Helpless but Ready

Shabbat Shuva, Hosea 14:2–10

Rabbi Russ Resnik

Not long before my old friend Rube (Rabbi Richard Rubinstein, that is) passed away, I had the privilege of visiting him at his home in Sacramento. He was already in bad shape from the cancer that eventually killed him, but his spirits were remarkably fine, so when he recommended a book, I paid attention. The title grabbed my attention too: This Is Real and You Are Completely Unprepared, by Rabbi Alan Lew. The subtitle explains that it’s about “The Days of Awe as a Journey of Transformation,” and “You are Completely Unprepared” is a sort of unifying theme.

Rabbi Lew doesn’t give us a manual on liturgy or customs to help us get ready for the High Holy Days. Rather, he’s telling us that we’ll never get ready; we’ll never be prepared for the central experience of the Days of Awe, which is an encounter with the real and living presence of God. Rabbi Lew tells us, “we begin our preparations for reconciliation with God by acknowledging our estrangement from God.” It’s an estrangement that we can’t fix, says the rabbi, but only recognize, as “we begin to acknowledge the fact that we are utterly unprepared [there’s that word again] for what we have to face in life.”

Recognizing that we are truly unprepared and empty is inherent to teshuva, repentance. As we say in the words of Avinu Malkenu (Our Father, Our King): “Ein banu ma’asim, we have no good deeds”, or literally no deeds at all, that we can invoke in God’s presence. There is nothing we can say or do in response to his awesome holiness. Recognizing this helplessness, our utter deficit in the presence of God, is essential to genuinely returning to him.  

This Shabbat, falling between Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur, is Shabbat Shuva, named from the words in Hosea: “Shuva Yisrael, Return O Israel, to Adonai your God, for you have stumbled in your iniquity” (Hosea 14:2 [1]).

When the prophet calls Israel to return to Hashem, he reflects the longing of the Lord himself, who says “Return to me and I will return to you” (Mal. 3:7). As our Messiah tells us, “There will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who turns to God from his sins than over ninety-nine righteous people who have no need to repent (Luke 15:7, CJB).

Since Hashem doesn’t just allow us to return to him, but rejoices in our return, the prophet makes sure we know how to do it: “Take words with you and return to the Lord” (Hosea 14:3[2]). But wait! Can it really be that easy? We don’t have to pay for our sins or prove we’ll never do them again? We just bring words of confession and return to God. And this is the point—to renounce our self-sufficiency and all the external props that we might employ to straighten out our lives:

“Assyria will not save us.
We will not ride on horses,
and we will never again say, ‘Our god,’
    to the work of our hands,
    for with You, orphans find mercy.’” 14:4 [3]

A few years after Rube introduced me to This is Real and You Are Completely Unprepared, another friend recommended A Praying Life, by Paul E. Miller. In one of the early chapters, “Learning to be Helpless,” Miller writes, “Prayer is bringing your helplessness to Jesus.” He quotes Thomas Merton: “Prayer is an expression of who we are. . . . We are a living incompleteness. We are a gap, an emptiness that calls for fulfillment.” Prayer, then, isn’t something we do to overcome our helplessness; it is a gift that arises out of the helplessness that will always be with us. But unless we can acknowledge that helplessness, we won’t even want the gift.

Which invokes a third book in my recent reading: God of our Understanding, by Shais Taub, a Hasidic rabbi. His subtitle is “Jewish Spirituality and Recovery from Addiction,” and Rabbi Taub expounds on the 12 Steps of Alcoholics Anonymous from the perspective of Torah, beginning with Step One: “We admitted we were powerless over alcohol [or whatever we were addicted to] and that our lives had become unmanageable.” He writes,

The idea of surrender presented in the First Step . . . seems to turn many people off from even giving recovery an honest go. Yet, that’s probably just as well, because 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.

It’s true, of course, that surrender is a turn-off to many people in a day that is obsessed with success, techno-mastery, and the elimination of pain and unpleasantness. But what ties these three books together, and ties them all to Shabbat Shuva, is this notion that this despised reality of helplessness, incompletion, and powerlessness is not limited to addicts, but part of our humanity. It’s not just a factor to overcome, but the platform for genuine spiritual development. The books don’t call on us to recognize our helplessness so that we can fix it, but rather so that we thereby recognize our dependency on God. We’re not going to return to God only after we solve these problems, but somehow from within them, in the negation of the self-reliance and self-assurance that our secular culture continually seeks to promote.

This is a picture of real teshuva—turning away from self and its inevitable outcome, sin, and turning to God.

As Messianic Jews, we participate in Shabbat Shuva and the Days of Awe along with the whole Jewish community, even though we believe we’ve already been forgiven through Yeshua’s once-for-all sacrifice. Why? Solidarity with all Israel is sufficient reason, but there’s more. To paraphrase Rabbi Taub, it’s because repentance and forgiveness are not just an aspect of new life in Messiah, but the very basis of it. The religious world is always tempted to conform to the values of the dominant secular culture, which in our times includes the value of human competence and sufficiency. Feeling insufficient? God can fix that and send you on your way. But that’s not the gospel. Instead, it says, Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of God. We don’t do teshuva once to get into this kingdom, and then leave it at the door. Rather, continually recognizing our spiritual helplessness and need, paradoxically enough, keeps us spiritually healthy and full. Perhaps that’s how my friend Rube could seem to be doing well even as his body was collapsing before the ravages of cancer.

We can’t fix our own backsliding, so the Lord promises to heal it instead:

I will be like dew for Israel.
He will blossom like a lily,
and thrust out his roots like Lebanon.
His tender shoots will spread out.
His beauty will be like an olive tree
and his fragrance will be like Lebanon. (Hosea 14:6–7 [5–6])

May it be so for us and the whole house of Israel in this new year!

Unless otherwise noted, Scripture citations are from the Tree of Life Version. Numbers in brackets reflect verse numbers in Christian translations.

The Real Housewives of Ephraim

Rosh Hashana 5780

by Monique B

In synagogues around the globe, Rosh Hashana is marked by more than the sounds of the shofar – we also read the stories of Sarah and Hannah, two barren women who have unique relationships with the God who makes promises.  

Hannah is a barren woman stuck in a deeply dysfunctional marriage. Her sister-wife, Pninah, has produced many sons and daughters, and never misses an opportunity to lord it over her. Her husband, Elkanah, thinks his own mercurial affections should provide sufficient comfort to his depressed and angry wife.

