There is a Way Back

Haftarah Shabbat Shuvah, Hosea 14:2–10

© Rabbi Paul L. Saal, Congregation Shuvah Yisrael, West Hartford, CT

The Bible is the best-selling book of all time. It is also one of the least read! Even those who claim love and fidelity for the Bible, who often quote chapter and verse, rarely have read the Scriptures in entirety!

It is so common for biblical adherents to skip over the most difficult passages to interpret and the ones that are frankly just difficult to hear. Psalm 137, for example, is often quoted and sung in various Christian and Jewish liturgies as well as popular song (for example, Joan Baez, “By the Rivers of Babylon”) yet its impassioned plea to dash our enemies’ babies against rocks (v. 9) is usually expurgated! The fact is that the Bible is hardly a children’s book. It deals with human frailty and the hard and often harsh reality of human interaction. Perhaps, though, given the most popular viewing and reading choices in popular culture, it would be a better PR strategy to advertise the more scandalous narratives in Scripture!

The haftarah for this week has one of the steamiest back-stories in the entire biblical canon. It can be found in the book of Hosea, which has its own set of PR problems. First and foremost, it is one of the so-called minor prophets, a very unfortunate moniker! Nothing says “pay no attention” like calling something minor. This nomenclature is not a commentary on the importance of these prophets; rather it is a misunderstood description of their shorter length. I think if we called these the “very short but really important prophets” it would boost their ratings exponentially! But so would this story. It is what my mother, of blessed memory, would refer to as a “tear jerker”—a sad story of adultery, abandonment, neglect, and betrayal. It is also, though, a story of faithfulness, patience, love, and relational restoration.

The haftarah begins, “Shuvah Yisrael ad Adonai Elohekha, Return Israel to the Lord your God” (Hosea 14:2). This is more than a casual appeal; rather it is an intense and imperative plea for Israel to come home, leave its diverse lovers, live faithfully with Hashem, and avoid the self-inflicted wounds they have been enduring since national inception. It is a desperate cry that concludes the story of Hosea, who is asked to embrace and empathize with God’s cuckoldry. 

Hosea probably began his prophetic ministry during the reign of Jeroboam II, toward the end of Israel’s prosperity. Though we have very little precise biographical info on Hosea, his life is laid bare before us as a living allegory. He is asked to marry Gomer, a woman of questionable reputation and morals, and raise three children that may or may not be his own. In fact, he names them Yizre’el (God sows), Lo-Ruchamah (unpitied), and Lo-Ammi (not my people) (Hosea 1:2–8). As distasteful as the latter two names are, the first, Yizre’el, would have been a salt-in-the-wound name. Though it was originally the bread basket of the Northern Kingdom of Israel, Yizre’el had become place of death and destruction during the reign of Ahab and Jezebel and the entire Jehu dynasty. The association of this place with a child would be much like naming the child Dachau or Treblinka today!

Hosea loves Gomer despite her adultery and abandonment of him and the children. She loves the pleasantries of life and runs to her lovers who lavish gifts upon her. This, of course, parallels the story of Israel who collectively pursues the gods and values of her neighbors, remaining unaware that it is actually Hashem that provides the prosperity she enjoys (2:10–11). No doubt the scandal has made Hosea the subject of ridicule by his neighbors who have become bored with this love-struck prophet who cannot keep his own house in order.

The story of Hosea and Gomer becomes inextricably bound up with the story of God and Israel. Eventually Gomer finds her bottom, and her adultery/prostitution finds its obvious destiny in a society that simultaneously promotes and condemns promiscuity. She is stripped naked and put up for sale to the highest bidder. But Hosea’s love for Gomer is unrelenting. He purchases her for fifteen pieces of silver and eight bushels of barley and restores her to his home. For a time, they will not have marital relations as they work out their issues. In the same way Hashem declares that he will never forsake Israel, and she will forever be his wife. But there is going to be a long time of galut, an adequate separation so she can learn covenant faithfulness. The time will come when she will call him Ish rather than Ba’al. Though both can understood as husband, one denotes her man, a loving partner, while the latter expresses his mastery and lordship over her (3:2–5). In this narrative we can see the continuum between yirat Hashem (the fear of the Lord) and ahavat Hashem (the love of the Lord).

Just as Gomer’s infidelity mirrors Israel’s indiscretion, so does each of ours, with the attitudes, temperament, and actions of an unfaithful people. How often do we run after the lavish trappings that we somehow imagine will make us happy, forgetting that Hashem provides every good and pleasant gift? Do we chase after the gods of wealth, stature, and momentary celebrity, forgetting that true security comes from the One who will never forget or forsake us? Are ego and hubris our lovers, and have social media, political affiliation, and financial enterprise become our forbidden rendezvous? Have we forgotten who it is that redeemed us for a price far greater than silver?

Much like Israel, we individually cannot be separated from the love of God. But we can continue to live in personal galut, a separation from the intimacy that the Holy One desires to have with every one of us. As we continue our introspection throughout these Yamim Noraim (Days of Awe), we must not ask, “What can I get away with?” but, rather “How long do I wish to stay away?” Our first love is calling us. This is the time for reconciliation. The Holy One is crying Shuvah! Return! How long will we wait?

The Future is Looking Good

Seventh Haftarah of Consolation, Isaiah 61:1–63:9

Rabbi David Friedman, Jerusalem

Our haftarah brings out a true confession in me. Living here in Israel, my heart is sometimes made heavy by the attitudes and spiritual life that are displayed here. Sometimes it is hard for me to see beyond the strife, beyond society’s ills, and beyond the emptiness that is evident in so many people’s lives. And so I wonder what will become of my people, who yearn to be like the Western world: liberal, economically well-to-do, sophisticated, self-confident, internationally suave, mixed in among the nations, and popular.

It’s not that we are bad in character . . . no, not at all; but we are often so lost, so far removed from the reason Almighty God called us out among the nations, so far distanced from the covenants of blessings and promises that he gave to our forefathers. When I see this played out in my locale, it is a distressing situation.

Various things touch off such a situation for me. This week, a very sweet religious man told me about his living situation: he is the sole person who prays from a particular siddur (prayer book) in his town. The religious leader of the town warned others not to ever pray with him because the town’s residents should pray from a different siddur, not the one used by this man. Due to his affiliation within Judaism, this person was ostracized from his neighbors by a gentleman’s agreement. Brothers mistreating each other. Such pettiness. Such bullying. Such division within our people, who need to be unified. I think at times like these that we are really missing the boat.

