“Why are you doing that to yourself?!” I asked my child in frustration. It was one of those classic moments when the child was doing something demonstrably stupid and unproductive that was hurting only themselves, and despite my best teachings, cajoling, and bribery, nothing could get them to undig their heels.

It was then that my smart child told me something that continues to strike me, “I know it’s not good, and I know it’ll be bad for me. But what can I do? It feels good, and this is what I want to do right now.”

It was an honest, albeit frustrating, response. It’s bad, it’s bad for me, but hey, it feels good. So, that’s it.

How many of us make the same calculation every day? How many times do we use “feels good” as the barometer of what we should or shouldn’t do?

As it turns out, it’s not the greatest barometer.

“Write This Song”

Much of Parshat Vayelech describes Moses’ final day on earth. He encourages his people, and hands over the leadership to Joshua. G‑d then tells Moses that the people will rebel against Him, and His “fury will rage against them” and things would get so bad, that people will ask, “Is G‑d on vacation?” Sure enough, G‑d tells Moses, the time will come that He will “hide His face” because of the people’s evil.

After concluding this dire and macabre prediction, G‑d instructs Moses to write down “this song,” and Moses does just that:

And Moses wrote this song on that day, and taught it to the children of Israel.1

Wait a minute. Did anything in that description sound like a song? Music and singing is typically associated with joy. How can this dire description of a dark and bitter exile possibly be described as a song?

Why We’re in Exile

With this seemingly wildly misplaced description, the Torah teaches us the secret of exile. This mystery is best encapsulated in the following enigmatic Talmudic statement:2 “The Holy One, Blessed be He, exiled Israel among the nations only so that converts would join them.”

Now, anyone who knows a thing or two about Judaism and its proselytizing ways knows that . . . there are no proselytizing ways. Plain and simple. Judaism doesn’t seek converts, and in fact, the rabbis will initially reject new applicants and only accept them after an intense and grueling process to verify their sincerity.

So what does the Talmud mean?

The Chassidic masters explained that this touches on a broad and fundamental idea in Kabbalah—the idea of “sparks.” The cliff notes go something like this: G‑d scattered sparks of holiness throughout this world, buried and hidden in the everyday mundanity and materialism of planet earth and the human experience.

Our job is to go around and redeem these sparks, by utilizing mundane items for holy purposes.

For example, a grilled cheese sandwich. It looks innocuous enough, but buried in that sandwich is a holy spark of G‑dly energy. When you dig in and marvel at how delicious it is and how grateful you are to the G‑d Who granted humans the creativity to come up with such delightful things as American “cheese” which is not really cheese at all, you redeem that spark.

Or a gas station in rural Nebraska—another fairly innocent place. If you happen to stop by and simply fill up gas, the G‑dly spark remains captive. But if you stop for a moment and make a blessing on a coke, or tell your kids a Torah thought while filling up, voila—you can check “spark-in-Nebraska” off your list of hostages.

This is what the Talmud means when it talks about “adding converts.” It’s not (just) literal people, but (also) those sparks which are captive in foreign hosts. When we redeem them, we add G‑dly energy to the world, introducing ever more sparks back into the fold. And the more we do so, the more G‑d is manifest and comfortable in this world.

The Song of Exile

We can now understand why the harsh exile depicted in Moses’ speech is indeed a “song”—because there’s so much joy in it. After all, we’re not just randomly meandering about the globe from Israel to Europe to America to South America—and then back to Israel!—waiting for G‑d to get tired of this game and bring the Redemption. There’s a plan, a purpose. All along the way, we’re doing remarkably important work, redeeming holy sparks and making G‑d ever more present on planet Earth.

If G‑d didn’t push us into the ring, we would have never fought with the other side and won it over. Without exile, that spark in rural Nebraska would never find redemption, and American cheese may never have been invented.

So, yes, it’s a “song.”

A Cause for Celebration

Think about your life. Is there no joy in it? Is it dark, challenging, frustrating, and full of failure? Does it seem that you’re constantly being thrust into aggravating situations that don’t let you feel the “joy of life?”

Maybe.

But if you can think about what you’re actually doing, the victories you’re accruing, there could be much joy.

It may not be roller-coaster thrill, medium-rare steak joy, or even winning the lottery joy, but it’s meaningful joy from the sense of what you’re doing. Regardless of how many challenges you have, you’re accomplishing something meaningful. If you’re battling with angry family members, or struggling to make ends meet, or contending with health issues—you’re automatically exposed to incredible chances for redemption.

When that antagonistic family member riles you up and you rise to the occasion and dig deeper within yourself to be better—that’s a huge victory. If financial or health situations press you to deepen your faith, the situation may still be challenging, it may still be dark—but it’s not without joy, a meaningful joy.

That’s the point here: Life may not always feel good. We all wish it did, and G‑d willing, it should be for you. But if it’s not, the barometer to look at is not feelings, but impact. If you’re making a meaningful, positive impact in any way, that’s your cause for joy.3