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law existed prior to the giving 
of the Torah. Jacob himself 
says to Laban, whose flocks 
and herds had been placed in 
his charge, “I did not bring 
you animals torn by wild 
beasts; I bore the loss myself” 
(Gen. 31:39). This implies 
that guardians even then were 
exempt from responsibility 
for the damage caused by wild 
animals. We also know that an 
elder brother carried a similar 
responsibility for the fate of a 
younger brother placed in his 
charge, as, for example, when 
the two were alone together. 
That is the significance of 
Cain’s denial when confronted 
by God as to the fate of Abel: 
“Am I my brother’s guardian 
[shomer]?” (Gen. 4:9)
We now understand a series 
of nuances in the encounter 
between Jacob and his sons 
upon their return without 
Joseph. Normally, they 
would be held responsible 
for their younger brother’s 
disappearance. To avoid this, 
as in the case of later biblical 
law, they “bring the remains 
as evidence.” If those remains 
show signs of an attack by 
a wild animal, they must 
— by virtue of the law then 
operative — be held innocent. 
Their request to Jacob, haker 
na, must be construed as 
a legal request, meaning, 
“Examine the evidence.” 
Jacob has no alternative but 
to do so, and by virtue of 
what he has seen, to acquit 
them. A judge, however, may 
be forced to acquit someone 
accused of a crime because 
the evidence is insufficient 
to justify a conviction, while 
still retaining lingering private 
doubts. So Jacob was forced 

to find his sons innocent, 
without necessarily trusting 
what they said. In fact, Jacob 
did not believe it, and his 
refusal to be comforted shows 
that he was unconvinced. He 
continued to hope that Joseph 
was still alive. That hope was 
eventually justified: Joseph 
was still alive, and father and 
son were ultimately reunited.

ANOTHER EXAMPLE
The refusal to be comforted 
sounded more than once in 
Jewish history. The prophet 
Jeremiah heard it in a later 
age:
This is what the Lord says: 
 “A voice is heard in 
 Ramah, 
 Mourning and great 
 weeping, 
 Rachel weeping for her 
 children 
 Refusing to be comforted, 
 Because her children are 
 no more.” 
 This is what the Lord says: 
 “Restrain your voice from 
 weeping, 
 And your eyes from tears, 
 For your work will be 
 rewarded,” says the Lord. 

 “They will return from the 
 land of the enemy. 
 So there is hope for your 
 future,” declares the Lord, 
 “Your children will return 
 to their own land.”
 Jeremiah 31:15–17 
Why was Jeremiah sure that 
Jews would return? Because 
they refused to be comforted 
— meaning, they refused to 
give up hope.
So it was during the 
Babylonian exile, as 
articulated in one of the most 
paradigmatic expressions of 
the refusal to be comforted:
By the rivers of Babylon we 
 sat and wept, 
 As we remembered Zion… 
 How can we sing the songs 
 of the Lord in a strange 
 land? 
 If I forget you, O Jerusalem, 
 May my right hand forget 
 [its skill], 
 May my tongue cling to the 
 roof of my mouth 
 If I do not remember you, 
 If I do not consider 
 Jerusalem above my highest 
 
 
 
 
 joy.
Psalms 137:1–6 
It is said that Napoleon, 

passing a synagogue on the 
fast day of Tisha b’Av, heard 
the sounds of lamentation. 
“What are the Jews crying 
for?” he asked one of his 
officers. “For Jerusalem,” the 
soldier replied. “How long ago 
did they lose it?” “More than 
1,700 hundred years.” 
“A people who can mourn 
for Jerusalem so long will one 
day have it restored to them,” 
the emperor is reputed to 
have replied.
Jews are the people who 
refused to be comforted 
because they never gave up 
hope. Jacob did eventually 
see Joseph again. Rachel’s 
children did return to the 
land. Jerusalem is once 
again the Jewish home. All 
the evidence may suggest 
otherwise: it may seem to 
signify irretrievable loss, a 
decree of history that cannot 
be overturned, a fate that 
must be accepted. Jews never 
believed the evidence because 
they had something else to set 
against it — a faith, a trust, an 
unbreakable hope that proved 
stronger than historical 
inevitability. 
It is not too much to say 
that Jewish survival was 
sustained in that hope. And 
that hope came from a simple 
— or perhaps not so simple 
— phrase in the life of Jacob. 
He refused to be comforted. 
And so — while we live in a 
world still scarred by violence, 
poverty and injustice — must 
we. 

The late Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks 

served as the chief rabbi of the 

United Hebrew Congregations of the 

Commonwealth, 1991-2013. His teach-

ings have been made available to all 

at rabbisacks.org. This essay was orig-

inally written in 2007.

 
Why do you think Jacob refused to give up hope 
that Joseph was still alive?
Can you think of examples from Jewish history 
of when the Jewish people refused to give up 
hope?
What do you think is the source of this refusal to 
give up hope?
What can other people of the world learn from 
the Jewish refusal to give up hope in the face of 
adversity?