Our haftarah has comforted me and reminded me of some incredible things. Isaiah 61:9 encourages us to know that a day is coming, an era will break upon human history, during which . . . “their (Jewish) descendants shall be known among the nations, and their offspring among the peoples; all who see them shall recognize that they are seed that the Lord blessed”(Chabad translation, with one change).

Isaiah’s reaction to the coming of this time period is a joyful one:

I will rejoice with the Lord; my soul shall exult with my God, for He has attired me with garments of salvation, with a robe of righteousness He has enwrapped me; like a bridegroom, who, priest-like, dons garments of glory, and like a bride, who adorns herself with her jewelry.” (Isa 61:10, Chabad)

Our haftarah goes on to describe what this era will be like for the people of Israel:

And nations shall see your righteousness, and all kings your glory, and you shall be called a new name, which the mouth of the Lord shall pronounce. And you shall be a crown of glory in the hand of the Lord and a kingly diadem in the hand of your God. (Isa 62:2–3, Chabad)

Isaiah describes what Israel will be like in that coming time period:

No longer shall "forsaken" be said of you, and "desolate" shall no longer be said of your land, for you shall be called "My desire is in her," and your land, "inhabited," for the Lord desires you, and your land shall be inhabited. (Isa 62:4, Chabad)

Putting these verses together forms a picture for us of what is going to happen to the people of Israel. And it is a wondrous, restorative, powerful set of events that will cause these realities to take place. Such events will cause the desires of the present generation in our Land to be totally redefined. Our people, in our nation, will live for the purposes that God himself has given to us. And his reaction to Israel during this time period? Isaiah wonderfully sums it up: “Your God will rejoice over you” (62:5b, my translation). He will be so happy when Israel is living the way he intends for us to live.

The word for “righteous” back in verse 2 is tsedek; this word is connected to the instructions given by God on Mt. Sinai. In other words, we will be a people who are faithful to the covenant and instructions given to us on Mt. Sinai.

Israel will also be a crown of glory in God’s possession. This matches the picture that Moses taught us when he described Israel as an am segulah, that is, “a people who are a royal treasury.” And the treasures belong to God (Exod 19:5–6). Additionally, our haftarah teaches that God will desire to be with us: “the Lord desires you” (62:4).

Isaiah 61:10 shows that our nation will function in our priestly calling and will additionally be a “bride” to the Holy One. Our condition will be seen and recognized by all nations (61:9), which again is a fulfillment of our national calling (see Deut 4:5–10).

Isaiah adds: “And they shall call them the holy people, those redeemed by the Lord, and you shall be called, ‘sought, a city not forsaken’” (62:12, Chabad). Our people will be known as a holy people. In Hebrew, “holy” is defined as “separated for the purposes of God.” Then our people will be living according to the calling given to us, as in Exodus 19:5–6, to be a separated people for the purposes of God.

When I consider what I see with my eyes today, I understand something very clearly—an absolutely miraculous transformation has to spread across Israel in order for Isaiah’s words to be fulfilled. And it will! Zechariah 13 denotes an internal cleansing, a spiritual purging, and a national renewal of Israel’s calling. This could be the doorway to our haftarah’s picture, leading up to what Isaiah describes above, in chapters 61 and 62.

Of course, the centerpiece for the attainment of this reality is our holy Messiah Yeshua, who is also described in our haftarah:

The spirit of the Lord God was upon me, since the Lord anointed me to bring tidings to the humble, He sent me to bind up the broken-hearted, to declare freedom for the captives—and for the prisoners, to free them from captivity. (Isa 61:1, Chabad)

According to our Jewish calendar, our haftarah today is considered the last of the seven Haftarot of Consolation. Accordingly, we have been reading out of Isaiah each week, focusing on messages of hope, comfort, and having the favor of God. In my mind, today’s haftarah offers such consolation. I am much encouraged as I consider Isaiah’s message apropos to the times that we live in.

Rosh Hashana begins in a few days. It is a time of re-evaluating our lives, and of new beginnings. It is encouraging at this time in the calendar to read of our nation’s new beginning to take place in the future, when we begin to live according to our true identity! Our haftarah teaches us that we are God’s bride, God’s desired people, holy and righteous people, priests to the world, and a people who make God happy. That is one wonderful identity!

Shana tovah!

Your Light Has Come

Sixth Haftarah of Consolation, Isaiah 60:1–22

Rabbi Aaron Allsbrook, Ohev Yisrael, Springfield, VA

We live in a time of darkness. We live in a time when people do as they please, when they search for answers in every place imaginable—that is, every place besides God’s throne—when they are governed by the dictates of their hearts, when they have no idea where they are going (as in John 8:35). This is a time when people call evil good and good evil, light darkness and darkness light, bitter sweet and sweet bitter (Isa 5:20). And the good news is, it’s only going to get darker.

According to Moses, when Israel becomes disobedient she will be like a blind person groping in darkness, which is really being doubly blind (Deut 28:29). Sin leads to darkness. John teaches us that sin is lawlessness, that is, a belief that there is no universal law or that there is, but who cares, I’m gonna do what I want (1 John 3:4). As we approach the end of this age and the heralding of the millennial kingdom with the return of Yeshua, “the earth will be covered in darkness and the people in deep darkness”—doubly dark (Isa 60:2).

There’s another side to this story, though: “Arise, shine, for your light has come, and the glory of the Lord has risen upon you!” (Isa 60:1). Isaiah then proceeds to elaborate exactly how the nations of the world will respond to Israel as she enters into the fulfillment of the promise God made to Abraham for her to dwell securely and eternally in the Land. Much of this echoes Moses’ description of just how blessed Israel will be if she is obedient to the Torah (Deut 26:16–19, 28:1–14). Just as disobedience leads to darkness, obedience leads to light.

Even from the beginning of the story of man, disobedience seems inevitable. The day Moses returned with the Ten Commandments Israel was already disobeying them, and in a bad way. The Tanakh concludes with Israel in exile due to her idolatry and assimilating into the neighboring pagan culture and idol worship. Disobedience seems to be par for the course.

