By Rabbi Pinchos Lipschutz
There are words we use so often that, over time, they begin to lose their meaning. They become part of our vocabulary, but not our consciousness. One such word is nisayon.
We hear it frequently. When someone faces a difficult period — illness, financial strain, emotional pain, or disappointment — we nod and say, “It’s a nisayon.” The word rolls easily off our tongues. It comforts, in a way, because it reminds us that Hakadosh Boruch Hu is involved. But do we truly understand what a nisayon is?
Most of us assume that a nisayon means a test, that Hashem is testing us to see how we’ll respond. Will we overcome the challenge or succumb to it? Will we pass or fail?
But a nisayon is far more than a test. It is a window into the very purpose of life itself.
The concept of nisayon first appears at the beginning of this week’s parsha. Hashem tells Avrohom Avinu, “Lech lecha mei’artzecha umimoladetecha umibais avicha — Go for yourself, from your land, from your birthplace, and from your father’s home, to the land that I will show you.”
This command marks the beginning of Avrohom’s lifelong journey and is one of his ten nisyonos. Since we were children, we were taught that Hashem tested Avrohom ten times and he passed them all. Because of this, he became the father of Yahadus and the paradigm of spiritual greatness.
It sounds straightforward: Hashem gave him tests, he passed, and he earned the title of tzaddik. Like a student earning a degree, he met each challenge and received his diploma in righteousness.
But that understanding misses something essential.
The Ramban (Bereishis 22:1), in discussing the Akeidah, teaches that a nisayon is not a test in the way we usually think of tests. Hashem, after all, already knows whether a person will succeed or fail. The nisayon is not for Hashem to learn something about us. It is for us to learn something about ourselves and to raise ourselves. It is an opportunity to be rewarded for righteous actions and not merely have the reward of having good intentions.
The Ramban explains that through a nisayon, Hashem brings forth a person’s hidden potential. A nisayon is an opportunity to translate good intentions into good actions. It takes what is dormant inside us, the strengths we may not even realize we possess, and brings them to life. A nisayon is an opportunity for growth. A person grows by maintaining his faith and determination as he acts and reacts properly even in difficult situations.
Hashem gives nisyonos only to the righteous, writes the Ramban, because He knows that they will rise to the occasion. The wicked, who would crumble under the weight of challenge, are spared. For the tzaddik, the nisayon is a gift, a catalyst for spiritual growth.
In this light, a nisayon is not a punishment, not a trap, and not a test of loyalty. It is a Divine expression of confidence. Hashem, Who knows us better than we know ourselves, hands us a situation and says, “You can do this. I placed within you the strength to shine. And I will reward you for it.”
The Meshech Chochmah explains that Hashem’s words to Avrohom, “Lech lecha el ha’aretz asher areka — Go to the land that I will show you,” can also be understood allegorically. The “land” represents the inner landscape of a person’s soul. Hashem was telling Avrohom: “Go and I will show you who you are. Go forth from the comfort of the familiar and you will discover the untapped greatness that lies within you.”
Each nisayon is a journey into our own undiscovered aretz asher areka, the place within us that we only see when we walk with faith into the unknown.
Every generation has its own nisyonos. In ours, the nature of the challenges has shifted, but the essence remains the same. People struggle with anxiety, family discord, confusion, loss, and feelings of inadequacy. Some attribute their struggles to past trauma or external forces, feeling trapped in cycles they cannot control.
There are also the unique situations that people face, such as the inability to earn enough to survive in our expensive world, being confronted with the pain of betrayal, the sting of duplicity, loneliness, and a host of prevalent social and financial issues.
But a person of emunah understands differently. He recognizes that nothing is random. Every difficulty is placed before us for a reason. Every moment of pain is part of a larger, loving plan designed by Hashem Himself.
When a person experiences suffering, he can choose one of two paths. He can view himself as a victim, chained to circumstances and wounded by others, or he can see himself as a beloved child of Hashem, entrusted with a personal nisayon crafted for his growth.
