Comforting Haftarah #2: Don't Talk. Just Be.

As I mentioned last week, we are now chanting our way through a series of seven Haftarot of comfort. These prophetic texts escort us from Tisha b'Av to Rosh

Hashanah, and each offers reassurance to the People of Israel after terrible calamities had left them utterly traumatized. There's a lot for us to unpack in here. These texts give us fascinating historical insight into how our ancestors persevered despite enduring vicious persecution. They also offer us models for how to handle moments (or decades...) of theological doubt. But these prophecies also teach us something else that is equally (if not more) crucial. As a pastoral professional and a chaplain, someone who has had to offer comfort to people in times of uncertainty, illness, and death, I would like to speak with you for a little bit about that last point.

Our Haftarah opens with the prophet Isaiah imagining all of Israel, embodied in the term "Zion," stating: "Adonai has forsaken me; the Lord has forgotten me" (49:14). In Hebrew, that whole quote is just four, short words, but it reflects a total decimation of faith. Israel's Temple has been destroyed, its autonomy is gone, its people have been dragged off into slavery in a foreign land. So yeah, this is bad.

From the perspective of the survivors, the evidence certainly makes it abundantly clear; God has either abandoned us or forgotten us... or both. Or perhaps worse still, God has turned against us and deliberately caused this cataclysm! Isaiah, then, has to step into this situation and offer pastoral care and comfort. If you've ever had to sit with a friend or family member after a devastating loss, if you've felt that horrific sense of "what could I POSSIBLY say to make any of this 'better' for you right now?", then you have just a tiny inkling of what Isaiah was taking on. THAT is what I think these Haftarot are trying to impart - how to offer consolation and be present when someone has experienced heart-breaking loss. And, in fact, our Haftarah suggests a couple of different models.

Sometimes, you've got to employ tough love. I know that can be hard to imagine, but if the grief has turned over into toxic obsession, if the person is utterly unable to find their way out of total darkness, we sometimes need to shock the system.

Isaiah tries that tactic. Believe it or not, he actually mocks the people! It sounds almost like a taunt when he says: "Why, when I came, was no one there? Why, when I called, would none respond? Is my arm, then, too short to rescue??? Have I not the power to save?!?" (50:2) I know that occasionally pushing is needed, but this particular example is hard to hear. God (through Isaiah) sounds almost amused; "What? You don't think I can save you?!?" Isaiah even sprinkles a little salt in the wound, pointing out that Israel was exiled for her own sins. Gee, thanks, I'm sure that reminder was helpful and appreciated...

But there are also two other tactics being employed. One is to remind the person/people that even though they can't hear it right now, they DO have support, and loved ones are waiting to receive them in the Land of the Living when they're ready to extend a hand and ask for help. Our Haftarah ends with words of hope: "God has made [Zion's] wilderness like Eden, her desert like the Garden of Adonai. Gladness and joy shall abide there, thanksgiving and the sound of music" (51:3).

I hear the prophet saying: "You, the mourner, can't see it right now - and that's ok - but life IS waiting for you on the other side of this pain." I employ this one a lot myself. And then, the final tactic is simply to be. This is often the most healing, but also sometimes the hardest to offer. What can you say to help someone heal? The answer - frequently - is "nothing." So stop trying. Isaiah is present. He's there. He talks a little too much, but that's an occupational hazard (I can relate...). We need to do this as well. Just BE. Sit close, sit quietly, and hold the space (and the pain) for the one who is grieving. So the overall takeaway here is that there isn't one "right" way to offer consolation. I encourage you to think about instances when you've been comforted, or when you tried to reassure someone else; what worked and what failed miserably? We can learn so much from both. There is a reason why this Season of Comfort leads straight into the High Holidays; a period of self-reflection, renewal, and striving to become our best selves. How we act, and react, in moments of pain is crucial. And we could all use some help in this regard. And remember, sometimes you don't have to do much. Just be.


Images in this blog post:
1. CC image courtesy of Shelley Rodrigo on Flickr
2. CC image courtesy of Victorgrigas on Wikimedia Commons
3. CC image courtesy of Pixabay
4. CC image courtesy of Pixabay