Is there such a concept as “chance” in the Jewish way of thinking? I don’t know, but I doubt it. The Rambam tells us in his “Thirteen Principles of Faith” that Hashem is engaged with the whole world. How, therefore, can anything happen by chance without His directing circumstances from Above?
I’ve been discussing this recently with two of my teenage granddaughters and asking them to think of ways the direction of their own lives could be changed by a “chance” encounter with someone.
Nava,* aged 19, gave as an example meeting one’s bashert through a friend or a shadchan. A good example, I told her, particularly as one of my own daughters met her husband thanks to an introduction from a close friend. Her cousin, Shuli,* 16, thought a bit and said, “Well, my teacher for Hebrew literature was so enthusiastic that I’ve decided to study it as one of my two special subjects this year. Before she taught me, it never entered my head to do that.”
“Another good example, Shuli,” I responded approvingly.
They then asked me if I’ve had experiences in my own life, or in that of someone I was close to, of that kind. I could immediately think of a literally life-changing instance.
Although I was a central character in the story, I couldn’t possibly remember it myself. Two days after I was born, in the Tudor Nursing Home, Prestwich, Manchester, another baby girl was born. My mother didn’t know that baby’s mother but, because they were in the nursing home together for several days, they struck up a friendship, which afterwards spread to the two families. My mother and “Auntie” Leah became firm friends. As well as playing kalookie and visiting each other, when help was needed, each of them would do what was necessary cheerfully and efficiently.
When I was in my early twenties, my mother – who by then had angina pectoris, a heart condition – suddenly became much more ill. From being an active housewife and charity worker, she could barely do any household tasks. Her doctors had nothing to suggest, merely saying that if she was very careful not to exert herself in any way, she could continue like that indefinitely.
It was a wretched situation for my father, my mother and me – an only child – who had left my job to look after my mother; we had no idea where to turn, what to do.
And then, out of the blue, a tiny seed of hope flew into our hearts. “Auntie” Leah had a sister in London. Her husband ran a small manufacturing laboratory, and was then working with doctors who specialized in cardiology. One of them was working with a surgeon who was one of the pioneers of open-heart surgery in the UK. An appointment was set up for my mother, to see if she might be a suitable candidate for this kind of operation. My father and I waited on tenterhooks while my mother did all the tests, she was operated on – and, in short, it was a success.
We were grateful to the true friends who had helped us more than anyone could have dreamed. And so grateful to Hashem for His hand in this. As I explained to my granddaughters, if my mother and “Auntie” Leah had not been in the same maternity home more than 20 years before, they may never have met. For they lived in different neighborhoods in Manchester, belonged to different shuls, had different friends. That “chance” encounter gave my mother another seven years of life.
Nava and Shuli were silent for a few moments. They looked at me expectantly, thinking I might have more to say. I did, because I wanted them to understand that Hashem is always present in our lives.
“What we might think of as a “chance” encounter, and we may even forget about after a time, I think of as Hashem’s direction of the world, and everything in it.”