The first path leads to bitterness. The second leads to greatness, a good life strengthened.
We see this again later in the parsha at the Bris Bein Habesorim. Hashem revealed to Avrohom that his descendants would be strangers in a foreign land, enslaved and afflicted for four hundred years. Naturally, Avrohom was gripped by dread: “Vehinei eimah chasheicha gedolah nofeles olov.” The future of his children was dark and painful.
Yet, astonishingly, Avrohom found comfort. How could he be comforted by the knowledge of suffering? Because Hashem also told him that the exile would end with redemption: “V’acharei chein yeitzu b’rechush gadol.” There was meaning. There was purpose. There was a plan.
Although Hashem told him that his children would be oppressed for four hundred years, Avrohom was comforted because he was told that it was part of a greater plan. Four hundred years of enslavement should be crushing. The revelation that his people would be subject to such confinement and abuse should have caused Avrohom more pain. But he accepted it, for he knew that it was the will of Hashem and not something caused by happenstance. Although he was promised Eretz Yisroel, Avrohom was comforted, as he knew that there were many Divine calculations that determined the length of the exile. It wasn’t how he had envisioned it, and there would be many years of pain and deprivation, but he was happy, for he now knew that there were more factors involved in Hashem’s plan than he could fathom.
It wasn’t the ending Avrohom had imagined. It was slower, harder, and filled with tears. But because it was Hashem’s will, it was good. That realization was enough to bring him peace.
Many of our modern disappointments stem from misplaced expectations. We assume that life is supposed to be smooth, and that if we do what’s right, we deserve comfort, success, and happiness. People are sad and feel unfulfilled because they think that they are entitled to the perfect job, family, children, neighborhood and life.
And when life doesn’t follow that script, we feel cheated.
But that’s not the Torah’s definition of a “happy ending.” A happy ending is not one without pain. It’s one with purpose.
We find joy when we stop fighting Hashem’s plan and start embracing it. When we understand that the perfect life is not the one without challenges, but the one that uses those challenges as steps toward growth. We find happiness when we stop comparing our journey to others and realize that each person’s nisayon is tailored for him by the One Who knows us best. When we realize that a perfect life is one that embraces the challenges that it confronts, we can begin to anticipate achieving joy and inner peace.
Before World War II, one of the most dreaded pieces of mail a young man in Eastern Europe could receive was a draft notice from the Russian army. Once drafted, a Jew faced years of deprivation and danger, physically and spiritually.
A group of bochurim who had received draft notices traveled to the Chofetz Chaim for a brocha. The saintly gaon assured them that they would all be spared. But then he took one young man aside and said to him, “Es iz nisht geferlach if you are drafted. A person can be mekadeish Sheim Shomayim wherever he is. And while there, he can help others keep mitzvos.”
As it turned out, every one of those bochurim was spared, except that one. He was drafted into the army, where hunger, cold, and loneliness became his constant companions. One day, while stationed near a small town with a Jewish community, he shared his pain with the local rov, telling him about his loneliness and difficulty being a shomer Torah umitzvos. The rov was moved and decided to help. Through much effort, he and several askonim succeeded in persuading the authorities to permit kosher food for Jewish soldiers.
In time, the bochur convinced over forty Jewish boys to begin eating kosher.
The Chofetz Chaim’s words had come true. Hashem had a shlichus for him — to sanctify His Name in a place of darkness. His nisayon was his mission. His hardship was his opportunity. If you are destined to be in the army and can be mekadeish Hashem and encourage people to do mitzvos during your period there, then you have passed your test and fulfilled your responsibly and obligation.
We sometimes wonder how we can celebrate Purim with unbridled joy when we know the end of Esther Hamalkah’s personal story. The salvation of Klal Yisroel came at tremendous cost. Esther remained bound to Achashveirosh for the rest of her life. How can such an ending be happy?
