In Parshas Vayeshev, we read of the moment when Yosef’s brothers sold him to a passing caravan of Arab merchants. The Pasuk notes an unusual detail: “And their camels were carrying spices, balm, and lotus.” Chazal point out that this was entirely atypical. Arab caravans generally transported foul-smelling kerosene and tar, and yet, at precisely this moment, they happened to be laden with fragrant spices.
Why the change?
The Midrash explains that this was orchestrated by Hashgachah Pratis, a deliberate kindness from Heaven, so that Yosef HaTzaddik would not suffer from the stench of the usual cargo. But the obvious question remains. Would Yosef truly have cared? Would a man being hauled away from his home, sold by his own brothers, and facing an unknown and frightening future really take comfort in a pleasant aroma?
If someone is being led to prison, does it matter whether he is taken in a limousine or in a rusted, foul-smelling bus with bars on the windows? In such despair, a person rarely notices the details of his transportation. Likewise, Yosef—torn from his father, thrown into a pit with snakes and scorpions, and sold into slavery—would hardly be comforted by the scent of spices.
So what is the Midrash teaching us?
Rav Chaim Shmuelevitz explains a profound psychological principle. When a person can perceive even the smallest touch of Divine kindness within suffering, that glimmer of light can lessen the darkness of the moment. Often, in times of crisis, an individual feels abandoned, thinking Hashem doesn’t see me, He doesn’t care, He has forgotten what I am going through. But if a person can notice even a single “silver lining,” one detail that reveals the presence of Hashem amid the pain, it can restore hope.
This was Yosef’s experience. He recognized that the unusual cargo was no coincidence; it was a quiet whisper from Hashem, a gentle assurance: I am still with you. Though he was on his way to an uncertain and terrifying future, that fragrance was a kiss from Heaven.
We saw something similar during Hurricane Sandy. Families returned to the ruins of their homes to find devastation. They had lost everything. Yet sometimes, beneath the rubble, someone might discover a single surviving item: a letter from decades earlier, a watch gifted by a kallah long ago. Does that item rebuild the home? No. The family is still displaced, still overwhelmed. But that object becomes a source of deep comfort, reminding them that not everything is lost, that their identity, their story, their connection to loved ones endures.
So too in life. When a person can identify the subtle good within their hardships, they draw strength from the realization that Hashem has not abandoned them. Even the smallest sign of His presence can provide courage to move forward.
With this in mind, consider the following remarkable story.
After the Holocaust, the Allied forces discovered massive collections of Jewish sefarim stolen by the Nazis, who had intended horrifically to create a museum for an extinct people. These sefarim were eventually brought to Washington, D.C., where a committee decided to distribute them to yeshivos across America.
Yeshivas Ner Yisroel in Baltimore received a large shipment. Rav Ruderman, the Rosh Yeshivah, insisted that the first person to open the box should be the mashgiach, Rav Dovid Kronglass, who had personally survived the horrors of Europe.
Rav Dovid approached the box with trembling hands and opened it. The very first sefer on top was Chochmah u’Mussar, written by his own rebbe, Rav Yerucham Levovitz of the Mir. Overcome with emotion, he opened the front cover—and froze. Inscribed inside was his own name: “Dovid Kronglass.”
From tens of thousands of rescued volumes, across continents, through war, chaos, destruction, and displacement, his personal sefer—lost years earlier in Europe—was the first to be placed in the first box delivered to his own yeshivah, waiting for him to open it.
It was unmistakably a message from Above: I am still with you. A Divine kiss, just as Yosef experienced in the caravan long ago.
May we all merit to see the Yad Hashem in our own lives, even in the smallest details, and draw strength, comfort, and hope from knowing He never leaves us.