Hannah is also deeply devout – her family travels to Shiloh three times a year to offer sacrifices during the pilgrimage festivals, a trip that would come at no small expense or inconvenience. During one of these trips, she brings her case to Hashem, and bargains with Him silently at the gates of the Tabernacle. “If you give me a son, I will make him a nazir from birth! He will serve you all the days of his life.”

Her lips move, but no sound comes out – a highly unusual form of prayer at that time. Eli, the High Priest, thinks she’s a drunken, rambling fool, and tells her as much. Hannah shows us her moxie when she defends herself against this withering accusation from Israel’s most powerful leader: “I am not drunk, I am deeply vexed!” Eli steps back, and reassures her that her prayer – whatever it is – will surely be answered. Somehow this calms Hannah. She returns to her family with an untroubled mind, and quickly conceives her first-born son.

Three or four years later, when she has weaned her beloved boy, Hannah brings him to Shiloh to be raised by the same man who called her a drunken idiot the last time they met. This is a staggering sacrifice, which totally overshadows the bulls, flour, and wine that she brings along. And finally she prays out loud, offering a gorgeous song of praise and thanksgiving, and marking herself as one of the seven female prophets in the Tanakh.

The Song of Hannah sets up the major themes of the rest of the Books of Samuel – God gives and he takes away. He raises up the poor and lowly, and knocks the proud off their pedestals. This foreshadows the events that are to come – soon Eli, Israel’s judge and High Priest, will decline in moral authority. He and his sons will die an ignominious death. His replacement? Lonely Shmuel, who had grown up in his own household. Later, Shmuel will anoint Saul as king. He will rise in influence, and decline in moral authority when power corrupts him. God will raise up David, installing him in Saul’s own household, eventually supplanting him. Saul and his sons will die an ignominious death to make way for an obscure shepherd boy to be the next king.

As Hannah prays:

Hashem kills and makes alive;
he brings down to the grave, and he brings up.

Hashem makes poor, and he makes rich;
he humbles, and he exalts.
He raises the poor from the dust,
lifts up the needy from the trash pile;
he gives them a place with leaders
and assigns them seats of honor. (I Samuel 2:6-10)

Hannah leaves tiny Shmuel at the Tabernacle in Eli’s care. We learn that she hasn’t abandoned him there, as the text continues: “Each year his mother would make him a little coat and bring it when she came up with her husband to offer the annual sacrifice.” Eli blesses her that she might have another child to replace the one she has dedicated to the Lord. Hashem answers this request five-fold, as Hannah and her husband go on to have three more sons and two daughters.

The Sages hold Hannah in high regard. Rabbi Elazar points out that Hannah is the first person since creation to refer to God as the Lord of Hosts (Hashem Tzevaot). This is not a slip of the tongue – by using this title, Hannah implies that Hashem is such a great and mighty god that it should be a very small thing to open her barren womb. Indeed, the Talmud suggests a parable:

To what is this similar? It is similar to a flesh and blood king who made a feast for his servants. A poor person came and stood at the door. He said to them: Give me one slice of bread! And they paid him no attention. He pushed and entered before the king. He said to him: My lord, the King, from this entire feast that you have prepared, is it so difficult in your eyes to give me a single slice of bread? (b. Berakhot 31B) 

We could ask whether this approach is impertinent, but the results are telling. Hannah approaches the Tabernacle in such a state of rage and desperation that her prayers are mistaken for the incoherent blabber of an alcoholic. She calls God by a new title, and makes an impertinent request in the form of a bargain: you give me a son, and I’ll give him right back to you! Still, God hears her and provides an answer. The barren Hannah becomes a mother to six, all of them children of her own womb.

Perhaps this is why we read about Hannah on the first day of the year. She teaches us to pray as we’ve never prayed before – with desperation and a touch of impertinence, mindful that we have an audience with the King of all creation. During these holy days, the gates of repentance are open to us. May we learn from Hannah’s example, and may we all have the courage to pray like this woman.  

L’shana tova umetukah! May you have a good and sweet new year!

The Power to Change

Selichot 5779

by Rabbi Russ Resnik

We humans may say we like change, but something within us resists it. It’s part of our human nature to stick with routine and the status quo—especially when it comes to inward things. We might like to try out new experiences, new flavors and colors and places, but when it comes to changing the things closest to ourselves, we’re most likely to resist. Just ask anyone—including yourself—who’s tried to exercise more or eat less or phase out some unhealthy habit. We resist change.  

As a rabbi I’ve noticed over the years this sort of resistance when we talk about one of the great themes of our current season—teshuva or repentance. I can even imagine some of my readers groaning as I bring up that term. Yes, we emphasize teshuva during the whole period leading up to Rosh Hashana, and then on Rosh Hashana and all the way through Yom Kippur. Our tradition provides lengthy prayers of remorse and confession . . . and we have to overcome inner resistance to really put our hearts into this whole practice. 

Folks sometimes raise a theological objection: “I did teshuva when I accepted Yeshua. I turned away from sin and turned back to God once for all. Why do you keep bringing it up again?” I’ll keep my response really simple. Yeshua himself gave us a model daily prayer that includes these lines:  

Give us this day our daily bread.
And forgive us our debts
    as we also have forgiven our debtors.
And lead us not into temptation,
    but deliver us from the evil one. Matthew 6:11–13

Daily bread, daily forgiveness, daily deliverance from evil. How much more, then should we seek forgiveness as we prepare for the Days of Awe, which our tradition pictures as a time of intense encounter with the awesome and holy God of Israel?  

After the close of the last Shabbat or two before Rosh Hashana (the Shabbat of September 21 this year), Jewish custom commends reciting Selichot, prayers for forgiveness. You can find Selichot prayers in a special prayer book or online, or you can read psalms of supplication like Psalms 32 and 51. The most important text for Selichot, though, is the Thirteen Attributes of Mercy from Exodus 34:6–7. Moses is speaking with Hashem (the Lord) after the incident of the golden calf. In response to Moses’ pleas, Hashem has agreed to show mercy to Israel and remain among them by his presence. Then Moses asks God to show him his glory and Hashem agrees—but it’s not a visual revelation that he gives. Instead . . .  

Adonai passed before [Moses] and proclaimed: “Adonai, Adonai, God, merciful and compassionate, slow to anger, rich in grace and truth; showing grace to the thousandth generation, forgiving offenses, crimes and sins; yet not exonerating the guilty . . .    

