasures and blessings hiding in plain sight. They are far more important and enduring than what’s temporarily lacking. They deserve so much more of your attention.

 

Reflect on the higher calling to “serve HaShem with joy.” Don’t wallow. Pull your mind and heart towards this achievable goal. When you resolve to take up this call, no matter your circumstances, you’ll soon find that happiness is nearer than you thought.

 

However, even as we find contentment in our present life, it can be undermined by anxiety over the future.

Do not allow worry into your heart, for worry has killed mighty men.”

—Talmud Sanhedrin 100b

 

“Why worry what will be tomorrow as long as the bartender is willing to serve us on credit?”

—Nineteenth-century Chassidic song

 

We all worry. We fret over the past “I messed up that interview”, we’re concerned about the future “Those bills are coming!”, and we’re anxious about our long-term prospects “Will my skills be relevant in the years to come?”.

 

Naturally, Jewish wisdom offers multiple methods to address this universal emotion.

 

One approach is to meditate on the transient and unknowable nature of everything. What is the point of worrying about a future you have no idea whether you’ll participate in? It is wiser to just live in the present. In this spirit, the Talmudic sage Rabbi Yosef (3rd–4th century CE) would recommend: “Grieve not about tomorrow’s trouble, because you know not what a day may bring; perhaps tomorrow you will no longer be, and you will have worried about a world that is not yours.”

 

However, we will focus here on a more basic idea. It is one of the foundational tenets of Jewish ethics and a central theme in the Rebbe’s counseling: bitachon.

 

Bitachon means trust in HaShem. Trust is different from a feeling of love or awe towards HaShem; it is absolute reliance with peace of mind. This is how the medieval Jewish sage Rabbi Bachya Ibn Pakuda (1050–1120) defines it:

The essence of bitachon is the emotional calm of the one who trusts. Their heart relies on the one they trust to do what is good and proper for them.

 

Trust is synonymous with calm. Have you ever sat in a cab or in a friend’s car and thought, “I just don’t trust this driver”? The road might be clear, but your heart can’t stop its uneasy thumping. You keep anxiously checking out the window. You know it won’t help you. It doesn’t matter. You’re worried.

 

Compare that experience with the times you were convinced of your driver’s responsibility and good judgment. When you trust the driver, you can sit at ease and let your mind wander. You may not know what the next turn will bring, but you’re calm. You feel you’re in good hands. That feeling is bitachon.

 

The internal thought process of bitachon can be broken down into three steps:

 

1. There is a higher power—HaShem —who runs the world, including the events in my life.

 

2. He is the essence of goodness, and “the nature of goodness is to do good.” He loves me and cares for me.

 

3. Therefore, though I may not know what the future might bring, I need not fear or be anxious. I am in the best of hands.

 

A letter to an elderly man reads,

 

“Through reflecting on the idea that G‑d watches over every man and woman, in their day-to-day lives, and even in such details that the world considers petty and insignificant—[it becomes clear that] there is no foundation for worry of any type. It is like the calm of a little child who finds himself near his father, though in the analogy the father is only all-powerful in the child’s imagination, whereas our Father in Heaven is all-powerful in reality as well.

 

Between Doing and Fretting

 

This doesn’t mean you can lie back, do nothing, and rely on G‑d to take care of it all. Jewish wisdom repeatedly references the verse “G‑d will bless you in all that you do,”5 indicating that proactive doing is absolutely vital to receiving the blessing of success.

 

The reason for this need to do, explain the Chassidic masters,6 evolves from the mystical underpinnings of creation. HaShem wills a world where His divine energy is not in conflict with the natural order, but rather flows and works through natural channels. Therefore, you must do your best to create a practical framework that most aligns with a positive outcome.

 

But once and moreover, while you’re doing what you can, it should be carried out with a healthy calm. Imagine you work a desk job in a large corporation. Your only responsibility is to complete the task you were assigned. You don’t need to, nor should you, lose sleep thinking of the corporate balance sheet. Similarly, our role is to do what we can within the natural order to create a vehicle for the best result. What happens in the end is not for us to fret over. It is in better hands than ours.

