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...similarly, we are buoyed by the knowledge that our sevel--suffering--is not in vain, but has a higher purpose and represents an opportunity for growth--for realizing our unique potential. We need only have savlanus--patience--to see it.

This concept not only holds true for the word "sevel" but it is to be found in all Hebrew words that connote suffering. For example, the word for crisis in modern Hebrew is "mashbir," which, in Biblical Hebrew, means "birthing stone," teaching us that, if we respond to a crisis positively, new life can come forth.  Just as a rose has thorns, but produces a beautiful flower, so too, from the thorns in our lives, magnificent flowers can bloom.

To be sure, very often our pain is so overwhelming, the storm that envelops us is so intense, that we fail to see the hand of G-d, and it is then that we need savlanut--patience--to find strength in the knowledge that all that has befallen us is ultimately for our good, even if that good is not readily apparent.

Two great Torah giants embodied this belief--Rabbi Akiva and Nochum Ish Gamzu. Rabbi Akiva taught that "all that our merciful Father does is for the good," while Nochum Ish Gamzu asserted, "This, too, is for good."

At first glance, they both appear to be teaching the same concept. But there is a fine difference, Rabbi Akiva propounds that everything our merciful Father does is for the best, even if we presently fail to understand it. We trust in G-d and know that all our travails are for our benefit. Nochum Ish Gamzu, on the other hand, taught that we do not have to await the future to see the good, because that which befalls us is already good.

It is important to note that both these sages suffered immensely. Their teachings were not abstract concepts--they actually lived them. Rabbi Akiva was an impoverished, illiterate shepherd, who commenced his schooling at the age of forty. His declaration stemmed from an experience he had while on a journey. When night fell, he sought lodging in a village, but none of the inhabitants were willing to offer him hospitality. Having no recourse, he went to a nearby field and lit a candle so that he might study. But the wind blew it out, so he went to sleep. During the night, wild animals killed his only possessions, his rooster and his donkey, leaving him totally destitute. In the morning he discovered that, during the night, bandits had raided the village and plundered and killed all its inhabitants, but he had been saved by the fact that neither a lit candle nor his animals had attracted the attention of the thieves, causing him to proclaim, "All that our merciful Father does is for the good."

Nochum Ish Gamzu, on the other hand, was blind. His legs and hands had been amputated, his entire body was covered with boils, and he lived in abject poverty, yet he taught, "This, too, is for good."  His disciples asked him why he, a holy man, was so afflicted. Nochum related that, one day, when he was on a journey with three mules laden with all kinds of delicacies, a starving man approached him begging for some food. He told the man to wait until he finished unloading his mules, but while he was unloading, the man collapsed and died. Devastated, Nochum pronounced his own sentence, and asked G-d to inflict these punishments on him for having failed to respond with alacrity to this poor soul. When his disciples heard the story, they cried out, "Woe is us, that we see you like this, our master!" To which Nochum replied, "Woe would have been to me if you had not seen me like this"--meaning that it is much easier to pay in this world than in the next! Hence his teaching, "Gam Zu L'Tova--This, too, is for good."

This, then, is the fabric from which our Jewish spirit is woven, the spirit that enables us to meet the many excruciatingly difficult tests of life that have challenged us throughout history. These teachings of Rabbi Akiva and Nachum Ish Gamzu resulted in two popular Yiddish sayings "es vet zein gut" --"it will be good," and "es iz shoen gut"--"it is already good." I heard these words from my own revered father in the ghettos and in the concentration camps; I heard these words as he struggled to create a new life for us here in America; I heard them when he was in the throes of debilitating illness--a prisoner of his hospital bed, and I can hear them even now--"es vet zein gut"--"it will be good," "es iz shoen gut"--it is already good."

(From Rebbetzin Esther Jungreis' "Life is a test: How to meet life's challenges successfully")