AUGUST 15 • 2024 | 51

vision is connected to the legal,
halachic content of much of
Devarim. On the one hand, we
have this passionate declaration of
love by God for a people; on the
other we have a detailed code of
law covering most aspects of life
for individuals and the nation as a
whole once it enters the land. Law
and love are not two things that go
obviously together. What has one to
do with the other?
That is what David Brooks’
remark suggests: commitment
is falling in love with something
and then building a structure of
behavior around it to sustain that
love over time. Law, the mitzv-
ot, Halachah, is that structure of
behavior. Love is a passion, an
emotion, a heightened state, a peak
experience. But an emotional state
cannot be guaranteed forever. We
wed in poetry, but we stay married
in prose.
Which is why we need laws, rit-
uals, habits of deed. Rituals are the
framework that keeps love alive.
I once knew a wonderfully happy
married couple. The husband, with
great devotion, brought his wife
breakfast in bed every morning. I
am not entirely sure she needed or
even wanted breakfast in bed every
morning, but she graciously accept-
ed it because she knew it was the
homage he wished to pay her, and
it did indeed keep their love alive.
After decades of marriage, they still
seemed to be on their honeymoon.
Without intending any precise
comparison, that is what the vast
multiplicity of rituals in Judaism,
many of them spelled out in the
book of Deuteronomy, actually
achieved. They sustained the love
between God and a people. You
hear the cadences of that love
throughout the generations. It is
there in the book of Psalms: “You,
God, are my God, earnestly I seek
you; I thirst for you, my whole
being longs for you, in a dry and
parched land where there is no
water” (Ps. 63:1).
It is there in Isaiah: “Though the
mountains be shaken and the hills

be removed, yet My unfailing love
for you will not be shaken nor My
covenant of peace be removed” (Is.
54:10).
It is there in the siddur, in the
blessing before the Shema: “You
have loved us with great love/with
everlasting love.”
It is there, passionately, in the
song, “Yedid Nefesh,” composed in
the 16th century by Safed kabbalist
Elazar Azikri. It remains there in
the songs composed year after year
in present-day Israel. Whether they
speak of God’s love for us or ours
for Him, the love remains strong
after 33 centuries. That is a long
time for love to last, and we believe
it will do so forever.
Could it have done so without
the rituals, the 613 commands,
that fill our days with reminders
of God’s presence? I think not.
Whenever Jews abandoned the life
of the commands, within a few
generations they lost their identi-
ty. Without the rituals, eventually
love dies. With them, the glowing
embers remain and still have the
power to burst into flame. Not
every day in a long and happy mar-
riage feels like a wedding, but even
love grown old will still be strong if
the choreography of fond devotion,
the ritual courtesies and kindnesses,
are sustained.
In the vast literature of Halachah
we find the “how” and “what”
of Jewish life, but not always the
“why.” The special place of Sefer
Devarim in Judaism as a whole is
that here, more clearly than almost
anywhere else, we find the “why.”
Jewish law is the structure of
behavior built around the love
between God and His people, so
that the love remains long after the
first feelings of passion have grown
old.
Hence the life-changing idea:
If you seek to make love undying,
build around it a structure of ritu-
als — small acts of kindness, little
gestures of self-sacrifice for the sake
of the beloved — and you will be
rewarded with a quiet joy, an inner
light, that will last a lifetime.

‘Comfort My People’
T

he Jewish calendar is
designed to ensure that,
among other things,
our pattern of Torah readings
coincides with specific holidays.
For example, this week’s parshah
arrives each year
immediately following
our observance of Tisha
b’Av, the day on our
calendar set aside for
mourning.
Yes, we personally have
yahrzeits throughout
the year; there are four
occasions for Yizkor, and
Yom HaShoah (Holocaust
Remembrance Day) was
added to the calendar
several decades ago. But
according to tradition, the
ninth day of Av is the day
when many of the worst tragedies
in our history took place: the
destruction of the First and
Second Temples in Jerusalem,
the massacre that ended the Bar
Kochba revolt, the expulsion
from England, the Spanish
Inquisition and more.
Our sages determined that the
Haftarah for this week would
be from Isaiah chapter 40.
Unlike most Haftarah readings,
it isn’t specifically connected
to this week’s portion. Instead,
it was chosen to coincide
with the calendar. Tisha b’Av
is considered such a painful
time in our community that we
deserve — we need — a sense of
healing afterwards. So, for seven
consecutive weeks, we are treated
to the “Haftarot of Consolation”
— seven moments when the
ancient prophets remind us that
God remains with us through our
darkest times, and that no matter
how bad things may get, light will
return to our lives.
This week, perhaps, is the

most beautiful of all: “Comfort
My people, comfort them!”
says your God. “Speak tenderly
to Jerusalem; say to her that
she has served her term, that
her sin is pardoned for she has
received from the hand of the
Eternal more than enough
punishment for her sins.”
(Isaiah 40:1-2)
Our ancestors heard these
words from the desolation
of exile in the sixth century
B.C.E., reassured that the
Persian king Cyrus the Great
would allow them to return
to the Land of Israel and
rebuild the Temple. It may
have seemed unimaginable
after the utter devastation
wrought by the Babylonian
army a generation before. But
if our painful history has taught
us one lesson it is that our people
have the capacity to weather any
storm, to overcome any adversity,
to outlast those who assail us and
rebuild in magnificent ways. We
have done it before, and we will
do it again.
During this week of Tisha b’Av,
we cannot help but consider the
terrible events of the past year.
Oct. 7 was not even a full year
ago, and the ramifications of that
day are still unfolding. We may
not be ready to put these events
into historical context, but when
I read the Torah and Haftarah
this Shabbat, I will gain an extra
measure of strength to face what
we must, to hold onto the hope
that one day we will simply be
able to live in peace among our
neighbors, and to believe that the
best days for our own community
and for Israel are ahead of us.
May this be God’s will.

Rabbi Mark Miller is senior rabbi at Temple

Beth El in Bloomfield Township.

SPIRIT
TORAH PORTION

Rabbi Mark
Miller

Parshat

V’etchanan:

Deuteronomy

3:23-7:11;

Isaiah

40:1-26.