 

The following handwritten note to a woman, addressing her anxiety, drives this point home:

 

By meditating “with a full heart” and “with intensity” (as you wrote is your manner of approaching everything) on the concept of Divine providence, that it is He who conducts the world at all times—any basis for worry or strain is nullified. HaShem indeed wants a person to do what is necessary in natural means, but not to worry in their mind.

 

“The way to ease stress,” reads another letter, is, first of all, to strengthen one’s bitachon—complete trust—in HaShem, whose benevolent divine providence extends to everyone individually and in all particulars, as our G‑dly Dovid HaMelech, often reminds us, “HaShem is my shepherd, I will lack nothing,” and more in this vein. Hence, there is really no reason for anxiety. Needless to say, this is one of the basic tenets of the Torah.

 

To be sure, HaShem expects a Jew to do what is necessary in the natural order of things, promising that “HaShem, your G‑d, will bless you in all that you do.” So one has to go about doing what is necessary, but without worry; on the contrary, with confidence. It is also self-evident that when one views such pressures as a temporary test, and takes them in stride, calmly, with a clear head, it is much easier to find the right solutions and carry them out effectively.

However, letting go of our worry is not always easy.

 

Actually Letting Go !

 

The Maggid of Dubno (1741–1804), a preacher famous for his fables, explained the meaning of bitachon with the following tale:

 

A poor man trudged along the road carrying a heavy bundle on his shoulders. An expensive-looking carriage, drawn by two mighty horses, was passing him by when it came to a sudden halt. The owner of the carriage emerged and offered the traveler a ride. Weary, the poor man gladly accepted the offer.

 

The carriage was continuing along the road when the wealthy man noticed that his passenger was still carrying his load. He asked, “My good man, what in the world are you doing? Why don’t you put your sack on the floor?”

 

The humble traveler replied, “Dear sir, you have been kind enough to me already. Your carriage has to bear the weight of my body. How can I burden you with my bundle as well?”

 

The host laughed and chided his guest, “Don’t you see that it’s the same for me if you hold your load on your shoulder or put it down? I’m carrying it anyway!”

 

Putting down our load and allowing G‑d to carry it for us can be hard. Like the poor man in the story, we each have a burden we’re used to carrying, and we can’t always fathom letting it go. It takes reflection and practice, but the rewards are transformative.

 

“Man is the master of his lot only to a certain extent,” reads a 1951 letter.

 

For the most part, it depends on HaShem. Thus, a person need not carry everything on their own shoulders, feeling an overwhelming responsibility for everything. And certainly, one need not be filled with despair about specific matters or specific situations.

 

When a person connects with their inner fount of faith and bitachon, which without a doubt remains deeply rooted in them, it gives them inner calm, enables them to go through life in a healthy manner, and allows them to better fulfill the unique task every individual has in life.

 

“When I was about eighteen years old,” Mr. B. recounted, “I had a psychotic episode and ended up in a psychiatric hospital for six weeks. I was subsequently diagnosed as manic depressive, which nowadays is referred to as bipolar.

 

“Over the years, the Rebbe encouraged me to seek out a good psychiatrist and follow their directives. He constantly supported me along the way and offered me reassurance.

 

“One time, after I had a psychotic episode, I wrote to the Rebbe that I was very nervous. The Rebbe’s secretary responded telling me that the Rebbe had advised me to do four things: hesech hadaat meihanal—to take my mind off the fact that I had been nervous to check my tzitzit to make sure that the garment was kosher; to check my tefillin to make sure they were kosher; to study The Gate of Trust by Rabbi Bachya Ibn Pakuda.

 

“I followed all these instructions. I checked my tzitzit, and even though I didn’t find any problem with them, I bought new ones just to be sure. I had my tefillin checked, and, when an issue was found, I had it rectified. I also stopped focusing so much on how nervous I was. Instead, I began to study The Gate of Trust, which explains how one can live a life of total faith in HaShem, free of worry. I recall feeling a tremendous sense of comfort and assurance when I did so. I learned that HaShem runs every facet and detail of life, so when we trust in Him, we can deal with others calmly and with confidence.

 

“I felt like someone who had been parched in a desert and who was suddenly given a drink of cold, refreshing water. Slowly, my insecurities and worries melted away. I felt that I could navigate life and relationships in a secure and worry-free way.

 

“Ultimately, I found a job that suited me; I got married and started a family. And looking back, I can say that, thank G-d, my life has been very productive and happy.”