Lessons from the Prophets in Consolation and Resilience

Dedicated to Captain Rabbi Avraham Goldberg zt”l,
a loving husband and father, a gifted educator and Rav, a man of great integrity and values, a musician that uplifted the soul, and a person who inspired all who engaged with him. We will continue to live his vision and work to ensure his light continues to shine.

Three thousand years later, what can the prophets still teach us today?

As we start another cycle of Torah readings, we also have an opportunity to revisit the Haftarot – selections from the books of the prophets carefully chosen by our sages to complement each week’s Torah reading. The Talmud (Megilla 14a) notes that although the prophets produced many texts, only those messages relevant for future generations were incorporated into the canonized Tanach (Hebrew Bible). So, as we read these Haftarot, we can reflect on the timeless themes they present, and consider how both the prophets’ messages and the sages’ choices resonate with new meaning in our generation.

Since this Shabbat falls on the first day of the Hebrew month of MarCheshvan, we read along with our weekly portion, Noah, the Haftarah for Shabbat Rosh Chodesh, which is taken from the closing of the book of Yeshayahu (Isaiah 66:1-24). As we read the prophet’s poignant words of consolation after the destruction of Jerusalem, we cannot help but be reminded of where we were just one year ago.

During those horrific days in the aftermath of Oct. 7, the cemeteries worked relentlessly as each and everybody was identified, families were notified, and burials arranged nonstop. It was a period of non-stop shiva, with one family after another sitting in mourning – many in temporary lodging, far from the places they call home. Unfortunately, while the rate of the loss has thank God slowed, we still face the painful, ongoing sacrifice of the most heroic amongst our people.

Thus in these times, Yishayahu’s prophecy offers a comforting vision, assuring that God will bring solace to those who grieve for the struggles of Jerusalem. That the sounds of rejoicing will once again fill the streets of Jerusalem. Yet the text points out that only those who empathize with Israel’s hardships will merit this shared joy that will eventually resonate throughout the land. The Talmud (Megilla 30b) underscores this idea through Yishayahu’s words of this week’s haftorah, “rejoice with [Jerusalem] all who mourn for her,” (66:10).

This idea of the need to empathize with and really feel the hardships of the Jewish people is something I find myself reflecting on often today, especially when I travel outside of Israel. Often, I am moved by the extent to which some Diaspora communities embrace the current hardships in Israel, holding events to raise hope for and awareness of the hostages still in Gaza; learning in the merit of fallen soldiers; sending delegations to volunteer.

But other times, I find it troubling that on my trips abroad, I meet Jews both observant and unaffiliated who appear to be disconnected from Israel’s current challenges. For me it is both painful and disturbing to witness the celebration of lifecycle or religious events in which there is no pause, no mention of the sacrifices occurring in Israel. Although these events may include strictly kosher food and Jewish ritual, the atmosphere feels distant from the Jewish spirit.

If we have any hope of finding our way towards collective solace, we must first share in one another’s pain, and recognize the grief we have held together for over a year. The weight of this grief remains with families who continue to move forward with courage, as well as with those who have more recently joined this painful “club” of which no one wants to be a member.

Whether at funerals, shivas, one-year memorial services for fallen soldiers or those murdered in Israel’s South, I find myself surrounded by heroes who embody the words of the prophets. After 2000 years in diaspora, they truly “rejoice with Jerusalem,” are glad for her, and indeed love her – even when the price for that devotion demands the ultimate sacrifice, losing the one you personally love most in the world.

I am confident that we are living in the dawn of the Messianic era, though we recognize that the journey is long and that our final redemption comes at the unbearable cost of losing the most sacred souls amongst us. This paradox defines our situation: we can participate in the jubilation of an independent, prosperous Israel while deeply mourning precious lives, such as our friend, our former student, our rabbi, Avi Goldberg. He is one of the holiest amongst us.

The Haftarah offers us a pathway towards how to ensure that we never lose sight of our shared destiny. The prophet declares that “Like one whom a mother comforts, so I will comfort you, and in Jerusalem you shall find comfort” (ibid. 66:13). This compassionate verse imagines God as a loving parent, speaking in intimate, individual personal consolation.

Yet it also speaks in the very same breath of the broader consolation found in the restoration of Jerusalem. It is from this verse that we derive the tradition of the “Hamakom” greeting used during shiva visits, comforting mourners not only for their personal loss, but also in solidarity with all who grieve for Zion and Jerusalem. This shows how closely our personal grief is interwoven with our collective story, grounding us in a shared identity and purpose.

In fact, the next verse in the Haftarah— (66:14): “You shall see and your heart shall rejoice, Your limbs shall flourish like grass [GOD’s power shall be revealed]”— was etched into the Western Wall generations ago by a visitor. It, too, stands as a reminder that our hope for consolation is not just individual, but shared. As we grieve together, we also pray that we will one day rejoice together, witnessing a renewal that reaches from each mourning heart to the entire nation. May we see that day soon; a time when Jerusalem’s streets once again resound with joy, and our shared pain transforms into collective strength – and peace.