By Michael R. Mantell, Ph.D.
El CAJON, California — Nechemta. A word of comfort, of peace, often heard as a sermon closes. But it’s more than a closing phrase—it’s a lifeline. And in a year marked by pain and tragedy, from growing antisemitism throughout the world, nechemta isn’t just welcomed—it’s needed.
As we conclude Vayikra, the heart of the Torah, we receive both blessing and rebuke. The blessings are beautiful: rains in their time, abundant harvests, safety and peace. But the tochachah—the rebuke—is chilling. Illness, panic, confusion, defeat. The Torah doesn’t sugarcoat the emotional toll. “Behala”—a word used for terror and disorientation—echoes what we now call “fight or flight.” It’s a very human response to fear: we freeze, we flee, we panic. Even then, the Torah seems to recognize the fragility of the human nervous system.
As this third book of the Torah, the middle book, comes to an end, we are given nechemta, with a hopeful view of future generations. The parsha tells us, “If you follow My statutes and observe My commandments and perform them, I will give you rains in their time, the Land will yield its produce, and the tree of the field will give forth its fruit. Your threshing will last until the vintage…and I will grant peace in the Land…You will pursue your enemies, and they will fall by the sword before you…”
But what are we to make of this duality? A G-d who blesses when we’re faithful and punishes when we’re not? It’s tempting to see Hashem as harsh, even vindictive. Some may feel He’s waiting for us to slip up. I see something deeper: Hashem isn’t punitive—He’s restorative. Like a loving parent or wise therapist, He redirects us toward who we are meant to be.
Shabbat offers a window into that restoration. A chance to slow the rush, calm the nervous system, and reorient the soul. The Chovot HaLevavot teaches that reflecting on Hashem’s kindness is a way to build bitachon—faith and inner security. Gratitude is more than polite—it’s medicinal. It soothes anxiety, deepens connection, and restores a sense of meaning. I say that gratitude grows grace, grit and goodness.
To experience the fullness of nechemta we would wisely be a committed, active, “doing” partner in relationship with Hashem. When we are in that place, living lives of value, the world is filled with comfort, even amid sorrow. Expressing gratitude, savoring the true joys in life, cultivating optimism, nurturing relationships, these are behaviors of happy people, these are their choices. Those who live with sorrow and unhappiness, often forget that they have choices and allow their behaviors to fall, betraying their relationship with Hashem, alienating themselves from His watchful, comforting hand.
I remember asking a young boy with autism, overwhelmed and discouraged, if anything went well that day. “Nothing,” he said. But with gentle prodding, he recalled the elevator worked, the car stopped safely, his mom made his favorite snack. Over time, he started to see—and feel—the good. Gratitude didn’t erase his pain, but it gave him perspective and power.
That’s what nechemta does. It doesn’t deny the pain. It offers strength within it.
As we master our fears with faith, determination, and truth, as we understand and replace the erroneous stories that we tell ourselves, we can feel empowered and free. Ralph Waldo Emerson once observed, “Do the thing you fear, and the death of that fear is certain.” Holding on to our Etz Hayim Hi, our tree of life, our source of truth, offers protection, comfort, and profound meaning. After all, “its ways are ways of pleasantness, and all its paths are peace.”
Within every Jewish soul lies a deep, often hidden awe of Hashem—a spiritual instinct that can awaken us, even at the edge of moral failure. This inner awe doesn’t only restrain us; it calls us upward.
Hashem redeemed us from Egypt not just for freedom, but for purpose: to build a relationship with Him through Torah and mitzvos. We weren’t freed from Pharaoh to serve no one—we became servants of Hashem, called to live with moral clarity and sacred responsibility.
It’s easy to feel overwhelmed. But the Torah reminds us: “Ki karov eilecha hadavar me’od”—this path is very close, already in your heart and mouth. Our service isn’t about perfection, but presence and persistence. As Rabbi Tarfon taught, we’re not expected to finish the work, but we are not free to walk away.
Freedom isn’t the absence of obligation—it’s the chance to live for something eternal. The more we awaken our awe of Hashem, the higher our souls can soar.
Hashem is always looking out for us. It may not be obvious, we may not discern His hand in our lives, we may take His assistance for granted and it’s easy to overlook His continuous kindness in our lives. By deliberately envisaging, meditating, on Hashem’s past and current acts of benevolence, we will grow in our resilience, equanimity, and faith.
We are not passive recipients in this relationship with Hashem. Pirkei Avot teaches us: the one who learns to do, merits to learn, teach, and act. Feeling love is not enough—we must show it. Feeling grateful is not enough—we must live it. When we don’t, we drift. And that drift, that disconnection, brings its own kind of tochachah—emotional and spiritual emptiness.
But when we return—actively, thoughtfully, gratefully—we realign ourselves with the Source. That is where nechemtav lives. Not in escape from pain, but in the peace that grows from faith, from honest living, from being in deep relationship with Hashem.
So, as we finish this middle book of Torah, standing between past wounds and future hope, may we choose to be doing-partners with the Divine. May we pause to notice what is working, to honor the blessings we still hold, and to build lives anchored in gratitude, resilience, and trust.
That is the work of healing. That is the path of peace.
That is nechemta.
When this week’s Torah reading is completed, we chant, “Chazak, chazak, v’nithazek.” Be Strong. Be Strong. And let us be strengthened by one another.
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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.