The Edythe Benjamin חיה בת שלמה beloved mother of Barbara Hanus Rosh Chodesh Torah Essay
Conventional wisdom regards the month of Elul as the beginning of our preparation for Rosh Hashannah. Yet, preparation could very well commence immediately after the conclusion of the mourning observed on Tisha Ba’Av. Marked by the seven haftarot of consolation (sheva de’nechemta), read each shabbat from the ninth of Av to Rosh Hashannah, these haftarot constitute an annual movement from the depths of despair to the heights of possibility.
On Tisha Ba’av we read the book of Eikha, recalling Israel’s national catastrophe of exile, destruction, suffering, and loss. We also re-experience the crisis in our relationship with God, the sense of betrayal and alienation, and the panic-stricken thought that God is not accessible, that God has hidden His face from His nation. But by the time we arrive at Rosh Hashana – a mere seven weeks later – everything has changed. Instead of despair, we are hope-filled. Instead of feeling alienated from God, we experience a deep sense of connection amidst the joy of proclaiming God’s universal kingship. In place of a feeling that we are a beleaguered and persecuted nation who has lost its purpose, we reassume the mantle of a nation with a light-filled message for the world. Instead of the sense that we have reached the end, we experience a sense of new beginnings and are infused with renewed optimism for a brighter future.
The seven haftaroth – all taken from Isaiah’s prophecies of consolation (chapters 40-66) – navigate us through the process, enabling Israel to rise from the terrible crisis and turn toward the promise of better times. Unlike the earlier chapters of Isaiah (which revolve around events from the second half of the 8th BCE), these final chapters in Isaiah record the prophet’s call to the Judean exiles in 6th BCE Babylon, encouraging the exiles to return to their land, to rebuild and reconstitute their community. Using language from the book of Eikha, Isaiah’s prophecies reverse the catastrophe recorded there, moving the nation from exile to redemption, from despair to hope.
One of Eikha’s most alarming features is its absence of consolation. The six-fold appearance of the word naham fails to provide the expected comfort. Employed five times in Eikha 1 as part of a negative formulation (“there is nocomforter for you”), and once as a rhetorical question (Eikha 2:13: “To what can I equate you, so that I can comfort you? For as great as the sea is your brokenness, who can heal you?”) The image of the sea hints to the copious, salty tears shed by the city, the violent churning of its crashing buildings, and the vast, unbridgeable despair of a hopeless community. Characterized by an utter lack of consolation, Eikha leaves Israel flailing without hope.
To counter this, God Himself consoles the inconsolable nation in the book of Isaiah. On the first shabbat following Tisha Ba’av (known as Shabbat Nachamu, because of the opening words of that Shabbat’s haftara) we read the first of the haftarot of consolation, which opens with God twice uttering the word nahem (Is. 40:1): “Comfort (nahamu), comfort (nahamu) My people!” God’s consolation does not end there; the word nahem weaves throughout these lyrical chapters and the seven haftarot, providing sorely needed solace.
Responding to the absence of comfort described in Eikha, God’s answer is forthcoming: “I, I am your comforter!” (see the fourth haftara, 51:12). Who can facilitate Jerusalem’s cure amidst the roiling breakers? Isaiah’s answer rings clear (see the fourth haftara, 51:15): “I am the Lord, your God, who calms the sea and can churn up its waves!” God, who controls the crashing sea, can also cure our terrible brokenness, vast as the sea.
God does not merely offer words of consolation. The prophecies in Isaiah counter specific aspects of Israel’s wretchedness. Consider for example, Eikha’s initial chapter. Opening with a haunting image of a desolate city, Jerusalem’s loneliness is metaphorically expressed by her widowed state. The city sits alone, as her sobs echo hauntingly in the night, mingling with the quiet moans of the few residents who languish at her desolate gates. Jerusalem’s residents (her “children”) move sluggishly toward exile, easily apprehended by her pursuers. Emptied of her beloved inhabitants, Jerusalem’s painful isolation is the leitmotif of Eikha, chapter 1, which offers a sketch of a once-pulsating city reduced to a hollow shell.
The haftarot of consolation portray the restoration of Jerusalem, as her residents are called to return to their beloved city. Using the same words that depicted grief in Eikha, the prophet reassures the Judean community that joy will return, and anguished moans will disappear (51:11). Jerusalem no longer recalls her widowhood (see the fifth haftara, 54:4) and her land is no longer desolate (see the second haftara, 49:19). Jerusalem’s population is designated to grow so rapidly that the city becomes too small for its residents. The “children of her bereavement” return, grumbling at the narrow confines of the teeming city (see the second haftara, 49:20): “This place is too narrow for me! Move aside so that I can sit!” Jerusalem’s astonishment at the rapid influx elicits a pained recollection of her recent loneliness (49:21): “Who bore these for me, and I was bereaved and alone, exiled and cast aside – and these, who raised [them]? I remained alone – these, where are they [from]?”