God is pretty good, however, with solutions. His solution is a change of heart, not his heart, but ours. His solution is his Spirit within us. It is his Spirit that guides us into obedience, as it is written, “I will put my Ruach within you. Then I will cause you to walk in my laws, so you will keep my rulings and do them” (Ezek 36:27). This Spirit makes us become the children of God, children who act like their Father (Rom 8:14). In the end we will be glorified because he will be glorified.

Our obedience is based on his grace and the empowerment of his Spirit. In the end, God will receive all the glory and honor. While Israel will be exalted as head above the nations and will be blessed by all the peoples of the earth, it will be so because the glory of God will arise upon Israel (Isa 60:2). We will finally be the people God has always intended for us to be, because we will be walking in his Spirit, completely in harmony with the will of God (see Rom 8:27).

Nations will bless Israel because the fullness of God will be in us. Even our walls will be salvation and our gates praise (Isa 60:18). Moses foresaw this as the ultimate demarcation of Israel amongst the nations (Ex 33:14–23). Moses got a fleeting glimpse of this glory, yet, Isaiah saw a permanence, and it is this permanence that will exalt Israel and draw all nations to her for the glory of God!

When we walk by God’s Spirit, when we lift up the Name of Yeshua, when we worship God with all our hearts and beings, we will get a taste of what this permanent glory will be. The more we behold him, the more we become like him. Even as the darkness grows darker, the light of Yeshua is greater than the darkness (John 1:5); darkness is even as light to him (Ps 139:12). We need not fear the darkness because we have a promise of his light and glory. We have a secure future that is lit eternally. We have a Spirit that guides us to such an inheritance. We need to arise and shine because Yeshua will return and eradicate all darkness!

This is hope and this is what people need to hear. He will take men and women out of darkness. The darkness may continue to spread, but the light of Yeshua will simultaneously grow brighter. What a hope!

How Can the Barren One Sing?

Fifth Haftarah of Consolation, Isaiah 54:1–10

Rabbi Russ Resnik

We’re in the midst of the weekly passages from Isaiah known as the Haftarot of Comfort or Consolation, and this week’s installment opens with a paradox:

 “Sing, O barren one, who did not bear;
    break forth into singing and cry aloud,
    you who have not been in labor!
For the children of the desolate one will be more
    than the children of her who is married,” says the Lord.

How can a barren woman come to rejoice? How can a desolate one have abundant children? It’s a paradox, but we’ve already seen how it works in the story of Sarah, the barren wife who finally bears a son to Abraham in her old age. It’s the iconic story of the God we serve, whose very nature is to give life when there is no life and to even raise the dead.

But Isaiah’s words have special meaning during the days in which we read them—the time of preparation for the approaching High Holy Day season. One custom during this season is to take time each day to consider our attitudes and behaviors and make amends as needed. As we do, we often discover that we’re the desolate one, barren of what we need to be pleasing to God or fruitful in his sight. We might resort to the words of the traditional prayer Avinu Malkenu: “Our Father, our King!  Be gracious to us, and answer us, for we have no good works of our own; deal with us in charity and kindness, and save us.”

As we realize our moral emptiness, we also realize that we’ll have to throw ourselves on God’s mercy—and of course that’s right where he wants us. The God that we’re talking about is the one “who gives life to the dead and calls into existence the things that do not exist” (Rom 4:17). This is what Abraham learned on his long wait for an heir to be born of the desolate Sarah. And it’s something we can learn as well.

As a rabbi and counselor I often deal with addictions of various sorts. One of my favorite books on the subject is God of Our Understanding, by a Chabad rabbi, Shais Taub. It’s written from an Alcoholics Anonymous (AA) perspective, and the first two of the Twelve Steps of AA are:

• We admitted we were powerless over alcohol—that our lives had become unmanageable.

• Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.

Rabbi Taub comments, “The admission of powerlessness and unmanageability is not an aspect of recovery—it’s the very basis of it. Nothing else seems to work very well without complete and unconditional capitulation first.” Or in Avinu Malkenu terminology, when we realize that we “have no good works of our own,” we qualify for God’s work to get done in us. God isn’t impressed with our self-empowered efforts at reform and goodness, but “a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise” (Psa 51:17). The one with such a heart is the barren and desolate one, who ends up with a multitude of children. 

I’m trying to write this in a clear way that will make sense to you, my reader, but I have to admit that you’re unlikely to really get it until circumstances or God’s grace—or a combination of both—open your eyes to your barrenness and need for divine rescue. We do a lot in the modern world to avoid reaching this sort of eye-opener. Our consumerist, high-tech, entertainment-oriented, and addicted culture seems designed to distract us from such a realization. That’s why spiritual practices like worshipful prayer, contemplative reading, and self-examination are so important. And even as we pursue these practices, we’re still dependent on God’s faithfulness to bring us through.

In his book Addiction and Virtue, Christian scholar Kent Dunnington contrasts worship and addiction:

Addiction is seductive because it promises to address the disorder and disunity of the self without requiring that we relinquish control over our own lives. . . . Right worship, on the other hand, trains us to see that the disorder and disunity of the self are themselves a symptom of our sinful insistence on maintaining control over our own lives. . . . Worship trains us to see that the self is not something that we establish but rather something that we continually receive from God. 

So “the desolate one” refers to those who have finally given up on the need to control life and make something out of themselves. They’re devoid of any way to do that and, more important, they finally realize it. This desolate state allows God to move in, and amazingly, when he does the desolate one bears children.

I’m writing this as I sit in a gleaming lobby of Cedars-Sinai Medical Center in Los Angeles, a world-class institution where my oldest brother is hospitalized, struggling with an aggressive cancer and cascading medical problems. The staff is excellent, the technologies are state-of-the-art . . . and everything still hangs on God’s timing and mercy. As family we have words to speak and decisions to make, but we can only surrender the outcome into God’s hands.

It’s a difficult lesson, of course, but one that we all need to learn and re-learn continually. We become fruitful not through self-effort and not through passivity either, but through actively turning over our lives and circumstances to the God “who gives life to the dead and calls into existence the things that do not exist.”

