OUTREACH

Va’eschanan 

In this week’s Torah portion, Va’eschanan, we hear Moshe share one of the most personal moments of his life. He tells us how he pleaded, begged, and poured out his heart to G-d to be allowed into the Land of Israel. This was not a passing wish, it was the deepest yearning of his soul. After forty years of leading, loving, and carrying the Jewish people, Moshe longed for the privilege of setting foot in the land promised to Avraham, Yitzchak, and Yaakov.

And yet, G-d said no.

That no must have cut deeply. But Moshe still found comfort, perhaps not in his own entry, but in knowing that the people he had devoted his life to would go in. They would inherit the land, plant roots there, and begin the next chapter of the Jewish story. Moshe’s personal dream would remain unfulfilled, but the dream of his people would be realized. Sometimes the greatest comfort comes not from getting what we want, but from seeing the mission itself succeed.

In the very same portion, we read two of the most famous passages in the Torah, the Ten Commandments and the Shema Yisroel. The Torah is not just a list of commandments to check off, it is meant to shape the way we see ourselves, our purpose, and the world. The Midrash says that when G-d spoke at Sinai, His voice came from every direction and had no echo. Why no echo? Because an echo happens when sound meets a barrier and bounces back. At Sinai, nothing blocked it, the Torah penetrated every fiber of creation.

That is what Torah is supposed to do: reach every Jew, no matter how far they seem. And perhaps Moshe’s comfort in knowing that his people would enter the land is the same kind of comfort we feel when Torah reaches someone else’s soul. Even if we do not personally see the end of the journey, we take joy that the light is moving forward.

This week is Shabbos Nachamu, the Shabbat of Comfort. Yeshayahu says, “Nachamu, nachamu ami” — “Comfort, comfort My people.” The double comfort seems strange. We have just sat on the floor on Tisha B’Av mourning the destruction of the Temple, exile, pogroms, the Holocaust, and now the wounds of October 7th, and G-d says not just once, but twice: be comforted.

The Rebbe explained: a single comfort is getting back what we lost. Double comfort is more, it is getting back what we lost and receiving something even greater, something that could only come because of the exile. It is not gluing together a broken vase; it is using the shards to make a mosaic more beautiful than the original.

I once heard of a Holocaust survivor named Reb Mendel. He lost his wife, parents, and siblings, arriving in America with nothing. When asked if the pain ever went away, he said, “The hurt never leaves. But I can choose, will the hurt be a stone on my heart, or a stone I use to build?” He remarried, raised a family, and built a thriving Jewish community. “I do not live instead of them,” he said. “I live for them.” That is double comfort, when the pain becomes the foundation for something greater.

And maybe that is the bridge to Moshe’s story. Moshe never stepped foot into Israel. His pain never vanished. But he took comfort in the fact that the people would live the dream, that the promise would be fulfilled through them. His comfort, like ours, was not about erasing loss, it was about seeing the mission carried forward.

I feel that same truth with the passing of my dear father and our Rabbi, Sholom Lipskar, of blessed memory. His dreams did not end with his life. If anything, his passing calls on us to carry them forward with even greater force, over the top, with a get-it-done determination that refuses to let anything stand in the way. He lived his life pushing beyond limits for the sake of the Jewish people, and now that responsibility is on us.

Chassidus teaches that G-d Himself needs comfort. When the Temple was destroyed, His Presence went into exile with us. Every tear we have shed, He has been there. So “Nachamu, nachamu” is not only Him comforting us, it is us comforting Him. When a Jew lights Shabbos candles in exile, when a child says Shema in a dark world, it is like telling G-d, “You are not alone.”

In our world, comfort is often confused with distraction, shopping, entertainment, endless scrolling. Torah’s comfort is different. It is about turning pain into purpose. The ache remains, but now there is growth.

Shabbos Nachamu is a taste of the World to Come, a world healed and whole. The Baal Shem Tov taught that every Jew can be a Nachamu for another: calling the lonely, showing up unasked, inspiring a mitzvah. Every act of kindness is a step toward redemption.

Moshe did not live to see the end of the journey, but his mission did not end with his passing. My father’s mission does not end with his passing. Our mission as a people does not end with loss. We are living in the days of double comfort. Every mitzvah we do is a brushstroke in the masterpiece G-d is painting from the story of our people. And when the full picture is revealed, we will see that not one tear, not Moshe’s, not my father’s, not ours, was wasted. May we see that day now, together, in joy.

Have a great Shabbos and a good week.

Rabbi Zalman Lipskar

(adapted from the writings of my Father and Teacher, Rabbi Sholom D. Lipskar, obm)

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