In this ultimate moment of divine self-revelation, God’s “glory” appears as mercy and compassion. Our sages discern Thirteen Attributes of Mercy that are especially comforting as we seek forgiveness at this time of year. Let’s take a moment to consider them word by word:  

1.      Adonai—God is merciful before a person sins, even though he knows we’re always liable to do wrong.

2.      Adonai—God is merciful after the sinner has gone astray.

3.      God (El)—The title El signifies power, including the power to extend mercy even beyond the degree indicated by the twice-repeated name Adonai.

4.      Merciful (rahum)—Hashem understands our human frailty. The Hebrew rahum is related to the word for womb, and speaks of the deepest sort of empathy. God understands.

5.      Compassionate (v’hanun)—God shows mercy even to those who don’t deserve it—like us.

6.      Slow to anger (erech apayim)—God gives the sinner ample time to reflect, improve, and repent. We sometimes grow impatient with the litany of confession during the High Holy Days, but it’s God who ought to be impatient with our sins—not just the list but our actual deeds—and he isn’t.

7.      Rich in grace (v’rav hesed)—The Lord treats us with boundless kindness that we haven’t earned.

8.      And truth (v’emet)—The Lord remains true to his word and its decrees, and finds the way to balance them with hesed, his kindness. Hesed v’emet, grace and truth, appear together numerous times throughout the Scriptures.

9.      Showing grace to the thousandth generation (notzer hesed la-alafim)—God remembers the deeds of the righteous, and ultimately of the Righteous One, on behalf of their descendants.

10.  Forgiving offenses (nosei avon)—Avon refers to intentional sin, which God forgives as long as the sinner repents.

11.  Crimes (pesha)—Pesha is sin with malicious intent, rebellion against God. God allows repentance leading to forgiveness even for this.

12.  And sins (v’hata’ah)—And God forgives sins committed out of carelessness, thoughtlessness, or apathy.

13.  Exonerating (v’nakeh)—The text says God does not exonerate the guilty, implying that he does exonerate those who truly repent. 

John highlights the paired attributes of hesed v’emet in his commentary on Exodus 34: “The Torah was given through Moses; grace and truth came through Yeshua the Messiah” (1:17). Commentators often see this verse as a contrast between Moses and Yeshua, between law and grace. But it’s more accurate to think of it as fulfillment. Moses gave us Torah, which speaks of grace and truth. Yeshua the Messiah embodies the very same grace and truth, living them out among us and through us. Grace and truth together have the power to change us deeply from within.  

We’ll repeat the Thirteen Attributes in our prayers from the night of Selichot through Yom Kippur. They provide the essential backdrop for all our confessions of sin. Without the declaration of God’s mercy, we’d turn the liturgies of confession into a dreary, self-absorbed, and depressing mess. With it, confession leads to a deep encounter with the God of grace and truth, embodied in Messiah Yeshua.

From Shame to Honor

Fifth Haftarah of Comfort, Isaiah 54:1–10

Rabbi Stuart Dauermann

Our Haftarah speaks in strident terms of two realities with which all societies and all people must deal: honor and shame.  

“Sing, barren woman who has never had a child!
Burst into song, shout for joy,
you who have never been in labor!
For the deserted wife will have more children
than the woman who is living with her husband,” says Adonai. . . .
Don’t be afraid, for you won’t be ashamed;
don’t be discouraged, for you won’t be disgraced.
You will forget the shame of your youth,
no longer remember the dishonor of being widowed.
For your husband is your Maker,
Adonai-Tzva’ot is his name.
The Holy One of Isra’el is your Redeemer.
He will be called the God of all the earth.
For Adonai has called you back
like a wife abandoned and grief-stricken;
“A wife married in her youth
cannot be rejected,” says your God.
“Briefly I abandoned you,
but with great compassion I am taking you back.
I was angry for a moment
and hid my face from you;
but with everlasting grace
I will have compassion on you,”
says Adonai your Redeemer. (Isaiah 54:1, 4–8)

The very first verse of this haftarah presents the kingdom and people of Judah metaphorically as a woman who is shamed because she has never been in labor and is therefore without children, also shamed because she has been forsaken by her husband, (actually widowed). Then, in the verses following, this woman’s status is reversed as she has many children and as her Maker, Adonai, becomes her husband. 

In some segments of our culture, this issue of shame for being childless or for being unmarried is still a stigma for women. We would all agree that this is unjust and unkind. I have also long noted that in our culture a man can afford to look sloppy. This will just be written off. But for a woman to appear in public in a sloppy manner is for her to court disapproval, and even conjectures about her emotional well-being. And if a woman is unattractive, she is apt to consider herself permanently one down. This is unjust, and it is cruel. To the extent that such “norms” prevail in our contexts, they need to be forsaken and uprooted.  

Although I have neither attached to myself the label “feminist” nor opposed being such, I think all men and indeed all people should join in making sure that women are treated with the dignity and honor God intends for them. This is a kind of feminism none should reject and all should embrace.  

Matters of honor and shame are currently being trampled underfoot in American culture. In the public arena, few if any bother to think about how they are enhancing or destroying the reputations and well-being of the people they despise, oppose, and denounce. I know people who engage in this practice every day on their Facebook pages, denouncing entire classes of people.   

We have seen in our Haftarah that matters of honor and shame are important to God. In the Besorah of Luke we find Yeshua talking about this issue too (see Luke 14:7–11).  In the Sermon on the Mount, Yeshua sternly warns us, “I tell you that anyone who nurses anger against his brother will be subject to judgment; that whoever calls his brother, ‘You good-for-nothing!’ will be brought before the Sanhedrin; that whoever says, ‘Fool!’ incurs the penalty of burning in the fire of Gei-Hinnom!” (Matthew 5:22).  

In view of all this then, consider the following:

 1.      What ought to be done transform the way people in our circles speak to and about others?

2.      If we don’t bother to address this, do we imagine this will be pleasing to ADONAI?

3.      How do you think society will be impacted if we do not reverse this trend of widespread disrespectful speech?

4.      If you were going to write a speech ethic for American political discourse, what would it say? Begin this way: “It is our decision that henceforth, when speaking of those of whom we disapprove, or with whom we disagree, we will not ________________________________________________ but instead will endeavor to __________________________________. In this manner we seek to reduce ____________________and increase _______________ in our nation.”