We can be realistic as we face our failings and shortcomings during the Days of Awe, as addicts are realistic when they admit to being powerless over the alcohol or drugs or porn or compulsive spending or whatever has bound them up. We can be realistic as my family and I need to be in facing my brother’s impossible medical situation. Such realism isn’t ultimately pessimistic because it still counts on the merciful promises of God. We can be realistic and still maintain a joyful hope, “‘For the children of the desolate one will be more than the children of her who is married,’ says the Lord.”

In memory of my big brother, Dennis Resnik, who passed away on the night of August 20.

The Lord gives and the Lord has taken; blessed be the name of the Lord.

What Are We Waiting For?

Fourth Haftarah of Consolation, Isaiah 51:12–52:12

Michael Hillel, Netanya, Israel

When we pick up a book and glance through it to determine whether we would like to spend the time reading it, we may look over the table of contents as well as the chapter headings or introductions. However, it is the text itself that we read and delve into to truly understand the heart of the book and the goal of the author(s). Therefore, it is worthy to note that the chapters and verses of Scripture are not in the original texts but are a much later addition. A cursory online search shows an agreement that the current chapter and verse designations in the Christian translations of the Bible originated with Stephen Langton, Archbishop of Canterbury around 1227, and were first used in the Wycliffe English Bible in 1382. The Tanakh has a few deviations from this pattern, possibly due to the work of Rabbi Nathan in 1448.

Why this history lesson, you might ask. Often when we read the Scriptures, we subconsciously accept the stop-and-go pattern of the chapter breaks, verses, and even sub-headings. While these are useful tools in locating and remembering sections of Scripture, they were not part of the original inspired work of the Ruach set down by men of old.

With this in mind, let’s turn to the fourth of the Haftarot of Consolation, which follow the remembrances of Tisha b’Av and culminate the Shabbat before Rosh Hashanah. This week’s reading, Isaiah 51:12 through 52:12, continues the unbroken flow of Hashem’s encouragement through the prophet Isaiah that began four weeks ago with Shabbat Nachamu, (Isaiah 40:1–26). This week’s passage opens with the repeated emphasis by the Lord that it is he that comforts Israel. “I, I am the One who comforts you. Who are you that you should fear man?” (Isa 51:12).

Rav Shaul’s words of comfort to the believers in Rome may well have been inspired by Isaiah’s words: “If God is for us, who can be against us?” (Rom 8:31b).

The exterior circumstances should not be our main focus, no matter how difficult, or whether they be problems of our own making or the simple reality of living in world groaning for the realization of tikkun olam. Our main focus should be on him who provides the comfort, as the “author and finisher of our faith” (Heb 12:2), especially as he promised through the prophet Jeremiah: “‘For I know the plans that I have in mind for you,’ declares Adonai, ‘plans for shalom and not calamity—to give you a future and a hope’” (Jer 29:11).

Later in the Haftarah, Israel, and we as well, are encouraged, possibly even commanded, to awaken to this necessity, that of focusing on the Lord and not the circumstances. First the Lord says, “Awake, awake! Stand up, Jerusalem! From Adonai’s hand you have drunk the cup of His fury, the chalice of reeling that you have drained to the dregs” (Isa 51:17).

Yes, it was Israel’s fault that the discipline had come, and she was chastised like an errant child. By not choosing life (Deut 30:19), Israel received the promised consequence. But the consequence was not the final state of things. Discipline is performed not to bring death and destruction, but to bring change, growth, and redemption. Isaiah’s encouragement continues,

Awake, awake! Clothe yourself in your strength, Zion! Clothe yourself in beautiful garments, Jerusalem, the holy city, for the uncircumcised and the unclean will never invade you again. (Isa 52:1)

It is important to realize that along with the comforting words of Hashem, Israel is encouraged, maybe even commanded, to wake up, to stand up, and even to strengthen themselves. The Lord comforts and restores after discipline but it is Israel’s responsibility to get up, to stop wallowing in the mud of depression and self-pity, and to walk in the comfort and provision of her Lord. Remember, the Lord delivered Israel from Egyptian oppression and slavery, but they had to get up and walk out on their own. Had they sat in their homes instead of following Moshe out, who knows how the story would have ended? Rav Shaul exhorted the believers at Philippi to “work out your salvation with fear and trembling.  For the One working in you is God—both to will and to work for His good pleasure” (Phil 2:12–13). It would appear that both in the Tanakh and in the Apostolic Writings, we have a responsibility to work with Hashem for our betterment, for tikkun olam; we are not expected or even allowed just to sit on our tuchuses waiting for things to happen.

The 16th century kabbalist, Rabbi Shlomo Halevi Alkabetz, possibly summarized this Haftarah in his poem, Lecha Dodi, which is sung on Friday evening welcoming the entrance of the Shabbat.

Wake up, wake up,
Your light has come, rise and shine.
Awaken, awaken; sing a melody,
The glory of God to be revealed upon thee.

As we read the Haftarot of Consolation, can there be any greater consolation than being encouraged to enter into the rest provided by our Lord? What are we waiting for?

Isaiah's Riddle

Third Haftarah of Consolation, Isaiah 54:11–55:5

David Wein, Tikvat Israel, Richmond, VA

Question: How many bagels can you eat on an empty stomach?

Response: One. After that, your stomach is no longer empty.

This, of course, is a riddle; it’s an old rabbinic one, designed to invite the talmidim (followers) to think differently, and perhaps groan or roll their eyes. Riddles force us to slow down and examine our own assumptions: “Is there a double meaning that I’m missing here?” “Is there another way to think about this everyday idea?” 

This week’s haftarah portion contains a kind of riddle, which the prophet inserted perhaps to invite us, his future talmidim, into the text. Chapter 55 of Isaiah opens with:

All you who are thirsty, come to the water!

You without money, come, buy, and eat!

Yes, come! Buy wine and milk

without money — it’s free!

Why spend money for what isn’t food,

your wages for what doesn’t satisfy?

Listen carefully to me, and you will eat well,

you will enjoy the fat of the land. (Isaiah 55:1–2 CJB)

This is designed to get the proverbial hamster in our brain back on the wheel:

“And here I thought there was no such thing as a free lunch.”

“How can you possibly ‘buy’ something for free?”

“If what I’ve been buying to eat isn’t real food, then what is this real food, and how can I get some of it?” 

