G-d’s Essence

By Yochanan Gordon

“B’shuv Hashem es shivas Tzion, hayinu k’cholmim.”

When G-d returns the captives of Zion, it will become clear that it was all a dream.

Thank G-d, all but one of the captives were brought home. Tragically, some had to die in the process—but they, too, were almost all brought home.

What those who survived endured underground, at the hands of Hamas terrorists, is beyond the reach of language. “Nightmare” is the closest word we have, though it fails to capture the physical, emotional, and spiritual devastation they experienced and will continue to live with long after their release.

And yet, despite their freedom, we have not fully awakened from the dream. Because we, too, remain captive. Captive in exile.

Our captivity does not resemble theirs. We are not confined to airless tunnels, deprived of sunlight or human contact. But captivity is not defined only by chains and walls. It can exist quietly, invisibly, and persistently.

In Kabbalah and Chassidus, the soul’s descent into this world is described as a fall from a towering mountaintop into a deep pit. The question is unavoidable: Why?

Why would G-d remove us from His presence and plunge us into bodies, into a dark and morally fractured world?

The Midrash Tanchuma in Shemos offers the essential answer: G-d desired that His Presence be revealed specifically in the lowest depths of reality. It was not enough for Him to be known by angels in heaven. Divine truth was meant to be recognized where it is least obvious, most resisted, and most obscured.

So G-d, as it were, placed creation at risk—setting the stage for a world in which He could be denied, ignored, or forgotten—in the hope that even there, recognition would emerge.

That dynamic is embodied in Yosef HaTzaddik.

Pharaoh famously challenged, “Who is Hashem that I should heed His voice?” And yet Pharaoh himself recognized that only Yosef could interpret his dreams, and only Yosef was capable of guiding Egypt to prosperity.

Like our captives, Yosef was taken through enemy territory and cast into a dark pit—likely without sunlight. Betrayed by his brothers and imprisoned in an Egyptian dungeon, Yosef nevertheless understood that none of this was arbitrary. Though the optics suggested tragedy and abandonment, Yosef recognized the hidden Hand of G-d sending him there for a purpose.

While in prison, Yosef seized every opportunity to help others. That selflessness led to his rise through the ranks of Egyptian power and ultimately paved the way for his family’s descent into Egypt—the exile itself—and, in time, the redemption from it.

But that’s Yosef.

A tzaddik. A man of extraordinary clarity and spiritual confidence.

And yet our captives—ordinary people by any external measure—displayed a courage and spiritual awakening that stunned the world.

Omer Shem Tov speaking to G-d from the depths of a Hamas tunnel, having never spoken to Him before.

The testimony of Bar Kuperstein and Segev Kalfon describing Friday night davening that reverberated through Gaza’s tunnels.

Footage of emaciated captives lighting a Chanukah menorah in the darkest place on earth—men and women who would later be murdered by those who held them captive.

Did they ask the same question we do?

Did they ever wonder why G-d sent them there—into a place where they would spend months, even years, of their lives?

Chazal teach: “In the place where ba’alei teshuvah stand, even the completely righteous cannot stand.”

The Kotzker Rebbe famously quipped that the reason tzaddikim cannot stand there is because it stinks.

If that line elicited laughter, it may have been misunderstood as I once misunderstood it myself.

How could the Kotzker, a man of uncompromising truth, malign the ba’al teshuvah whom Chazal praise so highly?

The Baal Shem Tov offers a teaching on the verse prohibiting the creation of incense for personal enjoyment. Ketoret means unification. The Baal Shem Tov explains that anyone who performs spiritual unifications for personal gratification—for the “fragrance” of righteousness—is spiritually cut off.

The ba’al teshuvah, by contrast, is willing to descend anywhere in pursuit of truth. The Kotzker’s comment was not an insult—it was praise. It takes courage to enter spiritually putrid places without guarantees of clarity, purity, or reward.

As the Rambam teaches: “Accept the truth from whoever speaks it.”

King David writes in Tehillim:

“If I ascend to heaven, You are there; if I descend to Sheol, You are there as well.” 

But the Hebrew is precise.

In heaven, G-d is described as sham—there, distant.

In Sheol, He is hineka—here, present.

Why is G-d described as distant in heaven but present in the depths?

The Arizal records a custom to wear white garments on Shabbos—white symbolizing revelation. The Sar Shalom of Belz altered the custom, instructing his chassidim to wear shiny black instead. Black represents not revelation, but essence.

It was in the darkness of an Egyptian dungeon that Yosef’s righteousness became known to the world.

And it was in the dark tunnels of Gaza that something profound was revealed within our captives.

They did not encounter revelation.

They encountered G-d’s essence. 

Yochanan Gordon can be reached at [email protected]. Read more of Yochanan’s articles at 5TJT.com.