A Double Measure of Comfort
(Shabbat Nachamu)
Rabbi Menachem CreditorShabbat Nachamu is the Shabbat after Tisha B’Av, the day we mourn collective loss. It’s the Shabbat where we begin to breathe again, even if that breath still catches in the throat. It’s the Shabbat of Comfort. But not just comfort. Double comfort. "Nachamu, nachamu ami—Comfort, comfort My people. (Is. 40:10)”
Why twice?
When a person’s name is called twice in succession in the Torah—Abraham, Abraham (Gen. 22:11)… Moses, Moses (ex. 3:4)—it’s never just about summoning. It’s about connection, intimacy, urgency, reassurance. And here, too, the prophet Isaiah doesn’t say “comfort” once. He says it twice. Perhaps once is not enough. Maybe we need comfort for the past—and comfort for the present.
We are still counting the days since October 7th. Day 672. We are still seeking clarity in chaos, still yearning for stability in an unstable world. We have been asked to bear so much, to hold so much. And somehow, we do.
And so, on this Shabbat, we turn to the Torah portion, Va’etchanan. Moses begs to enter the Land and is denied. He is disappointed. He is human. And yet, he doesn’t fall apart. Instead, he blesses the people. He strengthens Joshua. He prioritizes continuity over ego. He teaches us that even with a broken heart, we can lead forward. We must.
And then, after the Torah reading this Shabbat, we will hear in the Haftarah Isaiah speaking comfort to a people devastated, disoriented, trying to remember who they are. And it says—you’ve already paid double for your suffering (Is. 40:2). You’ve been through enough. It is time for comfort.
Friends, maybe that's why Nachamu is doubled. One for the sorrow that has already come. And one for the sorrow we still carry as we move forward. One for those who have been taken. And one for those who remain.
We are called this week to pause. That’s not easy. To be still in a world of such noise. To breathe amid trauma. But maybe that’s the commandment of this Shabbat: Let the comfort in.
And then… let it move outward.
I think of all the people who will read this Haftarah tomorrow. I think of the whole aching, beautiful, fractured world, calling out in and for comfort. Nachamu. Nachamu.
Nachamu. Comfort.
Nachamu. Again.
Because once just isn’t enough.