As for the word “buy” (Hebrew: shivru), the root first finds its use in the narrative of Joseph, in the book of Genesis. In order to survive, Joseph’s brothers need to buy food, which they can only do from their brother, whom they rejected. Of course, they do not have anything that Joseph really needs in exchange, so when they do buy grain to survive, we get the sense that Joseph is providing for them, and gifting them even beyond what they deserve. Indeed, Joseph is providing for all the surrounding nations as well in this kind of way, but especially for his brothers, the sons of Jacob. 

Our first sense of what salvation means comes from this very narrative. Salvation in Joseph’s story is abundant, packed to the full with forgiveness and restoration, and entirely orchestrated by the Savior himself. The ones who are being rescued pay nothing much, except perhaps their very selves. 

Salvation and restoration may be one answer to the riddle. Isaiah alludes to this earlier:

For I will pour water on the thirsty land

and streams on the dry ground;

I will pour my Spirit on your descendants,

my blessing on your offspring.

They will spring up among the grass

like willows on the riverbanks.

One will say, “I belong to Adonai.”

Another will be called by the name of Ya‘akov.

Yet another will write that he belongs to Adonai

and adopt the surname Isra’el. (Isa 44:3–5 CJB)

We imagine water on the thirsty ground bringing life and the presence of God, the fullness of restoration to Israel like lush flora, even to the point of affirming the very identity of Israel as belonging to Hashem. 

The medieval commentator, Rashi, links the water of Isaiah’s riddle to the Torah. In the apostolic witness, the authors link the water of restoration and salvation to the Messiah. We think of Yeshua’s exchange with the Samaritan woman in John 4:14: “Whoever drinks the water I will give him will never be thirsty again! On the contrary, the water I give him will become a spring of water inside him, welling up into eternal life!” Or the very last page of Scripture, in Revelation 22:17: “The Spirit and the Bride say, ‘Come!’ Let anyone who hears say, ‘Come!’ And let anyone who is thirsty come — let anyone who wishes, take the water of life free of charge.” The prophetic witness of the Hebrew Scriptures points to Hashem himself as the wellspring of life, the waters of salvation:

For my people have committed two evils: they have abandoned me, the fountain of living water, and dug themselves cisterns, broken cisterns, that can hold no water! (Jer 2:13) 

Here we get a sense of meaning for that other sustenance which does not sustain: idolatry. Anything else besides God does not truly fill us, and is not really food. So why are we buying it, and eating it and drinking it up? Idolatry has a true cost to it, and in the end leaves us empty. Worshiping God, however, brings something we don’t need to purchase: salvation, restoration, and wholeness. 

So, the water and food, what do they represent in Isaiah’s riddle? Rescuing and restoration? Messiah? Torah? God? Since Isaiah himself does not answer the riddle, perhaps we are meant to hold all these possibilities in our mind, and to think them through. Perhaps we are meant to pause and re-examine something we think we already know. 

Do we thirst for Torah, for Messiah? Do we guard our hearts for Hashem, or do we spend our efforts trying to fill our lives with meaningless idols? The remainder of the riddle puts wine and milk in the analogy. Wine typically represents joy, and milk typically represents basic sustenance or provision, as for a baby. So, are we pursuing God in such a way that we are filled with joy, that we are nurtured by God and rely on Him like milk for an infant? 

The Haftarot of Comfort in the latter part of Isaiah point us to this truth: the redemption of Israel, and of all things, is at hand. So let us press into Isaiah’s riddle during this season of hope. For our hope comes from Yeshua, who is the fullest measure of salvation, restoration, Torah, the Messiah, and the visible image of the invisible God. Let us drink freely from the waters of life.

Look to Abraham Your Father

Second Haftarah of Consolation, Isaiah 49:14–51:3

by David Friedman, Union rabbi, Jerusalem

In the Torah’s narrative, we are at a critical juncture. Moses is teaching the new generation, those who would soon enter to live in the Land of Israel, and his words are recorded in the book of Deuteronomy. 

It will be important to the tribes as they make aliyah (immigration to Israel) to always remember that they are a people bound to God by covenant. Some 600 years after Moses’ death, Isaiah was sharing his message for the Kingdom of Judah and the same truth was relevant.

In Isaiah’s lifetime, there were both righteous and unrighteous kings in Judah. Yet it appears that in the end, idolatry and breaking the Torah were rife throughout the Land. Therefore, Isaiah foresees a judgment similar to what occurred to the Kingdom of Israel. He shares a message of the need to turn back to God (to do tshuvah in Hebrew) and to keep the covenant with him. Isaiah knows the people will need to remember these two crucial items in the near future.

Perhaps the biggest lie that Israel would ever believe, in all generations, is given to us for examination by Isaiah, as he considers the future of his people: Zion said: “Adonai abandoned me, and my God forgot me” (Isa 49:14, my translation). 

Believing this lie would affect Israel’s ability to live as the light that God created us to be. It doesn’t matter when in history this lie would be believed, the results would be the same: a great weakening of our shining light, whether in Israel or in the Diaspora. 

Isaiah was quick to counter this lie with the truth: 

Would a woman forget her tiny infant, from having mercy on the child of her womb? If this were possible, I still will not forget you!… Your [city] walls are always before me (Isa 49:15, 16b, my translation).

The questions in verse 15 are certainly rhetorical, in the poetry of the Hebrew Bible. Yet they confront our people throughout the generations with a wake-up call that is encouraging. 

I did not personally have to go through the Holocaust. Had I done so, I may very well have wondered, as in verse 14, if God was really faithful and loving. I have spoken with a number of persons (including Holocaust survivors) who indeed believe that if God exists, he abandoned our Jewish people during the vicious reign of Hitler. I will not judge any Holocaust survivor or victim for their thoughts on this. Yet Isaiah gives us the true perspective: God will not abandon Israel, not during the Babylonian Exile, and not during the Holocaust:

Though he walk in darkness, and have no light,        

Let him trust in the name of God, and rely upon his God. (Isa 50:10b, JPS)

What a compelling picture of Israel’s future from Isaiah’s day! So many Holocaust survivors have referred to that time period as an era of darkness, when little light was to be found. And a mere hundred and twenty years after Isaiah’s lifetime, Judah would experience siege, slaughter, and darkness. Even the light that existed is described as a raging, destructive fire: “He has ravaged Jacob like flaming fire, consuming on all sides” (Lam 2:3b, JPS). There was but darkness: “Bitterly she weeps in the night” (Lamentations 1:2, JPS).

