Shabbat Nachamu, Shabbat of Comfort

From Tisha B’Av to Shabbat Nachamu

As I have mentioned a few times in the past week, Tisha B’Av, the 9th day of the month of Av (Aug. 10/11, 2019), is the saddest day on the Jewish calendar, a day on which we fast, deprive ourselves, and pray. It is the culmination of the Three Weeks, a period of time during which we mark the destruction of the Holy Temples.

In his book, This is Real and You are Completely Unprepared, Rabbi Alan Lew writes that each of our lives “is a strange dance of pushing forward.”  He writes of the power of this particular quarter of the year in which we find ourselves right now, that period of months that begin just before Tisha B’Av and continue through the High Holy Days. "These days," Rabbi Lew writes, "impact our path on that journey, through the process of t’shuvah – that turning and returning to the best of who we can yet be."

Most talk of t’shuvah doesn’t begin until Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, but the reality of our Jewish tradition is that the t’shuvah conversation begins much earlier, and in fact is an ongoing process throughout the year. Most commonly, though, the public discussion begins with the month of  Elul, while it actually begins seven weeks even prior to that, as we prepare for Tisha B’Av.

On Tisha B’Av, we lament the calamities of our people throughout history, but we also lament the calamities of our own lives.  The Temples can be seen as a metaphor for the soul’s wholeness, and when we mourn the Temples' destructions, we mourn, as well, the brokenness of our own souls, of our relationships with each other, of the all too apparent brokenness and destruction in our world.

According to R’Lew, “Tisha B’Av is the moment of turning, the moment when we turn away from denial and begin to face exile and alienation as they manifest themselves in our own lives – from G!d, from ourselves and from others... T’shuvah is the gesture by which we seek to heal this alienation and find connection, reconciliation, and anchoring in our lives.”

And so this Shabbat, the first Shabbat after Tisha B’Av, is called Shabbat Nachamu- “Shabbat of Comfort,” referring to the opening verses in the Haftara portion, where the prophet Isaiah eases the people’s anguish after the destruction:  “Nachamu nachamu ami” – take comfort, take comfort my people.

While Tisha B’Av immerses our souls in a place of darkness, this Shabbat of Nachamu, of comfort, comes to teach us that although desolation and alienation feel so all-consuming and so permanent and so terribly broken, we must not give up hope. We cannot shut our eyes from seeing ourselves and our world from the way they might yet be.

Yet, it seems a bit abrupt to move from feeling devastation, despondence, and destruction, buka u’mevuka u’mevulaka, into open, hopeful hearts filled with song and celebration, does it not? For precedence, we look no further than our most immediate task after the closing of the gates on Yom Kippur: to begin constructing our sukkahin preparation for our celebratory feast of Shavuot. Our tradition is rich with opportunities to turn from our mourning and fasting immediately to looking towards the next simcha. Rebbe Gelberman, I think, would have agreed that we must always balance the sad with great joy. As it is with Yom Kippur and Sukkot, so it is with Tisha b'Av and Shabbat Nachamu.

We find yet another example of grief turned into joy in this week’s Torah portion, which is always read on Shabbat Nachamu. It offers us a powerful insight, as Moses recounts what is perhaps one of, if not the most, heart wrenching parts of his own story.

Speaking to the generation that will cross over into the Promised Land, Moses shares this with them: "I pleaded with G!d, I begged G!d with all my soul, “O G!d, You let me see the works of your greatness and your mighty hand. You whose powerful deeds no god in heaven or on earth can equal! Please, let me cross over and see the good land on the other side of the Jordan.”

But G!d says no.  Moses continues: “But G!d would not grant me my wish and said, “Rav lach!” Enough!  Never speak to me of this again.”

Moses, the only one of whom it is said that he saw G!d panim al panim, face to face, yearns just to step just one toe over onto the promised land, the destination of the journey to which he has dedicated his life.

And yet, G!d refuses, rav lach, you already have so much Moses.  This is enough.   Moses, who has experienced so much, is left with one thing he can’t have. He dies longing for something just beyond his reach, the very thing to which he dedicated 40 years of his life.

Now, lest you think this story is one of failure or G!d’s abandonment of Moses, I think it appears to us on Shabbat Nachamu because it is in fact just the opposite—not failure at all. It is a recognition that we never “get there.” There is no finish line, no destination, no place to arrive and settle in. And when we look, every arrival that seems like a finish line, really only turns out to be another starting point. I have experienced this over and over and over again; perhaps you have as well.

We can also see a beauty and a gift of longing so deeply for something.  It frames our days, giving us something to strive for, to move towards, especially when the going gets rough, and it otherwise seems like we can’t go on.

So this day, this Shabbat of Comfort, in the middle of a still shattered and broken world, we are called to rise up from the sackcloth and ashes of our mourning and moaning, and ask ourselves what is it for which we truly long? What is it for which we ache and yearn at that level? What moves us forward? We must question, “Have I traded in my deepest desires for something less than? Have I compromised too much?"

Our cycles and seasons are circular for a reason. It’s not about destination.  It is always about the journey.  It is the longing that pulls us toward wholeness.  It is the longing that will bring us back home.