By Michael R. Mantell, Ph.D. in El Cajon, California
There are moments in Jewish life when the words of the Torah seem to reach us with unusual tenderness. Parsha Va’etchanan, read immediately after Tisha B’Av and alongside the first of the seven Haftarot of consolation, is one of those moments. After reflecting on loss and mourning, we begin to hear a different voice: Nachamu, nachamu ami, “Comfort, comfort My people.”
Comfort is not merely the absence of pain. It is the quiet assurance that even in life’s darkest moments, Hashem has not abandoned us. Moshe recounts the giving of the Aseret HaDibrot, teaches the Shema, and reminds the people of the covenant that has sustained them through every trial. As we proclaim Shema Yisrael following Tisha B’Av, we reaffirm that our faith is not dependent on circumstances. We trust that Hashem remains our Protector and our Source of strength, even when His plan differs from our own.
I have often been struck by the way consolation in this season comes through both speaking and listening. Isaiah offers words of comfort, yet the Torah’s central command is simply, Shema, hear. Perhaps that is where healing begins.
When someone is hurting, our first instinct is often to explain, reassure, or solve. Yet some of the deepest comfort we can offer comes before we speak. It comes from listening with patience, without interruption or judgment. Sometimes our quiet presence says more than our words ever could. When we truly hear another person, we remind them that they are not alone. That, too, is nechamah.
Shabbat Nachamu has long been treated as more than an ordinary Shabbat. The Ritva, commenting on Ta’anit 30a, teaches that its meals should resemble those of a festival. After mourning comes renewal. Before Elul calls us to repentance, this Shabbat reminds us that Hashem’s compassion always precedes our return to Him.
That message is beautifully reflected in Moshe himself.
After 40 years of extraordinary leadership, Moshe pleads with Hashem to allow him to enter the Promised Land. Few requests could seem more understandable. Yet Hashem answers, “No.”
It is one of the Torah’s most poignant moments.
Moshe feels the sting of disappointment, but he does not allow disappointment to become despair. He does not become resentful or withdraw from his mission. Instead, he pours his remaining strength into teaching, encouraging, and preparing the next generation to succeed. Although he cannot change his destination, he remains faithful to his purpose. There is profound emotional wisdom in that response.
More than 50 years ago, my teacher, Albert Ellis, taught that we often deepen our own suffering by insisting that life must unfold according to our plans. We tell ourselves, “This shouldn’t be happening,” or “I can’t bear this.” Those rigid demands often create more pain than the event itself.
Moshe models another way. He acknowledges his grief without allowing it to define him. He accepts reality, not because he likes it, but because it is reality, and then asks what faithfulness requires of him now.
That is a question worth asking ourselves whenever life takes an unexpected turn: not “Why didn’t things happen my way?” but “Given where I am today, what is the wisest and most faithful next step?”
The Rambam expressed this beautifully when he observed that a disciplined mind is not carried away by either extraordinary success or crushing disappointment. Such a person meets both blessing and adversity with steadiness, courage, and perspective.
Yet Va’etchanan reaches even deeper. At its heart stands one of the Torah’s most powerful words: Shema.
Most of us hear sounds all day long. Listening is something altogether different. When someone asks, “Do you hear me?” they are rarely asking whether our ears are functioning. They are asking whether we understand, whether we are fully present, whether they matter to us.
That is precisely what Shema means in the Torah.
Rashi explains that Shema Yisrael is a call not merely to hear but to understand and accept Hashem’s Oneness. The Torah asks us to move beyond passive hearing toward wholehearted engagement. Faith is meant to travel from our ears to our minds, from our minds to our hearts, and from our hearts into the way we live.
The Rambam expands this idea by teaching that genuine faith grows through thoughtful understanding. Belief deepens when we reflect upon it, wrestle with it, and allow it to shape our character. Lasting growth, whether spiritual or emotional, rarely comes from a single inspiring moment. It comes through daily practice.
Perhaps that is why we recite the Shema every morning and every evening.
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Michael R. Mantell, Ph.D., prepares a weekly D’var Torah for Young Israel of San Diego, where he and his family are members. They are also active members of Congregation Adat Yeshurun.