Living in Israel today, it is not always easy to comprehend what Isaiah tells us. When 200,000 rockets face your borders, and when soldiers and civilians are constantly being attacked by jihad inspired terrorists, one can question where in the world God is and why he does not intervene. When we bury our young men and women in Israel in a continual stream, when the world’s politicians daily pick on Israel with slander, and when you have to go through a terror attack yourself (my family has been through a number of them), it is too easy to think, “Where is God? Why does he leave us in such circumstances? Why doesn’t he do something decisive? Is he present at all? Has he forgotten about us?”

When we are beset with such questions Isaiah’s words offer true and real comfort, and help us reconnect with the God who is indeed there. I have found that Isaiah’s words further on in our haftarah also are 100% true:

You shall know that I am Adonai, those who trust in Me shall not be shamed. . .

I will contend with your enemies, and I will deliver your children. (Isa 49:23b, 25, JPS)

These are simple and strong promises that are ever so relevant for our people today. Isaiah’s haftarah is like an Rx for our people’s pain and the situation in which we find ourselves today, in 2018.

 But Isaiah reverses this situation in our haftarah. God addresses the people of Judah, and asks them:

            Why, when I came, was no one there?

            Why, when I called, would no one respond? (Isa 50:2, JPS) 

God had come and called out to the tribes, to the leaders, the prophets and the priests; but no one listened to him. If the people were disappointed in God, well . . . he seemed to be disappointed in their responses to his call, as well.

And then Isaiah’s words, like a set of exclamation marks, come at the very end of our haftarah section. They challenged the Kingdom of Judah then, as well as us today, to understand our situation in light of God’s actions in biblical history:

Look to Abraham your father, and to Sarah, who gave you birth. He was alone when I called him, and I blessed him and made him many people. (Isa 51:1–2, my translation).

Why look to Abraham? What does this even mean? The Hebrew word used for “look to” here means to “take a look at” others, to consider them and their life.

Isaiah encourages us to consider Abraham and Sarah for a lesson we can learn about God’s faithfulness. Abraham was but one person when God singled him out for a close relationship via an eternal covenant. And God was faithful to bless him and cause his barren wife to be fruitful and have descendants. We can make a rabbinic kal ve’homer (a fortiori) argument here: if God is faithful to his promises to Abraham, will he not also be faithful to all of Abraham’s descendants? The answer is again implied, and it is a strong “yes!” 

Another strongly implied truth of our haftarah is that God’s promises to Israel (and those who are grafted into Israel) are eternal. They pass down from one generation to another. This is not a new message in Isaiah’s day. But it is a crucial one, and that may be why it appears as a thread in our haftarah text. If this was not the case, there would be little hope in Isaiah’s message here. 49:16 uses the word tamid in Hebrew to express the truth that God will “always” remember Israel. For God, it means the constant, daily remembering of his promises to Israel. 

Isaiah 49:17–26 specifies what this “daily remembering forever, always” would look like: it includes gathering the people of Israel and returning us, with the great aid of Gentile governments, to our homeland. (Indeed, King Cyrus of Persia did this in history, and perhaps there are modern day persons [David Lloyd George and Arthur James Balfour among them] who also can be counted as having carried out Isaiah’s words.)

They will bring your sons in their bosoms, and carry your daughters on their backs.

Kings shall tend your children, their queens shall serve you as nurses… (Isa 49:23b, JPS).

 The daily remembering also includes fighting against Israel’s enemies:

 I will contend with your adversaries, and I will deliver your children (Isa 49:25b, JPS).

Let us remember the lessons that Isaiah spoke out to the Kingdom of Judah: that God remembers Israel daily; that his remembering includes gathering and protecting Israel, and bringing us back to our homeland. Let us remember today that he will be present when trouble and darkness attack our lives. Finally, let us remember that we can learn about his faithfulness from the life of Abraham.

Comfort My People

First Haftarah of Consolation, Isaiah 40:1–26

Rabbi Russ Resnik

Tisha B’Av—the ninth day of the Jewish month of Av—is a major turning-point in the Jewish calendar. This date commemorates the destruction of the temple in Jerusalem in 586 BCE by the Chaldeans and again in 70 CE by Rome. For three weeks leading up to Tisha B’Av we read Haftarot of Affliction, passages by the prophets that describe the judgment to come upon Jerusalem. Then for seven weeks after Tisha B’Av we read Haftarot of Consolation or Comfort, beginning with the opening words of this week’s Haftarah, “‘Comfort, comfort My people,’ says your God” (Isa 40:1).

This shift in spiritual focus away from mourning and onto consolation prepares us to enter a New Year, Rosh Hashanah, with joyful anticipation of the goodness and mercy of the Lord. In typical Jewish fashion we honestly face the sorrowful loss of the holy temple—for three weeks—but we end on a note of hope and affirmation of God’s goodness—for seven weeks. We’re not in denial about either our shortcomings or the tragedies of our history, but we insist on focusing on the good, the hopeful, the promises yet to be fulfilled.

In our haftarah this week, first of the seven, Isaiah continues with a word of comfort:

Speak kindly to the heart of Jerusalem
and proclaim to her
that her warfare has ended,
that her iniquity has been removed.
For she has received from Adonai’s hand
    double for all her sins.

Then the prophet introduces “a voice crying in the wilderness,”

Prepare the way of Adonai,
Make straight in the desert
    a highway for our God. (Isa 40:2–3)

The imagery is striking: a highway is prepared through the desert and we expect it to be the route of return for those exiled in Babylon. Valleys and hills are leveled, the crooked way is made straight, and we await the return of the captives. But it is the glory of the Lord that appears; the heralds watching from high places around Jerusalem don’t announce the return of exiles, but instead cry out, “Behold your God!”