It is easy for us to speak in generalized terms about dignity for all people. But people are not generalities: they are very specific. Therefore, it behooves us to think clearly about the various groups of people we encounter: not society in general, but subgroups of people as they are distinguished from each other by economics, location, gender, race, politics, ethnicity, religion, and other particularities of their station in life. It may just be—and I would insist it is—that the God of Israel holds us accountable to treat all these kinds of people with the honor and dignity for which they were created. And who would doubt that care in such matters is a vanishing commodity in our day?  

We would do well to ponder the wisdom and challenge given us by Kefa in his first letter, “Be respectful to all—keep loving the brotherhood, fearing God, and honoring the emperor”  (1 Peter 2:17).  Few would doubt that our society is not doing well in these areas.  No excuse is good enough to justify leaving things as they are. We have to do better.

God in Exile

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

by Rabbi Russ Resnik 

One of the first things to learn in counseling and rabbinic-pastoral care is, “Just show up.” For someone grieving the death of a loved one, or facing their own death or long-term illness, or the trials of a wandering son or daughter, being present with them is more important than any words of comfort or advice you might bring. We sometimes describe care for people in need as “spiritual accompaniment,” and Jewish tradition pictures God himself as the model.

Rabbi Hama once asked: What does it mean, “You shall walk after the Lord your God” (Deut 13:5)? Is it possible for a person to walk and follow in God’s presence? Does not the Torah also say “For the Lord your God is a consuming fire” (Deut 4:24)? But it means to walk after the attributes of the Holy One, blessed be he. . . . The Holy One, blessed be he, visits the ill, as it says, “And God visited him in Elonei Mamreh” (Gen. 18:1); so you shall visit the ill. The Holy One, blessed be he, comforts the bereaved, as it says, “And it was after Abraham died that God blessed his son Isaac…” (Gen. 25:11), so too shall you comfort the bereaved. The Holy One, blessed be he, buries the dead, as it says, “And he buried him in the valley” (Deut. 34:6), so you too bury the dead. (Talmud, Sotah 14a)

As the Lord performs these deeds of kindness he is present—he just shows up with the sick, bereaved, dying, and even the dead. This attribute of presence isn’t an add-on to God’s nature, but an essential aspect of who he is.

So, when Isaiah seeks to provide comfort for Israel after his warnings of horrific judgment and exile, he draws upon this same attribute of God. In the first Haftarah of Comfort (Isaiah 40:1–26), which we read three weeks ago, Isaiah pictured watchmen looking out on the highway to Jerusalem, ready to announce good news.   

Get yourself up on a high mountain,
you who bring good news to Zion!
Lift up your voice with strength,
you who bring good news to Jerusalem! (Isa 40:9a TLV)

“You who bring good news” in this passage is a single word in Hebrew, mevaseret. One of the suburbs of modern Jerusalem is named Mevaseret Zion, after Isaiah’s wording, “you who bring good news to Zion.” I have close friends in Mevaseret Zion, and I’ve been there many times. From various vantage points in the city, you can look out at the hilly streets and byways of Jerusalem. You can see Highway 1, the busy thoroughfare from Tel Aviv that leads up to the Jewish capital. This is the image Isaiah is painting: Mevaseret or mevaser, herald-of-good-news, watching over the highway to Jerusalem (Zion is a synonym for Jerusalem here), eager to announce the approach of . . . someone.  

Since the entire block of Isaiah’s prophecy beginning in chapter 40 is about Israel’s return from captivity in Babylon, we imagine that the highway here is the one leading back from Babylon to the land of Israel, to Jerusalem. But what’s most striking in this passage is that the herald isn’t watching only for the return of the Israelites, but also—and above all—for the return of their God.  

Lift up your voice with strength. . . .
 Lift it up! Do not fear!
Say to the cities of Judah:
  “Behold your God!” (Isa 40:9b TLV)

God’s presence has gone into exile with Israel and his presence will return, leading them back to the land of their inheritance. Before the herald announces God’s promised return, however, he calls on the people to prepare the way, using images of highway building: “Make straight in the desert a highway,” “the rough ground will be a plain and the rugged terrain smooth” (Isa 40:3–4). Centuries later, Mark opens his eye-witness account of the life of Yeshua of Natzeret with words from this same passage: “The voice of one crying in the wilderness.” Then Mark echoes the call to prepare the way: “John appeared, immersing in the wilderness, proclaiming an immersion involving repentance for the removal of sins” (Mark 1:4 TLV). 

The “good news” in Isaiah and in Mark is that the God of Israel is returning to his people and that the people need to return to God. This proclamation reflects all that the prophets have promised and that the people have come to hope for. Mark reveals that God is returning to Israel in and through his Son, Yeshua the Messiah.  

This week’s haftarah employs the same terminology as Isaiah 40 to adorn this picture of hope and restoration:  

How beautiful upon the mountains
    are the feet of the mevaser, herald-of-good-news,
who announces peace, the mevaser, herald-of-good-news of good,
    who announces salvation,
    who says to Zion, “Your God reigns!”
Your watchmen lift up their voices,
   their voices together for joy;
for eye to eye they see
    the return of the Lord to Zion. (Isa 52:7–8, my translation)

The watchmen here, as in Isaiah 40, are looking out over the road to Jerusalem, the highway back from exile, and now they lift their voices in joy at the Lord’s return. The words “return of the Lord to Zion” imply that he has been absent from Zion. He has been in exile with Israel.  

God’s return from exile is portrayed even more clearly in the conclusion to the haftarah, as the prophet tells the Jewish refugees:  

For you will not go out in haste,
nor will you go in flight,
for Adonai will go before you,
and the God of Israel will be your rear guard. (Isa 52:12 TLV)

 God’s presence surrounds us, before and behind, even amidst the sufferings of exile.

Isaiah 51:12–52:12 is the fourth in the series of haftarah readings leading up to the Days of Awe, Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. It reveals the Awe in the Days of Awe—the presence of Hashem, with us and among us.  

Messianic Jews sometimes seem to require an explanation for observing the Days of Awe, especially Yom Kippur. We’re forgiven, we have atonement in Messiah Yeshua; why do we still need to go through the ritual of confession and pardon year after year? But this question misses a major dimension of Yom Kippur. The personal drama of confession and pardon takes place on a much larger stage, all Israel. The language of confession on Yom Kippur isn’t “I” and “me,” but “we” and “us.” Moreover, the day isn’t only about sin and forgiveness, but also about recognizing and honoring God’s presence among his people. We don’t confess and seek atonement to get God to be present with us, but because he is present with us. If God is present with his people even in exile, we Messianic Jews need to be present too. 

