The Comfort of Exile
The Torah Anytimes | August 08, 2025
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The Comfort of Exile

The Torah Anytimes | December 10, 2025

We now enter the unique period of Shivah D’Nechemta, the seven weeks of consolation following Tisha B’av. And the Ribbono Shel Olam turns to Klal Yisrael and pleads: "Nachamu, nachamu ami—Be comforted, be comforted, My people.”

But the question echoes painfully. How? How can we find nechama, comfort, when the Beis HaMikdash is still in ruins, when we are still in exile spiritually, emotionally, historically? How can we be consoled in a world so fractured, so far from the Divine closeness we once knew?

One Friday night, the Belzer Rebbe zt”l was walking on the outskirts of town, when from a distance he heard a familiar, holy sound. It was, to his astonished ears, the singsong melody of a Jew learning Gemara. Drawn by the sweetness of Amar Abaye, Amar Rava, he approached a small, dimly lit hut. There, swaying over a Gemara, sat a young soldier in full military uniform, completely immersed in the world of Torah.

The Belzer Rebbe, amazed, asked, “Who are you? What are you doing here, alone, on Shabbos?”

The soldier looked up and explained: “I serve in the army. When I was first drafted, my greatest fear was: what will become of my Shabbos? But Hashem granted me favor in the eyes of my commanding officer, and over time, I became his most trusted aide. One day, I approached him and said: “You see how dedicated I am. Let me serve six days a week, but please, give me Shabbos off.”

To my amazement, he agreed. And at that moment, I made a promise to the Ribbono Shel Olam: I will not waste my Shabbos. Six hours I will dedicate to davening, eating, and rest, but the remaining 18 hours will be spent learning Torah. That is why I am here, alone, in this hut, spending Shabbos with Hashem.”

The Belzer Rebbe lifted his eyes toward Heaven and whispered, “Ribono Shel Olam... who knows if it is not Jews like this who are holding back the coming of Mashiach?”

What did the Rebbe mean?

He meant that this kind of nachas ruach—this kind of devotion, sacrifice, and closeness to Hashem—can only exist in exile. When Mashiach comes, we won’t have the same opportunities for such heroic clinging to the Ribbono Shel Olam. In galus, in the way our world is structured now with all its challenges and struggles, our faith and our efforts are so precious.

Perhaps, that is where our nechama lies. Yes, we are still in exile, and yes, the Beis HaMikdash has not yet been rebuilt. But in the midst of summer, during vacation season, thousands upon thousands of Jews are striving to elevate themselves through learning more, davening more, working on their middos, and yearning to grow in holiness.

That’s not despite the galus; that’s because of the galus. And it brings tremendous nachas ruach to Hashem.

We now enter the unique period of Shivah D’Nechemta, the seven weeks of consolation following Tisha B’av. And the Ribbono Shel Olam turns to Klal Yisrael and pleads: "Nachamu, nachamu ami—Be comforted, be comforted, My people.”

But the question echoes painfully. How? How can we find nechama, comfort, when the Beis HaMikdash is still in ruins, when we are still in exile spiritually, emotionally, historically? How can we be consoled in a world so fractured, so far from the Divine closeness we once knew?

One Friday night, the Belzer Rebbe zt”l was walking on the outskirts of town, when from a distance he heard a familiar, holy sound. It was, to his astonished ears, the singsong melody of a Jew learning Gemara. Drawn by the sweetness of Amar Abaye, Amar Rava, he approached a small, dimly lit hut. There, swaying over a Gemara, sat a young soldier in full military uniform, completely immersed in the world of Torah.

The Belzer Rebbe, amazed, asked, “Who are you? What are you doing here, alone, on Shabbos?”

The soldier looked up and explained: “I serve in the army. When I was first drafted, my greatest fear was: what will become of my Shabbos? But Hashem granted me favor in the eyes of my commanding officer, and over time, I became his most trusted aide. One day, I approached him and said: “You see how dedicated I am. Let me serve six days a week, but please, give me Shabbos off.”

To my amazement, he agreed. And at that moment, I made a promise to the Ribbono Shel Olam: I will not waste my Shabbos. Six hours I will dedicate to davening, eating, and rest, but the remaining 18 hours will be spent learning Torah. That is why I am here, alone, in this hut, spending Shabbos with Hashem.”

The Belzer Rebbe lifted his eyes toward Heaven and whispered, “Ribono Shel Olam... who knows if it is not Jews like this who are holding back the coming of Mashiach?”

What did the Rebbe mean?

He meant that this kind of nachas ruach—this kind of devotion, sacrifice, and closeness to Hashem—can only exist in exile. When Mashiach comes, we won’t have the same opportunities for such heroic clinging to the Ribbono Shel Olam. In galus, in the way our world is structured now with all its challenges and struggles, our faith and our efforts are so precious.

Perhaps, that is where our nechama lies. Yes, we are still in exile, and yes, the Beis HaMikdash has not yet been rebuilt. But in the midst of summer, during vacation season, thousands upon thousands of Jews are striving to elevate themselves through learning more, davening more, working on their middos, and yearning to grow in holiness.

That’s not despite the galus; that’s because of the galus. And it brings tremendous nachas ruach to Hashem.

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