Being mindful of G‑d’s presence does more than ease loneliness.
When you truly know and feel that you’re not alone, when you internalize that the Master of the universe, the benevolent Creator of all things, is eternally with you—it can transform your whole approach to life. The way you move through the world and participate in society takes on a different spirit.
The fragile vulnerabilities so inherent to the human condition—the insecurities, the fears, the need to impress—are significantly diminished. In its place, a quiet confidence emerges. Importantly, as the Rebbe would emphasize, this healthy backbone does not manifest in arrogance toward other people.1 It puts you and others at ease to navigate life with strength, fearlessness, and kindness.
Following are a few examples.
With a Head Held High
1927 was a violent year in Soviet Russia. Stalin had all but solidified his hold on power, outmaneuvering his rivals for absolute dominance of the Communist party. In February, the infamous Article 58, authorizing the prosecution of anyone suspected of counter-revolutionary activities, was passed, and the savage elimination of all “enemies of the people” was in full swing. For the Jewish community, this meant the destruction of centuries of painstakingly built Jewish infrastructure.
On June 15th, after midnight, the authorities raided the home of Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak Schneersohn (the sixth Lubavitcher Rebbe, 1880-1950) who was running an underground network of Jewish life. They took him to Spalerno prison—a facility notorious for its wholesale executions, torturous interrogations, and sadistic cruelty. From the first minute of his arrest, they unleashed on Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak the full scope of their physical brutality and abusive mind-games. In a journal he wrote a year after his imprisonment, he recorded what went through his mind upon arrival at Spalerno:
What is happening in our home now? I thought.
This question overwhelmed me. Knowing thoroughly the character, nature, and behavior of each individual, I was able to imagine the general picture—
The tears of my honorable mother. The pale, apprehensive face and the deep inner anguish of my wife, and her silent cry. The broken hearts and terror of my bewildered daughters…. And who knows what is happening with all of our friends, the Chasidim. How are they doing? This image swept over me and a stream broke from my eyes. Hot tears rolled down my face. My whole body shivered….
Halt those ruminations! These words flashed in my mind and lit up my thoughts like a bolt of lighting–What about G‑d? True, I am a son, I am a husband, I am a father, I am a father-in-law, I love and I am loved; they are all dependent upon me, but I and they in turn are dependent upon G‑d Who spoke and created the world…. At this moment I was liberated from the mire and dread of my situation. I ascended to the starry heavens with thoughts beyond the confines of finite, physical existence. I was bolstered by pure faith and absolute trust in the living G‑d….
These thoughts revitalized my spirit and strengthened me immensely. I forgot my present state and I sat in complete calm. My thoughts began to settle…. I came to the firm resolve to be strong and courageous, without fear. To speak with a clear voice and to disregard my surroundings. This determined resolution raised my spirits and self-respect. I sat like I was in a garden, or strolling in the breeze. The sunlight lit up the white wall across me….2
Fifty years later, the Rebbe (Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak’s son-in-law and successor) shared this account with a woman who expressed that she is alone:
I want to respond to what you wrote that you are alone. We would often hear from my saintly father-in-law, of blessed memory (whose fiftieth anniversary of liberation [from Soviet prison] we celebrated this week…), that one is never alone; the Almighty G‑d oversees each and every person individually, even over the smallest details of their life….
In the journal he wrote about his imprisonment, my father-in-law describes how this idea—that the Creator and Conductor of the universe watches over everyone individually—gave him the strength and courage to rise above despair even while being in an awful prison, in a terrible situation…. And this fortified him to endure all the interrogations and suffering with his head held high and with pride.
His intention in committing these memories to writing, which he requested to be published, was that every individual [who reads] these records learn from them and act similarly in their own lives. And although who can compare themselves to his exalted persona… nevertheless, after he granted us a living example and paved the way for us, this is now accessible to every individual in their own personal situation. Especially since the difficulties we face in our lives do not compare to the type of adversity he overcame.3
I Shall Fear Not
Sometime in the first millennium BCE, a young King David composed the following, while hiding from mortal enemies in the wilderness of the Judean hills:4 “G‑d is my shepherd; I shall not want…. Even when I walk in the valley of darkness, I will fear no evil–for You are with me…. Only goodness and kindness will follow me all the days of my life” (Chapter 23 of Psalms).
In 1968, a woman wrote to the Rebbe that she was extremely anxious about other people and what they might be saying about her. In addition to advising her to take anti-anxiety pills if recommended by a professional, the Rebbe suggested:
Study Chapter 23 of Psalms until you are well versed in its content (not necessarily the exact words; and it also does not matter in which language you study it)…. In the future, pay no attention at all if somebody speaks about you; don’t even ask them about it [i.e., if they spoke about you]. For (as stated in the chapter of Psalms) “G‑d is with you” and “only goodness and kindness will follow you.” Consequently, no one at all can—Heaven forbid—have power over you.5
On a personal note, I once met someone who lived a lifetime with these words from King David.
It was on a Chasidic holiday a few years back. A few friends and I—all teenagers—knocked on the door of a modest home in an Israeli town. Here, we had heard, lived someone worth listening to.