The ever-present God is Immanuel, God-with-us, both in our exile and wanderings and in the holiest of times on Yom Kippur. As this day approaches we can prepare for it, along with all Israel, by making straight in the desert of our chaotic lives and divided hearts a highway for our God.

Beauty Without and Within

Hafarat R’eh, Isaiah 54:11–55:5

by Dr. Vered Hillel, Netanya, Israel

We’ve all heard the saying “Beauty is only skin deep” adapted from the 1613 poem “A Wife” by Thomas Overbury. The saying refers to the idea that someone’s external beauty is not as important as their inner beauty, or put another way, external attractiveness has no relation to goodness, essential quality, or character. This saying, with a little twist, reminds me of the haftarah for R’eh; instead of contrasting external beauty with internal beauty this passage reveals that both are to be found in rebuilt Jerusalem.  

The first section of our haftarah (Isaiah 54:1–17) describes the spectacular appearance of rebuilt Jerusalem. The walls will sparkle with gems causing them to stand out in splendor, the foundation will be made of sapphire and the gates from precious stones, and the streets will be paved with jewels. The rebuilt city of Jerusalem will be breathtaking in its magnificence and reflecting the glory of God in its radiance. It will be a place of peace and prosperity of material or physical blessings as well as spiritual and religious ones. The latter are actually the prerequisite for the former. The outward signs of restored Jerusalem, no matter how beautiful or glorious they may be, are not in themselves the signs of Hashem’s redemption; it is the quality of life of the people living within the city that will demonstrate the presence of Hashem. The outward glory of the city is merely the manifestation of the inner glory and spiritual character of those dwelling in it. 

Isaiah states that all the inhabitants will be learned of Hashem (54:13) and established by righteousness, by tzedakah. The prophet does not say that the people will be learned or educated about or by Hashem, which would imply knowledge only. Rather the verse states that the people will be learned of Hashem; in other words, they will be his disciples, which indicates that some type of relationship exists. This relationship becomes the foundation of the restored nation, enabling them to build their society on acts of tzedakah righteousness and of shalom, which help produce peace and harmony. The bold promise of physical and spiritual transformation is presented in unilateral terms. Hashem is the one who rebuilds Jerusalem and transforms his children into disciples. The section concludes with the assurance that Jerusalem will be invincible because Hashem is the protector and that he will vindicate Israel because this is what he does for his servants (54:15–17).  

The second section (55:1–5) shifts to more of a bilateral relationship in which Israel is repeatedly called to come, pay attention, and listen. If they heed this calling, Hashem promises to provide the necessary physical and spiritual nourishment to all who return, and to renew the everlasting covenant, which is the enduring mercies/loyalty promised to David (55:3). He assures Israel that the Davidic promise has not been abrogated, but that the mercies of David will be perpetuated in the restored nation of Israel, as well as in the future eternal King seated on the Davidic throne, Yeshua the Messiah. Just assuredly as David was a witness about Hashem to the surrounding nations, through both his warfare and his Psalms (55:4), Israel will be a light to the nations, summoning the nations to Hashem, because the Holy One of Israel bestows honor on them.  

The placement of this week’s haftarah in the broader Jewish reading cycle provides the context for this messianic promise. Earlier in the year, the two sections of haftarah R’eh (Isa 54:11–17; 55:1–5) were combined with the first 11 verses of chapter 54 to form the haftarah for Parashat Noah. That parasha and the corresponding haftarah demonstrate that the comfort and consolation of Israel promised in Isaiah are to be as enduring as the eternal promise given to Noah after the flood. Hashem’s covenant with Noah not to destroy the earth again by flood waters (Gen 9:9–17) parallels  the “Covenant of Peace” into which Israel enters through Hashem’s everlasting love and mercy mentioned in Isaiah 54:10 (cf. Isa 55:3). This theme of everlasting love, mercy, and peace carries into the haftarah for R’eh.  

The two sections of this week’s haftarah record promises of physical and spiritual restoration to Israel. We have seen partial fulfillment of both, the coming of Messiah Yeshua long ago and the modern reestablishment of the State of Israel. Yet we still await their complete realization. Though these promises are spoken to Israel, the external and internal beauty of rebuilt Jerusalem provides a timeless principle that can be applied to individuals as well as to groups—outward beauty is a reflection inner character. The Bible directly addresses this principle in Proverbs 27:19, “Just as water reflects one’s face, so one’s heart reflects the person”, and Psalm 50:2, “Out of Zion, the perfection of beauty, God shines forth.”  

Most often, however, we are admonished to focus on inner beauty and character, rather than outward appearances (as in 1 Samuel 16:7, Ephesians 1:18, or 1 Peter 3:3–4). Inner beauty requires action on our part. Like Israel, we too must heed Hashem’s calling to come and build our relationship with him as his disciples through the promised eternal King and Messiah, Yeshua, who sits on the throne of David. We are called to acts of tzedakah and shalom and to walk in Hashem’s grace, love, mercy and peace. Daily we have to choose between blessings or curses (Parashat R’eh, Deut 11:26), between building our inner character or letting it atrophy. There are many ways to build our inner spiritual and human character. One way is the daily renewal of our minds (Rom 12:2) by thinking and dwelling on “whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is of good repute, if there is any excellence and if anything worthy of praise” (Phil 4:8).  

May our outward appearance be the manifestation of our inner beauty and spiritual character!

Moshe’s Bottom Line

Parashat Ekev, Deuteronomy 7:12–11:25

by David Friedman, UMJC rabbi, Jerusalem 

So now Israel, what does Adonai your God ask from you, but to fear Adonai your God, to walk in His ways and to love Him, as well as to serve Adonai your God with all your mind and all your life; to watch over Adonai’s instructions and statutes that I am instructing you today, for your own good. (Deut 10:12–13, my translation)

These two verses are the centerpiece and crown of Parashat Ekev. 

They are the summary statement of what God required (and requires) of Israel. Moshe is summarizing the lessons of 40 years in the Sinai desert, and this is his tamsit, Hebrew for we’d call the “bottom line” lesson, of the experiences that the nation had just been through. 

Why does Moshe give such a bottom-line conclusion here, in Deuteronomy 10? As Moshe summarizes the important lessons for the tribes to remember, his time to die is approaching. A new leader will take his place, and the people will reach their destiny, entrance into the Land of Promise. So Moshe is being strategic in his leadership: it was the moment to make things clear and definite! It was the time to spell things out so there could be no question as to what was needed to survive, prosper, and fulfill God’s calling. These were crucial days in which to review how to live in the Land in order to receive God’s blessings. The stakes were high! 