Perhaps the answer lies in understanding nisayon. Esther’s joy was not in her comfort, but in her clarity. She knew that she was precisely where Hashem wanted her to be. Her shlichus was to serve as the queen, even at personal sacrifice. Knowing that, she could live with serenity and meaning. That knowledge itself was her happiness.
The Chovos Halevavos teaches that the person who has proper bitachon is the most joyous of all. Why? Because he lives with the confidence that everything that happens is orchestrated by Hashem for his good. The one who trusts doesn’t need to control the story. He just needs to play his role faithfully.
Rav Nissim Karelitz once recalled an unforgettable experience that occurred when he went to visit his uncle, the Chazon Ish, whose yahrtzeit falls this week. The Chazon Ish, frail and weak, expressed a desire to visit his sister and brother-in-law, Rav Nochum Meir, who lived far from him in Bnei Brak, a long, difficult walk for a man in his condition.
Despite his weakness, they set out together. After a few minutes, the Chazon Ish needed to rest. They found a fallen log and he sat down to regain his strength. Then he rose and walked a bit further, until he again had to stop and rest. This happened several times. Slowly, painfully, but persistently, they made their way across town.
When they finally arrived, the Chazon Ish turned to his nephew and smiled. “Do you see that?” he said. “We made it. Az men geit, kumt men un. When you go, you arrive.”
Then he added, “If I had stayed home, I might have sat there for twenty more years. But because I began to go, I arrived. Maybe slowly, maybe with rests along the way, but I arrived. The main thing is to begin.”
That line — “Az men geit, kumt men un” — carries a world of meaning. In life, there are days when everything feels heavy, when learning doesn’t flow, when the work doesn’t succeed, and when the heart feels drained. But the difference between those who reach greatness and those who remain stagnant is not that the great never feel weak. It’s that they go anyway.
The Chazon Ish, always weak and often bedridden, never viewed his frailty as an obstacle. He saw it as his nisayon. He didn’t bemoan his limitations. He used them as tools for ascent. Through perseverance, he became the spiritual father of a generation — not because his path was smooth, but because he kept walking.
Avrohom Avinu implanted this strength into the spiritual DNA of Klal Yisroel. The ability to withstand trial, to persevere, to believe in purpose even in the midst of pain — it all comes from him. Every Jew carries that inner spark, that inherited courage.
Our nisyonos are not interruptions to life. They are the very reason we are here. Hashem places us in specific circumstances to bring out our best — to reveal the aretz asher areka within each of us.
The Mesilas Yeshorim (Perek 1) writes that a person was created “to be mekayeim the mitzvos, serve Hashem, and withstand the nisyonos that he faces…” He says that every situation in life is a nisayon given to us to overcome. This is true regarding things that are good and things that aren’t. Whether a person is poor or rich, peaceful or troubled, everything in life is a nisayon, an invitation to choose faith, to choose action, to choose growth.
If, in a time of nisayon, we follow the yeitzer hara and focus on what’s missing, we will fall into despair and not accomplish much. But when we look at life through the lens of Hashgocha Protis, seeing every moment as a personal message from Hashem, we can handle whatever comes our way. We can live with meaning, strength, and joy.
The Torah’s lessons in Bereishis are not theoretical. They are blueprints for living. Avrohom’s journey began with two simple words: “Lech lecha — Go forth.” Every Jew has his own lech lecha, his own journey toward purpose. The path is usually not easy, but it is always meaningful.
When we meet hardship with emunah, we reveal who we are. When we accept our nisyonos as Divine gifts, we uncover reserves of courage and faith we never knew we possessed. And when we take that first step forward — even slowly, even trembling — we honor Avrohom’s legacy and fulfill our own.
May we all merit to learn the lessons of our forefather Avrohom, to see Hashem’s hand in every nisayon, and to walk our paths with strength, serenity, and joy, confident that every step we take brings us closer to the destination He has prepared for us.
Az men geit, kumt men un. When you go, you arrive.
May we all merit lives of happiness and fulfillment and be zocheh to welcome Moshiach.
{Matzav.com}
