Rosh Hashanah 2013/5774: Good Luck, Bad Luck

By Rabbi Shohama

Our history is very complex.  “Good” and “bad” are intertwined, and as today’s Haftarah from the prophet Jeremiah reminds us, God loves us even in dark times and promises us that things can get better.

This past spring, I heard a folk song written and sung by Joe Crookston that captured my attention. It felt like I had heard the story before.  It’s called “Good Luck, Bad Luck.” Here are the words, and you should call out “Good Luck!” or “Bad Luck!” as seem appropriate to you as the story unfolds:

John had a horse and the horse ran away
(Bad luck, bad luck.)
“Bad luck, bad luck” the neighbors did say.
“Bad luck, John, has come your way.”
He said, “Maybe, it’s hard to say.”

Well the horse came back with a wild, wild mare
(Good luck, good luck.)
“Good luck, good luck,” the neighbors did say,
“Good luck, John, has come your way.
Good luck has come your way.”
He said, “Maybe, it’s hard to say.”

Well, the mare kicked John and broke his leg.
(Bad luck, bad luck.)

With a broken leg he missed the draft.
(Good luck, good luck.)

Well, the Army came and walked on past.
(Good luck, good luck.)

Well, his leg grew worse and it would not heal.
(Bad luck, bad luck.)

And the pain was all that John could feel.
(Bad luck, bad luck.)

Well, the nurse she came to John to take care of.
(Good luck, good luck.)

And the two of them they fell in love.
(Good luck, good luck.)

“Good luck, good luck,” the neighbors did say.
“Good luck, John, has come your way.
Good luck has come your way.”
He said, “Maybe, it’s hard to say.”

This song reminded me of a story about Rabbi Akiva that I only remembered partially (“bad luck!”), but I was able to find it on the Internet (“good luck!”).  Rabbi Akiva was a famous rabbi who lived about 2,000 years ago.  Here is the story as told in the collection of rabbinic writings called the Talmud (Brachot 60b).

Once Rabbi Akiva was traveling with a donkey, rooster and candle.  When night came, he tried to find lodging in a nearby village, but all the lodging places were full and he was turned away.  Rabbi Akiva had no choice but to spend the night in the field, but he did not let that get him down. Instead his said, “Gam zu l’tovah.”  Literally it means “also this is for the good,” but it is usually translated as “Everything God does is for the best.”

Well, a wind came and blew out his candle (“bad luck!”), and then a cat came and ate his rooster (“bad luck!”), and then a lion came and ate his donkey (“bad luck!”).  No candle, no rooster, no donkey.  Still Rabbi Akiva said, “Gam zu l’tovah: also this is for the good.”

That night, a group of soldiers came and took the entire town captive (“bad luck!”). Rabbi Akiva was sleeping in the field and was left unharmed.   With no candle to give away his location, and no cat or donkey to make noise in the night, the soldiers left and Rabbi Akiva was spared.  When Rabbi Akiva realized what happened, he said, “Didn’t I tell you gam zu l’tovah?

The well-known rabbinic commentator, Rashi, explains that if Rabbi Akiva had still had his candle, his rooster or his donkey, the soldiers would have seen or heard them, and he would also have been captured.

How about us?  Can we look back see the good that has come out of our hard times? The lessons we have learned from dealing with difficult people?   Can we see ways in which we grew through our trials, and let go of our anger?  We can’t always know when things are happening exactly how they are for the best, but with hindsight we can find some good — gam zu l’tovah.

In 1998, after years of dealing with anger, my friend Mark Rosen published a book entitled Thank You for Being Such a Pain.  It details ways to stay strong in the face of difficult encounters, and how to see the roses amidst the thorns.

If we can do that, we too can say, gam zu l’tovah — also this is for the good.  If we can do that, then for us, no matter what happens, it will be a Shanah Tovah.