What would be the consequences if the tribes followed and obeyed God? 

And it will be if you hear and do these judgments (i.e. keep the Torah); that is, guard over them and perform them, that Adonai your God will enforce the covenant with its covenant-love that He swore to your fathers. And He will love you, give you reason to bow your knees in thanksgiving, make you fruitful with children, bless your agricultural produce—your grain, your wines, your oil; the calves of your herds, the lambs of your flocks, in the Land that He swore to give to your fathers. (Deut 7:12–13, my translation)

Following Torah as a people, in the Land, would be the key to living a happy, secure, and blessed life. And what would be the consequences if the nation distanced itself from the Torah, the very words of God? Just read the book of Judges, and there we see such results: chaos, oppression, poverty, and occupation by enemies. Entering the book of Judges, we encounter a totally different mood than we met in the preceding book of Joshua. One can almost feel the depression, the despair, and the evil forces that were harassing the tribes in the Land.  

Moshe’s summary statement was given as a reminder to avoid entering such a sad reality. Moshe emphasized the need to love and fear God with all our individual and collective hearts. And this was to be expressed by a careful keeping of the Torah. So verses 10:12–13 constitute a clear summary teaching of all that Moshe taught Israel over the entire book of Deuteronomy.

Moshe’s issuing of a quick summary statement of needed action was a common method of teaching Torah in ancient Israel. Many ensuing rabbis issued their tamsit of what it means to follow and love God. Our Messiah Yeshua took part in such a tamsit discussion in response to the question, “Rabbi, which is the greatest instruction in the Torah?” (Matt 22:37).

Our holy rabbi was being asked to quickly boil down the Torah and state what we have to do to follow God. Rabbinic literature records many rabbis being asked to do this very same thing. The prophet Micah does this in his chapter 6, verse 8. Habbakuk does this in his chapter 2, verse 4. Rabbis Shimon HaTsaddik and Yohanan have their teachings on this same question recorded. Tractate Makkot of the Talmud records a long, intergenerational discussion with different opinions and conclusions on this very question. Summary statements on how to please God by Amos, Isaiah, and King David are included in that discussion. 

So our Rabbi Yeshua responded to this question with his tamsit, and gave a bottom-line summary:  

“Love Adonai your God with all your mind, and with all your life, and with all your resources.” This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: “Love your neighbor as yourself.” All the Torah and the Prophets hang on these two commandments. (Matt 22:37–40, NIV modified)

When we look at the teachings of both Moshe and Messiah Yeshua here, we see that they complement each other wonderfully. What Moshe explains, Yeshua extrapolates upon in simple, dynamic fashion (as he almost always did in his teachings).

So let us ask, “How do we love as Yeshua said to?” When we believe in Yeshua as Messiah, our mind begins a transformation that God will direct: 

Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is—his good, pleasing and perfect will. (Rom 12:2, NIV)

This powerful and dynamic transformation includes learning our true identity—which answers the question, “Who am I and why am I alive?” 

God’s Spirit bears witness with our spirit that we are children of God, and if children, then heirs—heirs of God and fellow heirs with Messiah, provided we suffer with him in order that we may also be glorified with him. (Rom 8:16, ESV modified)

Messiah empowers us to know and to practice our true identity, who we are: 

And hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured out into our hearts through the Ruach HaKodesh (God’s Spirit), who has been given to us. (Rom 5:5)

 As his love fills our lives, we can show this very love both to him and to others. 

Today’s parasha encourages us to remember the past and its lessons for today. Unless we remember the past, our present has no foundation. How is Moshe’s bottom-line lesson relevant to us today? In answer to that, we will end by asking this: Where can we—you and I—find the lessons of the past that give us the right perspective on the present? In the Torah and in our history; these are the tools that Moshe used to teach Israel.

Comfort, Comfort My People

Shabbat Nachamu, Isaiah 40:1–26

Dr. Vered Hillel, Netanya, Israel

 Nachamu, nachamu ami, amar Eloheichem …“Comfort, comfort, my people,” says your God. Isaiah 40:1

These five Hebrew words introduce perhaps the most eloquent portion of Scripture, the “Rhapsody of Zion Redeemed” (Isa 40–66), which speaks of restoration, redemption, comfort, and hope for Israel. Depending on one’s view of the Book of Isaiah, Chapter 40 either is written after the Israelites had been in exile for many years following the Babylonian destruction of Jerusalem and the Temple or is looking ahead to the time when these events would occur. Either way, the repetition of the divine command to comfort Hashem’s people shows that this is his continual cry; he never ceases to be Israel’s God, even in exile. 

The divine voice also commands the prophet to speak tenderly to Israel, proclaiming that their affliction is finished and God’s justice is satisfied. To Israel these words would have seemed like a soothing ointment on a wound, or soft words cooed over a sick child (40:2). The God of Comfort, however, goes beyond words of comfort to action. He, himself, will lead the exiles through the wilderness back to Zion (40:3). One can sense Hashem’s heart for Israel in the first three verses of this week’s haftarah, which is always read on the Shabbat after Tisha B’Av and known as Shabbat Nachamu after its opening words.

The haftarah for Shabbat Nachamu serves as a counterbalance to the book of Lamentations. The writer of Lamentations cries out “there is no one to comfort her” (Lam 1:2, 9), yet Isaiah proclaims, “Comfort, comfort my people.” Lamentations continues, “the roads to Zion mourn” (1:4) and the exiles “have fled without strength before the pursuer.” Isaiah announces, “Make straight in the desert a highway for our God” (Isa. 40:3) and “He [Adonai] gives strength to the weary,” but “they who wait for Adonai will renew their strength. They will soar up with wings as eagles. They will run, and not grow weary. They will walk and not faint” (Isa 40:29, 31). While these last two verses are outside of the haftarah for Shabbat Nachamu, they demonstrate the heart of the passage—the hope of Zion and of Israel. Isaiah relates that a new era has dawned; the complete realization of the words in Lamentations that “their punishment is accomplished; he [Adonai] will exile you no longer” (Lam 4:22). Isaiah boldly proclaims “that her warfare has ended, that her iniquity has been removed” (Isa 40:2).

This chapter is full of amazing pronouncements of hope as well as teachings on the profound nature of God, including his majesty and might. It emphasizes the reliability of God’s word, reinforcing the prophecies of consolation. The haftarah ends with the charge “Lift up your eyes on high and see! Who created these things?” (Isa 40:26). Isaiah urges the people to focus on Adonai, the Creator, and not on their situation.