Look, Adonai Elohim comes with might,
    with His arm ruling for Him.
Behold, His reward is with Him,
    and His recompense before Him. (Isa 40:9–10)

I said that the heralds announce the return of Hashem to Israel instead of the return of the exiles, but of course, it’s both. The return from exile is part of the Lord’s return to Israel and Israel’s return to him. It’s entirely fitting that Isaiah’s “voice in the wilderness” is cited in all four of the gospel accounts. Even more fitting is that the word for one who heralds the Lord’s return, mevaser, is from the same Hebrew root as “gospel” or besorah. Isaiah’s word of comfort is besorah—a prototypical gospel—to Israel. It provides the foundation for the coming besorah of Messiah Yeshua, which entails his saving work for all Israel, even as it goes beyond to bring a message of salvation to all humankind.

Our haftarah pictures a vital linkage in the besorah that we might tend to overlook. God’s promise to return and restore all Israel includes return to the land of Israel. And if so, the current ongoing return of the Jewish people to the land of Israel, amazing as it is, is but part of an even grander and more amazing restoration to God Himself: “‘Return to Me, and I will return to you,’ says Adonai-Tzva’ot” (Mal 3:7).

The closing night of last week’s Union summer conference featured a true patriarch, long-time friend and ally of the Messianic Jewish community, Pastor Don Finto. Pastor Don spoke on the prophetic significance of the times we live in—based on Yeshua’s parable of the wheat and the weeds (Matt 13:24–30; 36–43)—and how we ought to respond.

Pastor Don laid out one response simply enough: “Read and pray the book.” He urged us to return to the habit of reading Scripture regularly and steadily and to speak words of Scripture as prayers in response to the intense events unfolding all around us. But Pastor Don didn’t just exhort us; he embodied his own message by concluding with the words of Romans 11—all 36 verses!—recited from memory. I say “recited,” but really Pastor Don entered into and acted out the words. All this came from an 88-year-old patriarch standing before us who clearly had not only read and memorized Romans 11, but had digested it and prayed it into his own soul before he spoke it as life to us on Saturday night. The words hit me with meaning and impact that were new even after 40+ years of studying this text.

Another of Pastor Don’s responses to the times we live in is to listen to the right reports, to the Calebs and Joshuas instead of the nay-sayers. “We think too much of the bad news,” he said, and urged us instead to dwell on the good news of Scripture. I’ve given similar counsel in my rabbinic and counseling work. Turn your thoughts away from the live-stream flood of depressing, anxious, tempting data and back to the good report of Scripture, which you’ve already read, chewed on, and stored within.

In the Messianic Jewish community we’re familiar with Isaiah 40 and the many other good reports of Israel’s restoration throughout the prophets. Pastor Don reminded us that we’re right in the middle of these prophecies. In this critical time we need to read and re-read them, and moreover to pray them, to mysteriously become part of their fulfillment as the ancient words of Isaiah are transformed into words of comfort for today. So may we each become a mevaseret Zion—one who announces good news to Zion: “Behold your God!”

All Scripture references are from the Tree of Life Version.

Shabbat Chazon: To See and Be Seen

Haftarat Devarim, Isaiah 1:1–27

Rabbi Isaac S. Roussel, Congregation Zera Avraham

This week is Shabbat Chazon, the Sabbath of Vision. It is called this because the haftarah reading on the Shabbat preceding Tisha B’Av is always from Isaiah 1, which begins “The vision [chazon] of Isaiah son of Amoz . . .” In this passage God accuses Israel of just going through the motions. They are living their lives far from Hashem and steeped in wrongdoing, but are expecting him to accept their acts of devotion. He will have none of it.

Shabbat Chazon is also sometimes called the Black Sabbath, because it precedes the saddest day in the Jewish calendar.

The Torah states that all males must appear before God three times a year for the pilgrimage festivals (Exod 23:17). The Talmud, however, rules that one who is blind in one or both eyes is not obligated to appear (b.Chagigah 5b). The rationale is that the mitzvah, or command, to appear before God uses the word yera’eh, which means “will appear.” But, since the Hebrew text does not contain vowels, this word could also be read as yireh, meaning “will see.” Since a blind or partially blind person cannot fully see, he is exempt from this mitzvah.

This Talmudic discussion highlights what all the mitzvot are about. They are a means to be seen by God and to see God. And this is something that we can pursue in our daily life.

Rabbi Eleazar Azriki (1533–1600) wrote about this Talmudic discussion in his book Sefer Haredim, saying, “For the majority of people this will mean at the three pilgrimage festivals . . . but to those who are wise it means every day and always, at every moment and in every place that they want to see God and have his gaze upon them.”

But the mitzvot must be performed with kavanah (focus and intention). We cannot just go through the motions as Israel is accused of doing in our haftarah reading.

When we daven, say a barucha, study Torah, or commit a loving act with kavanah, we expose ourselves to Hashem. We appear before him. But he also appears to us in these acts. As Abraham Joshua Heschel states, a mitzvah is a sacrament and an act of communion. He writes,

A mitzvah is an act which God and man have in common. . . . Their fulfillment is not valued as an act performed in spite of “the evil drive” but as an act of communion with Him. The spirit of mitzvah is togetherness. . . . He is a partner to our act. (God in Search of Man, emphases mine)

The Chasidic rabbis related the word mitzvah to the Aramaic word tzavta, which means attachment or companionship. When we perform mitzvot with intention, we are attaching ourselves to Hashem.

The opening meditation of the Amidah highlights the communion that is within a mitzvah act. We say, “Open my lips, Adonai, and I will declare your praise.” This expresses the partnership that is involved in prayer (and in any mitzvah).

The early Church Fathers used the term perichoresis, which is sometimes simply called “the divine dance,” to describe the communion of mutual blessing that exists within the Godhead. We are invited into that communion. We enter it when we perform the mitzvot with kavanah. And we invite others in when we include them in our acts of devotion and deeds of compassion and care.

But when we do these acts without kavanah we are worthy of the same rebuke that God gives Israel in our haftarah reading. “An ox recognizes its owner, a donkey recognizes where its owner puts its food; but Israel does not recognize me” (Isa 1:3). They bring sacrifices and go through the ritual acts, but forget that these mean nothing without deeds of justice. Israel in her blindness thinks that she can bring these sacrifices and appease God, while living lives far from him. They are not “appearing before God” and he does not “see” them; he “looks the other way” (1:15). There is no communion. There is no sacramental event.

