Bitachon Part 5 - Trust Is Your Birthright

I spent a long time thinking trust in Hashem was something reserved for bigger men than me.

You know the type. Perfect Shabbos table, perfect patience, perfect beard.

Men who get up early and never snap at their kids.

Men who don’t wrestle with regret at three in the morning.

Men who always seem to have that quiet glow of certainty, the kind that feels out of reach when your own life is messy and frayed at the edges.

I figured those guys had Bitachon, and the rest of us were just scraping along, hoping maybe someday we'd become worthy enough to trust.

I’d hear a shiur on Bitachon, or read a piece from the Beis HaLevi and think,

“Beautiful. But not me. That's for the holy guys.

The ones who never skip Minyan, who don’t lose their temper with their kids.”

But I was wrong. Completely wrong.

That thinking is poison.

And I was arrogant. Arrogant enough to redraw lines Hashem Himself never drew.

Because trust isn’t a prize for perfection. It never was.

The Shaar Habitachon makes something crystal clear right from the start.

“The tranquility of the soul of the one who trusts, knowing fully that the One he trusts will do only what’s truly best for him.”

Read it again.

There’s no fine print.

There is no requirement that you’ve never messed up or that you have to reach some special level first.

Bitachon, according to Rabbeinu Bachya, isn’t the domain of tzaddikim alone.

It’s an open door. Available. Now. For every Jew who chooses to walk through.

The Beis HaLevi sharpens this even more, and it still hurts to think how long I missed it.

He says clearly, “Bitachon is a mitzvah. Lack of Bitachon is an aveirah.”

Everyone is Mechuyav in mitzvos. Everyone.

It’s a sin to think Bitachon isn’t yours.

It’s literally against the Torah to tell yourself that trust is only for better Jews than you.

And still, I wasted years locked in that self-inflicted sin.

It takes a real rewiring of the brain.

Like Michael Safdie says, “It’s a full gut job.”

So what changed for me?

It wasn’t during some spiritual high.

It wasn’t after finishing Shas or climbing some peak of personal growth.

I wish it was; I probably wouldn't be writing these screeds if it were.

It was after a hard stumble. One of those real-life, painful falls you don’t share in shul at kiddush. .

Sitting late at night, burned out, barely able to face my own reflection, going through the list of everything and everyone I could think of to help me.

The inevitable “Hashem, why?” screamed through my brain.

And the quiet silence. The emptiness.

Realizing that I do not have trust, I’m just yelling into the abyss.

Hoping for an answer.

The Zulas Hashem, as Rabbeinu Bachya teaches.

worshipping myself as the idol.

That idol has no eyes, no ears, no mouth, and can do no thing.

In the nothing I realized there were some things.

That he was there all this time.

That I have gifts beyond measure.

I would recognize it if I just let myself calm down. Stop screaming into the abyss.

I counted ten things I have that I never really earned.

One on each finger.

And I realized that He was sitting next to me this whole time. Waiting for me to turn from the darkness.

I finally realized that Bitachon lives right here, exactly in the messy, confusing, complicated life I was living.

Exactly in the chaos I had created.

It is oxygen for the broken and the whole.

That night I understood something that changed me permanently.

Hashem gave Bitachon to me.

The question was if I would finally take it.

The only requirement is to stop telling Hashem He made a mistake.

To stop claiming He gave trust to the wrong Jew.

Because trust is yours already, woven into your very bones by Hashem Himself.

I’m done rejecting what Hashem already gave me.

I need to continuously ask myself.

When did I first decide Bitachon wasn’t meant for someone like me?

What part of my life would change immediately if I accepted that trust is my birthright?

Am I finally ready to stop trying to prove Hashem wrong about me?

I need to remember the gifts I have.

Count them, one for each finger. Do not stop until I reach ten.

Because He knows your messes.

He knows the twists and the pain and the failures.

He gave you trust not despite your struggles but specifically because of them.

Stop refusing the gift.

Next Essay:

We’ll face the toughest question yet: how to hold Bitachon when the ground crumbles beneath you, when Hashem allows everything to fall apart.

It’s exactly for those darkest moments that trust was made.

to read all available essays in this series, click the number below

1, 2, 3, 4