Nachamu Nachamu Ami” comes Isaiah’s cry for comforting the nation of Israel, after so much sorrow and national mourning.
In these days of the calendar, we lament the anguish of past exile, but also experience the deepening feeling of hostility and alienation in our present exile.
Last summer, when we were all still in the grip of the harrowing, prolonged hostage crisis and trauma, it was hard to feel solace from those three words of Isaiah.
This summer, vis a vis the hostage situation, those words mean something. We grieve the loss of the hostages who did not return alive. Yet, with the return of the hostages who came back alive, slowly some measure of healing and comfort, like a frayed but warm blanket, has been, despite war with Iran and a still unstable and, to a degree, sustained war. Those three words, like that blanket, has been collectively wrapping and swaddling itself around our wounded but strengthening, people.
Despite the current fraught atmosphere in Israel — more attacks by Iran? — and the upsetting internal tensions that I find myself worrying about a lot, somehow the momentum of normal life has so far thankfully proven remarkably strong.
I can only pray that with wise leadership and guidance, the cracks threatening to rip the social fabric of the country will, in time — hopefully soon — be mended or repaired, and not, G-d forbid, widened.
Overall, A feeling of exhaustion within our Jewish community persists. The new daily whack-a-mole of anti-Israel lies or other anti-Semitic sentiments that have been sickeningly normalized, acceptable to peddle in public with zero accountability, constantly demand our vigilant whacking, crushing these revolting lies to smithereens.
We also counteract them by deepening our Jewish life. Another act of kindness. Another warm challah baked to honor Shabbat. Another prayer murmured. Another two twinkling glowing Shabbat candles melding into the Friday twilight sunset, as we cover our eyes and pray for a better, more whole and healed people, and world.
It seems that each week, the speed at which the threshold of bold lies passing as acceptable is constantly shifting, to astonishing degrees.
The vile “genocide” lie about Israel has taken on a life of its own, to the point that despite being patently false, it has come to be accepted as fact in much of the media and with the millions who consume them.
Forget the fact that the war in Gaza was not initiated by Israel. Its inception was rooted in a barbaric invasion of Israel’s borders, turning civilian communities into slaughterhouse level blood baths — and then advertising them to the world in pride by the terrorists themselves as Israel fought to survive.
Forget the fact that Israel consistently distributed flyers within Gaza, so as to warn civilians to flee hot war zones.
Forget the fact that the polio vaccine was distributed to the children of Gaza.
Forget the fact that food was consistently sent into feed Gazans, though much was stolen by Hamas for their own fighters instead.
Forget all these facts on the ground that decidedly contradict genocidal behaviour.
Part of creating a genocide is the intent for pure destruction of a people.
Israel’s goal was clear: to secure its borders and its civilians from ever being in danger of another Oct. 7 invasion.
The cost of war is gut wrenching. Every single innocent life lost is a haunting wound that can never fully heal.
Every single wounded or fallen Israel soldier is a world lost.
All this loss feels all the worse for the sense that if it were not for this war started by Hamas, all of these victims would have lived normal trajectories. But suddenly they were cut down because of a cursed war. If only — that horrible “if only.” That question mark is haunting and accusatory.
That’s the anguish of war. War, as scarring as it is, does not compute to genocide, though. Certainly not in Israel’s case.
The mourning of life gone haywire, the incredibly painful losses, as wrenching as they are, is not the yardstick of the “genocide” accusation that is constantly bandied about.
Achingly, there is genocide today. Sudan. Perhaps, Myanmar (Burma). Perhaps, China. And there certainly are other atrocities, thousands of Iranian civilians killed by their own government, within days.
Yet.
Silence.
Time and again, the obsessive, hypocritical, selective rage points to one place and one people only.
Sometimes, it’s ridiculous. Like the mayor of New York, which is in America — its mayor constantly, obsessively, selectively smearing Israel.
That he doesn’t support any country that privileges one religion over another (referring to Israel) “whether it be Saudi Arabia or anyone else.” So since he is obsessed with excoriating Israel due to this principle of his, why haven’t we heard him excoriate Saudi Arabia? Or other Islamic or Christian countries?
He says he can only support a country with equal rights for all. In other words, he does support Israel? Is he not informed that Jewish, Muslim, Christian and Druze citizens can all worship freely, vote and reach the pinnacle of most professions within Israeli society — be it doctor or judge — and be elected to its parliament?
Of course he does.
This past week, some of the Vice President’s words and statements seem to have become infected with this Israel virus, too.
It pains me, it seems that these days in America, a talking point for garnering political support is Israel-bashing and even Jew-bashing, replete with classical anti-Semitic tropes.
This is the current shift.
By the time this piece goes to print, who knows to where this dark threshold will have shape shifted to?
Because since Oct. 7 it’s felt like the shifts happen in months, then weeks, and nowadays — often days.
The thing is, here we all are, thousands of years later, and we’re still collectively reading from the Book of Isaiah.
The empires of the world have come and gone, but one thing remains unchanging. Am Yisrael.
We needed comfort so badly back then, and as we licked our national wounds Isaiah caressed us tenderly with those words: Nachamu Nachamu Ami.
Here we are. This upcoming Shabbat, these three words will once again echo their solace.
These days, we truly are grateful for them in our present day, too: Comfort Ye, comfort Ye, My People.
© IJN 2026