Our Talmudic discussion continues by telling us that when Rav Huna encountered the words of Exodus 23:17 he wept and quoted a verse that appears in this week’s haftarah. He cried, “Can it happen to a slave whose master expects to see him, that the master will eventually distance himself from him and not want him anymore? For it is written: ‘That you come to appear before Me—who asked this of you, who trample My courts?’” (Isa 1:12).

If we “trample” God’s courts by just going through the motions as Israel did, then we will neither be seen by him nor see him. We will have no communion, no connection.

Today can be Shabbat Chazon or Black Shabbat—a day of vision and seeing, or a day of darkness and blindness.

May we all renew our devotion and kavanah in the performance of the mitzvot.

May we see it as a means to greater connection to and communion with Hashem.

May we join the divine dance.

And thereby we will see and be seen.

This year, Tisha B’av is commemorated on Sunday, July 22, which is the tenth of Av. The ninth of Av, Tisha B’av, falls on Shabbat, when it is not appropriate to fast and mourn, so it is delayed one day.

Tisha B’av: Why We Mourn

Rabbi Isaac Roussel, Congregation Zera Avraham

We are in the midst of the Three Weeks leading up to Tisha B’av (July 21–22 this year). The Ninth of Av is a day of fasting on which we commemorate the destruction of the two Temples and many other calamities that have befallen our people over the centuries.

This day often goes unobserved in the non-Orthodox world. Some say that since we now have the State of Israel there is no need to mourn over a Temple destroyed 2,000 years ago. Others say that the destruction of the Temple pales in comparison to the horrors of the Holocaust. There are some more liberal-minded Jews who even celebrate the destruction of the Temple because it means that we no longer have animal sacrifices.

I am sometimes asked why Messianic Jews should still observe this day since we have the risen Messiah. While I could go into many different reasons, my response to this question is mainly four-fold.

First, we mourn because the world is not yet fully redeemed. The question above is rooted in a common misunderstanding of Yeshua’s death and resurrection. People tend to think that with his resurrection all is complete. In fact, this was just the beginning of redemption. Yes, Yeshua died and ascended to the Father’s right hand, but we still live in a fallen world. There is still poverty, suffering, disease, violence, and sin. Full redemption does not occur until his return. Rav Shaul says, “We know that until now, the whole creation has been groaning as with the pains of childbirth; and not only it, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we continue waiting eagerly to be made sons” (Rom 8:22–23).

Second, we mourn because we ourselves are not yet fully redeemed. Our reading from the prophets this week is the second haftarah of admonition, from the Book of Jeremiah. In it God mournfully declares, “My people have committed two evils: they have abandoned me, the fountain of living water, and dug themselves cisterns, broken cisterns, that can hold no water!” (Jer 2:13). This text is speaking to Israel’s idolatry, but we do this in many small ways on a regular basis ourselves. We take our eyes off Hashem to try to get what we want through our own efforts. We scheme, gossip, speak harshly, ignore others’ pain, and are consumed with pride. Though we have forgiveness through the Messiah, we are still not fully redeemed. Our sins contribute to the suffering of this world. This is why the Rambam says that we fast on this day to recall that our evil deeds and those of our ancestors have caused the destruction (Hilkhot Ta’anit 5:1). And, I would add, continue to cause destruction in our lives and the lives of those around us. Tisha B’av is not just a time of mourning, but a time of teshuvah, repentance.

Third, we mourn because Israel is not yet fully redeemed. Our movement’s strong evangelical Christian roots influence us to think individualistically. This perspective is at the core of the question, “I have the Messiah, so why should I mourn the Temple’s destruction?” But the fact is that both Scripture and Jewish tradition have a different perspective. We are individuals, but we are part of a wider community, for whom we are responsible. Judaism is not an “I-Thou” religion, it is a “We-Thou” religion. This is why the vast majority of the prayers in our Siddur are written in the plural. This includes our confessions of sin. We may not have committed a particular sin, but a fellow Jew may have. Our community as a whole has sinned, and we are all responsible.

Yom Kippur is predominately focused on the individual before God. Rabbi Ismar Schorcsh, a former chancellor of the Jewish Theological Seminary, therefore argues that this is why we need Tisha B’av. He writes:

Yom Kippur and Tisha B’av are tandem. . . . Whereas Yom Kippur is set aside for self-reflection, Tisha B’av is dedicated to pondering the nation’s destiny. . . . To remove Tisha B’av from the liturgical structure is to accentuate the pursuit of personal salvation and to disrupt the carefully crafted equilibrium between individual need and group primacy.

We need both individual and corporate repentance. While we may have found the Messiah, our people by and large have not. We are a part of them and they are a part of us, therefore we need to focus on our joint destiny.

Finally, we mourn because God mourns. Both Scripture and our tradition repeatedly declare that God grieves over this broken world. Because we have a mutual destiny with Hashem, we join in his sorrow over this unredeemed world. (And I believe that there is somber joy in sharing in his pain.) Our Sages understood that God suffers along with Israel and the world. The Talmud puts these words in God’s mouth, “Woe to the children, on account of whose sins I destroyed my house and burnt my Temple and exiled them among the nations of the world. . . . Woe to the Father who had to banish his children!” (M. Berachot 3a).

One of my favorite interpretations of the Mourner’s Kaddish is based on this passage. Not only are we seeking God’s comfort in the loss of a loved one, but we in turn comfort God in that he has lost a child from the world too. Kaddish is therefore not just for the individual, but for the community to comfort Hashem! I find this poignant and beautiful. There is something holy and sacred about sharing in God’s pain for the world.

Thus I commend observance of Tisha B’av to you. Yes, as Messianic Jews, we have the risen Messiah. But we still live in a world of poverty, disease, war, and oppression; a world that destroys temples. We ourselves contribute to this through our own sinful behavior. We are part of a people that is often far from God and desperately needs Messiah Yeshua. And we can join our weeping with Hashem’s weeping over this broken and unredeemed world.

The destruction of both Temples stands as a sign for all of the destruction that exists in the world.

May the groans of our liturgy resonate with the groans of all Creation.

May our fast call us to teshuvah, repentance—repentance for our own sin that brings destruction into this world.

May we mourn for our people, who sometimes live lives far from Hashem.

May we, in the midst of our own mourning, comfort our Father, who weeps over his burnt House and the exile that not only Israel but the whole world experiences.

And thereby, we can bring healing to this world and speed the final redemption!