Nachamu Nachamu

As we emerge from Tisha b’Av and read the seven Haftaros referred to as “Shiva d’Nechemta” on the Shabbosos until Rosh Hashana, we present the following thoughts on the meaning of Nechama – a subject that is unfortunately always relevant, both on the national and personal level – from my dear friend and Chavrusa, R’ Yisrael Meir Malka Shlit”a.

A person encounters the need for Nechama at the most difficult moments of life; after the loss of a loved one, after other forms of loss; or when a dream nurtured over many years is suddenly shattered. At such times, it is only natural to ask: What does consolation really mean? And what can the Torah offer when it seems that nothing can restore what has been lost?

The Torah does not concern itself purely with emotions. When it commands us to comfort mourners, and when it sets aside seven consecutive Haftaros of consolation following Tisha b’Av, it is teaching us that Nechama is far more than an emotional response. It is a profound and fundamental concept, one worthy of careful reflection in its own right.

The idea that follows may help shed some light on the Torah’s understanding of consolation. It does not erase pain, nor does it diminish the need for mourning. Rather, it offers a different perspective on the consolation spoken of by the Torah and the Nevi’im – one that may strengthen a person’s heart precisely when consolation is needed most.

Comfort, comfort My people, says your God. Speak to the heart of Jerusalem, and proclaim to her… (Yeshayahu 40:1–2).

All the prophets deliver simple prophecies, but consolations are doubled: Awake, awake; Rouse yourself, rouse yourself; I will greatly rejoice; I, I am He Who comforts you; Comfort, comfort My people.” (Eicha Raba, Pesichta 30)

What is the significance of these repeated expressions of consolation? What does each consolation provide, and what does the second add that the first did not accomplish?

“Anochi Anochi” (I, I) am He Who comforts you. (Yeshayahu 51:12)

Why does the Pasuk repeat the word Anochi, and how does this relate to the opening call of “Nachamu Nachamu Ami”?

The answer is that there are two distinct types of consolation. When someone faces deep loss or a severe crisis, the natural reaction is that his world feels shattered – as if life, as he knew it, has ended.

Slowly, the initial and most basic form of comfort begins to surface over time. He comes to understand that life can go on, seeing that, despite the tragedy, not everything was lost; a future remains. This illustrates the healing power of time. However, this is only a superficial and limited comfort, as it does not alter the past – the tragedy still exists.

The second form of comfort is fundamentally different – much deeper and more transformative. It allows one to look back at the crisis that once appeared overwhelming and realize that, ultimately, it laid the groundwork for everything that followed. The destruction is seen as the starting point for a greater future. From this viewpoint, the entire event gains a new, different significance.

This is the essential difference between the two forms of consolation. Another human being can offer the first. The second can be given only by the Ribono Shel Olam.

This understanding also sheds new light on Shmuel’s words to Shaul after informing him that the kingdom would be taken from him:

The Eternal One of Israel does not lie, nor does He relent, for He is not a man that He should relent.” (Shmuel I, 15:29)

Simply understood, Shmuel was telling Shaul that Hashem would not reverse His decree. But there seems to be a deeper message as well.

Human beings naturally seek consolation by wishing they could erase the past and begin again. But Hashem does not “relent” in the sense of undoing that which has already taken place, because everything that happened was part of His will and His plan from the very beginning. Divine consolation, therefore, does not come by turning back the clock. Rather, it comes when a person can recognize, in retrospect, that the very events which once appeared to be utter devastation were, in fact, indispensable steps in the unfolding of a greater purpose.

When Adam haRishon sinned, Hashem cursed the ground so that it would no longer yield its produce without backbreaking labor. This remained the reality until the birth of Noach, of whom Lemech declared:

This one will bring us comfort from our work and from the painful toil of our hands caused by the ground that Hashem has cursed. (Bereishis 5:29)

Chaza”l explain (Bereishis Raba 25, Rashi ad loc.) that Noach introduced farming implements that greatly eased the burden of cultivating the land.

“This one will bring us comfort” – but only human consolation. The ground was still the same cursed ground. The curse itself had not been removed; rather, man had been given the means to continue living despite it.

Divine consolation is something altogether different. As the Pasuk says:

When Hashem returns the captives of Zion, we will be like dreamers. Then our mouths will be filled with laughter…” (Tehillim 126:1-2)

At that moment, the past will be seen in a completely new light. What once seemed to be nothing but suffering and destruction will have been revealed as an essential part of the journey. The pain and exile were necessary stages that made the ultimate redemption possible. Looking back, one realizes that the way reality appeared while still living through the exile was itself like a dream – an incomplete and distorted perception of what was truly taking place.

In light of the above, the sequence of the Medrash becomes especially meaningful. It begins with the repeated call: “Awake, awake! Rouse yourself, rouse yourself!” Only then comes the Divine declaration: “I, I am He Who comforts you.”

The message is not merely that you will survive the exile. It is that you will ultimately come to understand its deepest meaning—that the exile itself was an integral part of Hashem’s perfect plan, designed entirely for your benefit. It was within the darkness of exile that the deepest seeds of redemption and salvation were planted.

This is the double consolation for which we long.

The Gemara in Bava Basra (14b) notes that the order of Kesuvim begins with Megilas Rus rather than Sefer Iyov. This is so, the Gemara explains, even according to the opinion that Iyov lived in the time of Moshe^[1], because “we do not begin with calamity”.

The Gemara immediately asks why Megilas Rus, which also starts with tragedy – famine, exile, widowhood, and grief – comes before Iyov. It responds that Rus’ suffering was temporary and “has an end,” as explained by R’ Yochanan:

Why was she called Rus? Because David descended from her, who satisfied Hashem with songs and praises.

In other words, the hardships described at the beginning of the story can only be understood considering what they ultimately produced – Dovid haMelech’s praises of Hashem.

Tosfos raise the obvious question: Didn’t Iyov also enjoy a happy ending? After all, the Pasuk states, “Hashem blessed the latter end of Iyov’s life more than the beginning” (Iyov 42:12).

The Maharsha resolves the difficulty by establishing that the two endings are fundamentally different. In Iyov’s case, the blessings that came later did not alter the meaning of the suffering that preceded them; they followed it. But in the story of Rus, the very hardships she endured were themselves the first stages in the emergence of Malchus Beis Dovid. That is the truly Divine ending – one that embodies genuine consolation.

Perhaps this also explains why, in response to the words of consolation, K’neses Yisrael declares:

I will greatly rejoice in Hashem; my soul shall exult in my God, for He has clothed me in garments of salvation, He has wrapped me in a robe of righteousness.” (Yeshayahu 61:10)

The “garments of salvation” refer to the salvation itself – the rescue from suffering and distress. The “robe of righteousness” represents something deeper: the recognition that everything which occurred was just, true, and part of Hashem’s perfect plan. Even the painful events are now seen as fitting into the larger order of Divine providence.

“Nachamu Nachamu Ami…” is not merely a promise that redemption will one day come. It is a promise that one day, even the suffering itself will be understood and have meaning.

That is the consolation no human being can offer another. It is the consolation of which Hashem alone can say: “Anochi Anochi Hu Menachemchem”.

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[1] [Editor’s note: If Iyov lived at the time of Moshe Rabbenu and Kesuvim was arranged chronologically, then Iyov should be the first Sefer.]