Though these words are spoken to Israel, and will come to complete fulfillment in Hashem’s timing, they are also applicable to each one of us. No matter our situation—how much we have sinned, how downcast we are, how far away Hashem may feel, how silent the heavens seem, or how much we are ready to give up—we are to lift up our heads, look to the Creator, and trust in his great might and power. He will redeem every situation. Let creation inspire you to trust in his promise of redemption.

The strategic placement of Isaiah 40:1–26 on the liturgical calendar is also important, demonstrating Hashem’s characteristics of justice and mercy. The three Torah portions, Matot, Masei, and D’varim, which precede Shabbat Nachamu focus on suffering and desolation and climax on Tisha b’Av with the remembrance of the destruction of both Temples. Starting with Shabbat Nachamu, the next seven haftarot focus on comfort and consolation. Even though the seven bear the same message, each one represents a different aspect of consolation and redemption. All seven are drawn from Isaiah 40–66. Along with those from Matot, Masei, and D’varim they are read on the same ten weeks of the year, regardless of any other changes in the Jewish liturgical calendar. Thus, there are ten special haftarot between the 17th day of Tammuz and Rosh Hashanah—three of suffering and seven of consolation and divine promise of redemption.  

The order of these ten haftarot is illuminating. The first two readings, for Matot and Masei, are drawn from Jeremiah (1:1–23; 2:4–5:2); the third, D’varim, which is always read on Shabbat Chazon, the Shabbat before Tisha b’Av, is from Isaiah (1:1–27). The first two are about destruction, sin, and desolation, while the third, the reading from Isaiah, contains words both of rebuke and of comfort. As such it serves as a bridge between the prophecies of destruction and suffering in the haftarot of these three weeks and the seven haftarot of comfort.

This bridge is built on two pillars of Judaism: chesed (mercy) and justice. Justice demands punishment for sin. It does not matter whether it is the sin of an individual or the collective sin of a nation or a social group; Hashem holds humankind accountable for our sin and judges it. Yet, Hashem’s chesed, divine mercy, far outweighs his attribute of judgment/justice. We learn from Exodus 34:6–7, which relates Hashem’s characteristics, and from Exodus 20:5–6, the Ten Commandments, that his graciousness, forgiveness and mercy are four hundred times greater than his judgment, justice, and punishment. “For I, Adonai your God, am a jealous God, bringing the iniquity of the fathers upon the children to the third and fourth generations of those who hate me, but showing chesed to the thousands of generations of those who love me and keep my mitzvot” (Exod 20:5–6). 

Usually justice demands that atonement and redemption should be preceded by repentance. However, repentance follows these seven haftaroth. Hosea 14:2–10, Joel 2:11–27, and Micah 7:18–20 are read together as the haftarah for Shabbat Shuva, the Shabbat between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. This highlights the principle that anytime redemption precedes repentance, it is an undeserved gift of Hashem’s grace and mercy.  

So, on Shabbat Nachamu, let’s lift up our heads, look to our Creator, awaken assurance in his might and power, and be inspired to trust his promises. No matter what is happening in our lives, let’s remember that Hashem’s mercy is far greater than his punishment and that his grace and mercy are truly abundant.

Photo: https://en.globes.co.il/

Tisha B'Av 5779

Parashat Devarim, Deuteronomy 1:1-3:22; Isaiah 1:1-27

by Ben Weisman, K20 Intern, Sha’arei Shalom, Cary, NC

Jewish tradition tells us that whoever destroys a life is considered to have destroyed the whole world. In recent days, many worlds were shattered here in the United States. Gilroy, California; El Paso, Texas; Dayton, Ohio; Chicago, Illinois—there have been so many violent attacks in our country that it is nearly impossible to create a comprehensive list. For many, these tragedies evoke such visceral reactions that it is difficult to focus on mourning the loss of a building destroyed in another land thousands of years ago, as we do on Tisha B’Av.

On the Hebrew calendar, this Saturday is the ninth day of the month of Av, or in Hebrew, Tisha B’Av.  Normally, the ninth of Av is a fast day, but when it falls on Shabbat, as it does this year, the fast is postponed until the following day. In any case, the Saturday before the fast is called Shabbat Chazon, after the special Haftarah reading from the first chapter of Isaiah. 

The Torah reading for this special Shabbat comes from the opening of the book of Deuteronomy. Here Moshe recounts the history of Israel, including the report of the spies and God’s decree that the Exodus generation would die wandering in the wilderness, never to see the land of promise. The tragedy of Israel’s rejection of God and his land, and God’s rejection of that generation, is the first of five tragedies traditionally mourned on Tisha B’Av. According to Mishna Ta’anit 4:6, “On the ninth of Av it was decreed that our ancestors should not enter the land, the Temple was destroyed the first and the second time, Betar was captured, and [Jerusalem] was plowed under.” In addition to these events, Tisha B’Av is a day to mourn the Crusades, the Spanish Inquisition, the Shoah, and other tragedies in Jewish history. 

In light of these historical calamities, Tisha B’Av is a day of sadness and mourning. The day is traditionally observed by refraining from eating and drinking, washing, anointing, wearing leather shoes, and engaging in marital relations. Tisha B’Av, however, is more than just a day to feel sad about historical events. According to Rabbi Eliyahu Kitov, the purpose of fast days is “to awaken hearts towards repentance through recalling our forefathers’ misdeeds; misdeeds which led to calamities…” The destruction of the Temple represents a breach in the relationship between God and Israel.  We must go beyond simply mourning this breach; we must take action toward repairing it. National redemption for Israel and personal redemption for each one of us requires us to acknowledge and turn away from evil. Not only do we need to turn away from evil, but we need to return to a covenant of love with God.

In the haftarah, God reaffirms his covenant faithfulness to the people of Israel. The chapter begins with a harsh rebuke against the wickedness of Judah, even comparing the nation to Sodom and Gomorrah. This rebuke is a reminder of the theological reasons for the exile and destruction of Jerusalem. Amidst this painful reminder of our own shortcomings, God promises, “I will restore your judges as at the first, and your counselors as at the beginning. Afterward you shall be called the city of righteousness, the faithful city” (Isaiah 1:26). In the place where there was destruction, there will be restoration; where there was injustice, there will be justice and righteousness.