Eikha, chapter 2 records the physical collapse of Jerusalem; buildings and people crash onto the ground, depleted of their former stature. The city gates burrow deeply into the earth, entombing Jerusalem’s once-bustling portal. Girded with mournful sackcloth, the elders sink onto the ground and place dust on their head. The earthward movement indicates exhaustion and surrender; all relinquish their fate to the pull of the earth, to impending death. Redemption involves the opposite movement. In the fourth haftara (52:1-2), Isaiah calls to Jerusalem to rise from the ground, to shake off the dust. Awakening Jerusalem from years of dormancy and despondency, Isaiah urges the city to garb herself in clothes of glory, to reclaim her renewed splendor.
Eyes are referenced ten times in Eikha. Mirroring the disabled community, eyes do not fulfill their main function in Eikha, namely, vision. In Eikha, eyes stream with tears; they cannot see, perhaps more to the point, they refuse to look at the horrors that surround them. It seems pointless to seek vision in Eikha: the present is too painful and the future unlikely. In both the second and the sixth haftara, Isaiah instructs Jerusalem to raise her downcast eyes and see her surroundings, so she can witness the return of her children: “Lift up your eyes and see, all are gathered and coming to you!” (49:18; 60:4). Now, Jerusalem can raise her eyes in joy; hope is abundant as the future unfolds with glorious anticipation.
The book of Eikha features God’s absence: He has hidden His face from them. In nearly every chapter of the book, the nation pleads with God to look at them and see (re’ehve’habita). God is not paying them attention; prayer seems futile (Eikha 3:8): “Even when I cry and plead, He shuts out my prayer.” If prayer is not efficacious, then how can Israel reconstruct its relationship with God?
Eikha concludes with a sigh of despair, mired in its alienation from God: “For You have surely rejected us, You have been greatlywrathful against us (katzafta aleinu ad me’od).” Eikha does not conclude with prayer; it concludes with pain. How then can we arrive at Rosh Hashana, a day founded on a belief that God is listening?
To answer this question, we must look past the seven haftarot. These haftarot reverse much of the agony of the book of Eikha, but they leave us on the cusp of Rosh Hashana. The seventh haftara (just before Rosh Hashana) concludes in Isaiah 63. To get to the final reversal – to cross over into Rosh Hashana – we must read on, past the seventh haftara. The next chapter, Isaiah 64, explains why communication has broken down: “You were wrathful, and we sinned… And no one called on Your name… for You hid Your face from us” (64:4–6).
But Isaiah refuses to remain silent in the wake of God’s alienation. Summoning God’s parental role (a major theme of Rosh Hashana), the prophet invokes the enduring relationship between God and His nation (Is. 64:7): “And now, Lord, You are our father. We are the clay, and You are our craftsman; we are all the work of Your hands!” No longer should the people feel distant from God. God is a dependable parent; He shaped and molded Israel, who can trust in an ongoing relationship with Him.
This recollection spurs prayer, and in the following verse, the prophet turns to God directly with a bold request that God should finally reverse the miserable situation of Eikha. The prophet commences his plea by linguistically evoking the final verse of Eikha, the sigh of despair:
Do not be greatlywrathful with us (al tiktzof… ad me’od), Lord, and do not recall our sin for eternity! Look, please, at Your nation, at all of us! Your holy cities have become a desert, Zion is like a desert, Jerusalem a desolation. Our holy Temple, our glory, where our fathers praised You, was consumed by fire and all our precious things were ruined. Will You restrain Yourself over these, Lord? Will You be silent and afflict us greatly? (Isaiah 64:8–11)
Prayer was absent from the conclusion of Eikha. But no longer. The prophet guides the community back to speech, providing a muted community with a renewed belief in the efficacy of prayer.
The seven prophecies of consolation guide us every year from crisis to renewal, to restored pride, joy and dignity. We conclude with a tefilla that this period will enable our community to move from crisis to consolation. May the merit of our tefillot ensure the success of our soldiers, the return of our hostages, the healing of our wounded, and bring much-needed solace for our community.
And may we have a new year filled with light, joy, health, spiritual growth, security, dignity, unity, and national good fortune.