A short, vibrant old man opened the door. “Come, come inside,” he said. “On a special night like this, I want you to sit with me.” He invited us to find seats around a little dining room table, upon which rested an open Chasidic manuscript. “This is the Chasidic discourse I’m in the middle of committing to memory,” he said, in the way one makes small talk about the day’s events with a new friend.
His name was Avrohom Lison. He was 92 years old.
Lison was born in 1922 to a Chasidic family in Ponevezh, Lithuania. With the outbreak of WWII, his blissful childhood came to an end, and at 17 he was forced to escape Lithuania by himself. For years he wandered alone through the endless Russian terrain, trying to outpace the German advance, the Luftwaffe’s incessant bombardment, and pervasive hunger. In the meantime, his entire family was slaughtered by the Nazis. After the war ended, he ultimately made it to Israel where he went on to establish a large family.
“Children,” he told us in Yiddish, “I’ve seen a thing or two in life, and I want to tell you something: Money comes and goes. Honor comes and goes. It all gets blown away by the wind. The only thing that stays with you for a lifetime is a little bit of pnimiyut,6 a little depth of spirit. And this you can acquire through working hard to internalize the teachings of our Rebbes.
“When I came to the Rebbe, I sensed the aura of Paradise; I felt what it means to live a passionate life in awareness of the benevolent divine presence.”
He then taught us a song. The tune was an old Chasidic melody. But he had melded it with the original Hebrew words of King David. He closed his eyes and sang:
“Even when I walk in the valley of darkness,
Ayayay…
I shall not fear, because you are with me.
Ayayayay…”
When I looked at his face, I saw a little tear in the corner of his eye.
“Okay, children, I’m not feeling so well, and you need to sleep too. This was rejuvenating. Be well, and be Chasidim.”
Two weeks later, I bumped into him in the side room of a synagogue. His bike, which he rode till his last days, was parked right outside. I wanted to hear that song again, and I asked him if he could perhaps sing it for me. “Sure,” he said. He closed his eyes and sang with all his heart:
“Even when I walk in the valley of darkness,
Ayayay…
I shall not fear, because you are with me.
Ayayay…”
When he finished singing, he looked up and told me matter-of-factly: “Whenever I feel myself in danger—it might be a physical danger or a spiritual one—I sing this song to myself and it calms me. G‑d is always with me, it reminds me. I have nothing to fear.” Then he got onto his bike and rode away.
You Can Do Big Things
As a young rabbinical student in the 1970s, Benzion Milecki traveled from Australia to New York to study under the Rebbe’s tutelage. Like many people in their early twenties, Milecki had various spiritual dilemmas on which he wanted to receive the Rebbe’s counsel. One of them was his lack of self-confidence.
“Throughout my school years, my teachers would write in my report cards that I didn’t have enough confidence in myself; that I didn’t have sufficient appreciation of my talents,” Milecki recalled.
“This continued through my teens. It wasn’t that I felt inadequate or weak—in my own personal life I was a high-achiever, setting goals and pursuing them successfully. But I was introverted. I perceived myself as a small guy who did small things in his own private world. I didn’t consider myself someone who could make big things happen in the big world.
“In 1977, I finally had the opportunity to obtain a long-awaited private audience with the Rebbe. In the note I handed to him, I wrote about my lack of self-confidence.
“The Rebbe said to me, ‘Regarding your lack of faith in yourself, you should study the beginning of Chapter 41 of Tanya, where it says that just as a person looks at you, so too is G‑d looking at you.’
“‘This thought,’ he continued, ‘will give you the confidence you need. Use it for good things.’
“This audience was transformative for me. I came out feeling like I could fly. Like I could achieve great things. I remained exhilarated for many days after.
“What I found most enlightening was how the Rebbe interpreted G‑d’s constant ‘look.’ In earlier Chasidic teachings, this concept is primarily taught as a meditation to inspire awe of Heaven, as a warning to keep one’s behavior in check. But the Rebbe was teaching me that G‑d’s constant ‘look’ should inspire confidence! You’re not alone in life. G‑d is there for you, He cares about you, He is at your side. You can feel empowered. You can feel strong. My problem with confidence has basically left me since then.
“Even today, when on occasion I experience a loss of confidence, focusing on that ‘look’ and those moments with the Rebbe causes my confidence to return.”
“To be honest,” Milecki told me over the phone, “words are only containers. The transformative impact of that private audience was in the experience, in the way the Rebbe expressed it, in the way he looked up at me when he said, ‘just as a person looks at you, so too is G‑d looking at you.’ Simply transcribing the words won’t capture why that meeting changed me.”
I responded that unfortunately I’m writing a book, which is made of, well, words…
“Try your best,” he replied.
Know that you are never alone. The Master of the Universe is always at your side.
He is your friend!
If you ever feel small or lonely inside our cavernous and impersonal world, or contend with the dispiriting notion that everything you do is, in the larger scheme of things, worthless—meditate on these simple facts:
G‑d is with you as you negotiate life’s challenges, and everything you do is important to Him, regardless of how people evaluate it. He is always available to you, even when you’ve messed up, and His love for you is unconditional.
To reflect regularly on these principles is to build a healthy psyche and unassailable self-esteem.
In the next chapter, we’ll explore how this outlook can transform your perception of your own role in the world.
This article is excerpted from chapter 2 of "Letters for Life."
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