This promise of restoration and justice from Isaiah is a familiar part of Jewish prayer. In fact, the Sages reworded the verse into a cry for God to keep his promises and bring justice to the earth, forming a core section of the weekday Amidah: “Restore our judges as before and our counselors as at first. Remove from us sorrow and sighing, and reign over us, you, Adonai, alone with kindness and compassion; and make us righteous with justice. Blessed are you, Adonai, King, Lover of righteousness and justice.” While this prayer asks God to act on our behalf, it is not a prayer of passivity; it follows in the tradition of Avraham and Moshe boldly calling on God to act according to his character.

This bold cry for justice is quite appropriate to Tisha B’Av. On a day that we set aside to focus on tragedies, we are most acutely aware of what is wrong in the world. Mass shootings, starving children, and broken families do not reflect the vision of justice found in the Prophets. We find a summary of this vision in our Haftarah: “Learn to do good; seek justice, correct oppression; bring justice to the fatherless, plead the widow's cause” (Isaiah‬ ‭1:17‬).

Though it begins with mourning and repentance, biblical justice must result in action. Our cry for justice should begin with prayer, but it must translate into real actions toward building the kingdom of Heaven here on earth. We have been charged with fighting all forms of injustice and healing the wounds of our world. When we mourn the destruction of Jerusalem and cry for its restoration, we are not simply crying over ancient architecture; we cry for the renewal of all creation, the return of Messiah, and the restoration of justice on earth. 

The Broken-Cistern Syndrome

Haftarat Matot-Masei, Jeremiah 2:4–28; 4:1–2

by Rabbi Russ Resnik

We live in a culture of addiction. Alcohol and drug addiction rates remain elevated amid the much-discussed opioid crisis. And if you add in what we call “process addictions,” like gambling, compulsive shopping, out-of-control screen time, or habitual pornography use, nearly everyone is touched by addiction in one way or another.  

One of my favorite writers in the field of addiction and recovery (and, yes, it’s strange to have a favorite writer on addiction) is Rabbi Shais Taub, a Chabadnik who is into the AA 12-step approach. The first two of the twelve steps 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 adds, in his book God of Our Understanding, “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.”  

In Rabbi Taub’s view, addiction is not only a pandemic human problem, it’s part of the human condition itself. I agree. We are powerless over our own tendency toward corruption, and only God, the true “Power greater than ourselves” can rescue us—which brings us to this week’s haftarah reading.   

For three Shabbats leading up to Tisha B’Av, the anniversary of the destruction of the temple in Jerusalem, the traditional readings are called the Haftarot of Rebuke. These prophetic reproofs of Israel for actions that led to the judgment of Tisha B’Av warn us against similar deeds and attitudes today. This week, in the second Haftarah of Rebuke, Hashem complains against his people in his own words, and it’s not a legal indictment, but a cry of betrayal and bereavement over a lost relationship. The heartbeat of the Prophets, as of all the Tanakh, is not contract and regulation, but covenant between two parties bound together in mutual love and loyalty. And so Hashem brings his charge:  

“Be aghast at this, you heavens!
Shudder in absolute horror!” says Adonai.
“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!” Jeremiah 2:12–13

Hashem is grieved that Israel would abandon him, even though he is like an abundant fountain of fresh water to them. And he’s aghast that they would try to replace this life-giving source with cisterns dug in the ground to store water that will soon grow stale and seep away. Israel is like an addict who hasn’t yet admitted he’s powerless over heroin and keeps on trying to manage his drug abuse on his own, like the alcoholic who’s sure he can quit any time. God, however, is not just the “Power greater than ourselves;” he’s the fountain of living waters, the source of life freely opened up to us . . . but we’d rather say, “I can handle this on my own!” A broken cistern seems better to our broken selves than the “complete and unconditional capitulation” Rabbi Taub talks about, even though it’s capitulation to the living God.  

In Jeremiah’s prophecy, God is outraged at Israel and ready to bring judgment against them. But God’s anger is not so much about broken rules and violated commandments. Rather it is the anger of a betrayed lover or friend. Israel’s failure—our failure—is relational more than behavioral (although bad behavior flows out of broken relationship). God is astounded that we would choose our own ways and resources over his abundant supply, that we’d choose our broken and bound-up selves over him. But we continually do. Even in the religious realm we choose the broken cistern of our accomplishments and credentials, or we perseverate over our lack of the same, in place of humble reliance on the merciful, ever-giving God.  

God expands his charge against Israel, culminating in an ironic picture of idol worship as the ultimate broken cistern: 

Where are your gods that you made for yourselves?
Let them rouse themselves,
if they can save you when trouble comes.
Y’hudah, you have as many gods
as you have cities! Jeremiah 2:28

Our reading pauses here, leaving out the rest of Jeremiah 2, but in line with Jewish custom, the reading won’t end on a negative note. So we resume with Jeremiah 4:1–2: “Israel, if you will return,” says Adonai, “yes, return to me.” 

The power of a hopeful ending has proven itself over centuries of Jewish suffering and disappointment, and it also reflects a profound biblical truth. In Torah and the Prophets, and especially in the story of the One who embodied Torah and the Prophets in his own life, death leads to resurrection. Divine judgment prepares the ground for new life. When Yeshua asks his followers who they believe he is, Kefa, Simon Peter, gets it right: “You are the Messiah!” (Mark 8:20). Then Yeshua immediately reveals that he “must suffer many things and be rejected . . . and be killed, and after three days rise again” (8:31). Messiah repeats this saying twice: he must be rejected and be executed by Rome, and he must rise from the dead (9:31, 10:33–34). In Messiah’s own life rejection and death are essential and they lead to resurrection. He calls us not just to ponder this truth, but to participate in it:  

“If anyone wants to come after me, let him say ‘No’ to himself, take up his execution-stake, and keep following me. For whoever wants to save his own life will destroy it, but whoever destroys his life for my sake and for the sake of the Good News will save it.” Mark 8:34–35

Sometimes those who’ve spent the longest time in the faith community are the ones who succumb most readily to the broken-cistern syndrome. We’ve been around long enough, prayed long enough, read enough Scripture, to feel like we can handle things on our own. We’d never say it in those words, but we often forget our desperate need for what only God can provide. We find a way around “complete and unconditional capitulation.” 

As we approach Tisha B’Av, and contemplate the destruction of the Temple and the endless years of exile that followed, we can retain hope, because the fountain of living water is never depleted. Our broken-cistern strivings will never exhaust the mercies of our God. He is ever-present, continually inviting us to drink deeply, again, of him.

All Scripture references are from Complete Jewish Bible (CJB).