Some things change gradually. One phase in life merges seamlessly into the next. Like the sun rising in the morning, there’s a gentle strengthening of the light that banishes the darkness. You can’t put your finger on the exact moment when night turns into day, because there are so many imperceptible stages in between.

In fact, I heard an explanation of the words we say in our daily tefillah regarding sunrise. The words praise the One Who illuminates the earth and those who dwell upon it with compassion. With our eyes accustomed to the night’s darkness, it would pain them to be assailed with the sun’s full brightness all at once. Giving them a chance instead to adjust gradually to the growing light of day is a sign of Hashem’s compassion.

Then there are moments in life when reality changes from one pole to its opposite in an instant. One minute you’re in dire straits, floundering in deep waters of distress… and the next, you’re on solid ground again. Hashem’s salvation can come in the blink of an eye. And it often does!

After years of fruitless dating, a single girl wakes up one morning and remembers with a jolt of joy: “I’m a kallah!” For what felt like an eternity, she plodded through her days doing her hishtadlus, davening her heart out, and struggling with the twin demons of loneliness and longing. Perhaps she was part of a group of young women in the same position, all of them encouraging each other to hold tight to their optimism. Maybe there were times when she came perilously near to losing hope. She felt cemented into her persona: an unmarried girl who had yet to meet her bashert.

And then, in a heartbeat, all that changes. Overnight, she switches to a different status. The sun of a new day shines on her, and it’s as if the night never happened at all.

Fresh Ink

Many salvations come about this way. When they do, they have the immediate effect of erasing what was and writing firmly over it with fresh ink.

When a baby is born to a childless couple, that old identity drops off in an instant and a whole new one takes its place. Likewise, when a longtime prisoner is released at last, he turns instantaneously from unfree to free. The shackles of prison life simply cease to exist. And with them go the memories.

Once the longed-for change occurs, it becomes hard to relate to the difficult era that came before. We know we went through a hard time, but the memories grow fuzzy. For example, Hashem gave women the ability to “forget” the pain of childbirth as soon as the experience is behind them. Other ordeals, once so pressing, when relegated to the past feel as if they happened to someone else. Forgetfulness comes easy.

That’s why one of the first mitzvos we were given after leaving Mitzrayim was the command to be kind to a ger. You’d think that after suffering so much as strangers in a strange land, we’d naturally be extra compassionate toward others who share our former plight. But human nature dictates the opposite.

When our status changes, so does our mindset. We are all too apt to forget what we suffered when we were in their position…. so much so, that we may not only refrain from treating them with kindness but may actually act in a manner that verges on uncaring or even cruelty. That’s why the Torah makes such a point of reminding us that we were once them.

In a similar vein, that group of older singles who met to offer each other chizuk still exists even after one of their number leaves to get married. And the leagues of couples waiting for a child are still waiting after one happy couple passes through the golden gates of parenthood. It’s incumbent upon the fortunate ones to remember, even as their hearts urge them to move on and forget.

As we bask in our joy at an altered status, we need to embrace those who are still waiting to hit the jackpot.

Lagging Behind

There are times, however, when the rule about sudden altered states doesn’t work. When that happens, it’s called denial.

A classic example is when a tragedy occurs, r”l, but the victim can’t quickly or easily come to terms with his loss. This is more likely to happen when the darkness descends with unexpected swiftness. There was no time to prepare for pain.

Unlike the radiant kallah or happy new parents whose former suffering mindset vanishes at once, the mourner may need more time to come to terms with the new reality. Emotionally, we are far more prepared to embrace a positive change than a painful one.

When our emotions lag behind reality, we can find ourselves seriously out of sync with the world around us. We need plenty of space, time, and understanding from our loved ones to help us reach the altered state of mind that should automatically follow an altered status.

Traps and Tripwires

Interestingly, the same pattern applies in spiritual matters as well. I’m referring to the ongoing battle we wage against our baser instincts.

Much as we want to be good, the yetzer hara often makes it hard for us to do the right thing. It offers cogent arguments in favor of laziness when it’s action that’s needed. When we try to walk a straight path, it sets up tripwires to make us stumble. It lays traps that look too sweet to pass up. The evil inclination is indefatigable.

Each battle feels monumental at the time that it’s taking place. But the moment we rise above, the moment we reject the yetzer hara’s blandishments and make the correct choice, it’s as if the battle never was. All the uncertainty we experienced evaporates like a puff of smoke. Once we’ve chosen to do the right thing, the ambivalence disappears.

The instant we take that decisive step we move into a new status, the old one drops away like an old coat when the seasons change. Once we’ve made our decision, the whole argument suddenly seems ridiculous. The rightness of our choice feels so correct, so inevitable, that we can scarcely relate to the person who had to struggle to get there.

It’s helpful to remember this the next time we engage in battle with our personal yetzer hara. In the moment, with the cannons roaring and plumes of smoke obscuring familiar landmarks, we can begin to lose ourselves. There really seems to be a choice involved, and we fight the good fight to make the right one.

And then, with the decision falling on the side of the angels, the smoke is suddenly gone. The cannons fall blessedly silent. Where once there was a battleground there is now only an open field with a clear, clean path winding through it. The path of the just.

Your status instantly changes, from embattled to victorious. And it’s as if the decision you fought so valiantly to reach was never even a question at all.