As the plane was about to take off, I sent my husband a quick text. He was on his way to Uman, his yearly visit with Rebbe Nachman for Rosh Hashana. It wasn’t just a casual message; it came from a place deep inside, a place filled with longing and pain that’s been building for years. I didn’t overthink it, didn’t try to mask how I really felt. I simply said what my heart had been repeating over and over again: “I hope this year things will be different.”
But beneath that simple sentence was the weight of years of unanswered prayers. For so many years, we’ve prayed for the same thing—asking Hashem to make things better, to grant us the one thing we’ve been yearning for. And yet, year after year, I find myself right back here, making the same request, feeling the same pain, and wondering, “When will things change?”
It’s hard to describe how much it hurts to keep asking for the same thing, knowing that you’ve poured your heart out in tefillah so many times before. The frustration comes not from feeling ignored but from feeling like the answer is different from what we wanted. How do you accept that, in Hashem’s infinite wisdom, His answer might be “no” or “not right now,” when all you want is a simple “yes”?
The Power of Prayer
Every year, as Elul fades into Rosh Hashanah, we are filled with the same emotions—hope, anticipation, maybe even a little bit of fear. We know that Hashem is close, that our tefillos are being heard. But when the answers feel like they aren’t matching our deepest desires, it can be hard to stay positive.
In our human capacity, we crave what we want, when we want it. We think we know what is best for us, and it can feel confusing when Hashem answers in a way that doesn’t align with that. Why would He, who loves us so deeply, say “no” or ask us to wait longer?
Over time, I’ve come to realize that the answer isn’t far away. It’s just different than what I imagined. In my human limitations, I see the here and now—I see my own desires, my pain, my needs. But Hashem sees the entire picture, the long game that I can’t possibly comprehend. When He says, “Not yet,” it’s not a rejection; it’s Hashem saying, “What I’m giving you is better than what you’ve asked for.” It’s not that the prayer wasn’t answered; it’s that the answer is beyond what I expected.
And that’s hard to accept.
In our limited understanding, waiting feels like the hardest test. We think that if we daven hard enough or with enough kavana, we’ll get what we want. But what if Hashem is saying, “I see you, I hear you, and I am giving you what’s best for you, even if it’s not what you think you need right now”?
Reframe the Waiting
When my husband goes to Uman, we always have this vision of him returning with our prayers answered, our hopes fulfilled. But over time, I’ve realized that maybe the purpose of this annual journey isn’t just about the outcome. Maybe it’s about accepting that Hashem’s answer might not match our expectations, but that it’s always coming from a place of love and care.
Instead of viewing the waiting as a sign that Hashem isn’t listening, what if we saw it as an opportunity to trust more deeply? Trust that Hashem knows what is best, even when it’s not what we want at the moment. Trust that He sees the full picture while we can only see a small part of the puzzle.
This Year Will Be Different—Even If the Answer Isn’t
As I reflect on that text I sent my husband, I realize that I still hope this year will be different. And it can be. But “different” doesn’t have to mean getting what we want. It can mean understanding that Hashem’s plan is always greater than our own.
Sometimes the most powerful tefillah isn’t the one that asks for something, but the one that accepts Hashem’s will, even when it’s hard. The real difference this year could be in how we respond to Hashem’s answers—whether they align with our hopes or not.
Learning to Accept “Not Yet”
It’s difficult to hear “no” or “not right now” when your heart is set on a particular outcome. But perhaps the most important thing to remember is that Hashem’s love is constant. His “no” reflects how much He cares about us—it reflects His greater wisdom.
So, this year, I daven for strength—the strength to trust, the strength to accept that Hashem’s answers are always perfect, even if they don’t feel like it in the moment. I daven for the clarity to see that my prayers are being answered, just in a way I didn’t expect.
And maybe, just maybe, this year will be different. Not because everything will go according to my plan, but because I will learn to accept Hashem’s plan as the best one, even when it is hard to see.
כְּתִיבָה וַחֲתִימָה טוֹבָה – may this year be filled with clarity, blessings, and Hashem’s revealed goodness.
