When Peace Is Lost: The Pain of Conflict, the Power of Repentance, and the Road Back

Have you ever wished you could turn the clock back? Have you ever been willing to give anything to change the ending of a story?

If so, then you probably know the tormenting feeling of longing for things to return to the way they once were. After all, one of the evil inclination’s greatest missions is to fill our lives with conflict.

As with many aspects of human relationships, conflict is rarely symmetrical. Usually, one side is more dominant, more convinced of the righteousness of its position, and acts accordingly.

A bitter inheritance dispute carried out through deception can tear apart a close-knit family. A business partnership can be destroyed by betrayal, where one partner abandons years of friendship dating back to childhood. Or a painful marriage may end after years of sacrifice and devotion from one spouse, while the other responds with exploitation and behavior bordering on abuse.

A God of Faithfulness, Without Injustice

In each of these situations, the injured party is often left carrying an unbearable sense of injustice.

A person can drive themselves nearly mad by replaying the past, reliving every detail, and wondering how they failed to distance themselves — or remove that person from their life sooner.

Those who work to strengthen their faith eventually come to a different realization: ultimately, the other party simply failed to honor the agreement that brought everyone together in the first place — the agreement called peace.

The Sfat Emet, quoting the holy Zohar, explains that Korach opposed peace itself — not merely a particular decision or leader, but peace as a way of life, as a worldview, as an existence.

That alone is enough to bring explosive destruction into the Sanctuary, into our homes, and even into our own hearts.

This attitude follows us everywhere: with the customer service representative on the phone, standing in line at the grocery store, on the road, and between husband and wife. It becomes a consuming fire.

Without realizing it, it becomes permanent. The culture of “I deserve” is automatically pulled from a hidden drawer of the soul. It gradually becomes second nature, an instinctive response, as Rabbi Eliyahu Shiri explains based on Rabbi Eliyahu Dessler’s teachings in Michtav MeEliyahu (Vol. 1, p. 259).

If the main course of life becomes constant warfare, then true life disappears, because Torah is peace.

Conflict can easily disguise itself as righteousness. It often feels as though we are fulfilling the command: “Justice, justice shall you pursue.”

But what happens when God reshuffles the cards? What happens when enough time passes, the mud settles, pride begins to peel away, and suddenly the offender realizes that he — not the other person, was responsible for the damage?

After all, every deed has already been recorded.

Meanwhile, the longing for the relationship that once existed continues to grow. It is somewhat like longing for the Holy Temple. A person looks at the home he destroyed with his own hands and wonders whether he will ever merit to see it rebuilt.

If ever.

Waiting Is Also a Gift

In reality, people generally fall into two groups.

The first group assumes everything can be erased instantly. They imagine a quick apology over coffee and cake, convinced that the other person will eagerly accept the offer.

They forget that there is no magic button that erases pain. They forget that no app has yet been invented for the soul — one that can instantly remove the damage we caused another human being. No filter can repair wrongdoing, because there are no shortcuts in the work of refining one's character.

The second group takes a different approach.

These are the people who exert tremendous effort. They move mountains. They devote days and nights to finding creative ways to compensate those they have hurt.

Without ego, but with flexibility and humility.

Because they understand that genuine repentance requires all three.

These are the people Rabbi Aaron Levy speaks about when he says: “I only forgive after I see that the pain of the person seeking forgiveness is greater than the pain that he originally caused me.”

Then you know it is real.

Many people quote the Talmudic teaching: “One who comes to purify himself is assisted.”

But they forget the continuation: “And they tell him: Wait.”

The assistance itself often comes through the waiting. Through being forced to wait patiently.

The Hebrew word for patience shares a root with suffering, because true patience often hurts. It takes time for wounds to heal. It takes time for pain to leave the heart.

Conflict carries a heavy price precisely so that we think twice before creating it again.

“Make Us Glad According to the Days You Afflicted Us”

Yet King David offers us comfort.

He writes: “Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for You are with me.”

One might have expected him to say, “Even though I am led through the valley,” because who would willingly walk into such a place?

But David’s wording is deliberate.

It is explained that the verse teaches that sometimes we walk there ourselves. Sometimes we are the ones who made the mistake, who caused the damage, or who destroyed what was precious.

And yet, even then, God remains with us. Like a loving Father whose love stretches from one end of the world to the other: “Love covers all transgressions.”

Even when we are guilty, even when we chose the wrong path, even when we damaged, destroyed, or ruined what was precious.

Even there and even then, God is with us.

How precious peace is, when peace itself is one of God's names — not merely as a last resort, but as an ideal to pursue from the outset.

And even when we sincerely seek peace, we must remember that God asks only for our effort. The outcome belongs to Him.

Sometimes the path to peace restores what was lost. Sometimes it leads to something entirely new.

Either way, if we have truly pursued peace, we emerge transformed. And either way, we have gained something priceless: We have grown through peace.