Shabbat Shalom ~ Parashat Vaetchanan 2026

Shalom WJC Family,

By the time you read this, Tisha B’Av will have passed. We will have risen from the floor, broken our fast, and begun preparing once again for the joy and peace of Shabbat. Judaism asks us to make that transition every year—from deep national grief to the comfort of Shabbat. It is a remarkable rhythm, and one that teaches us how to live.

The Talmud tells a story about the years following the destruction of the Second Temple. Some Jews were so heartbroken that they vowed never again to eat meat or drink wine. How could they enjoy the very foods that had once been offered upon God’s altar when the Temple was no more?

Rabbi Yehoshua understood their pain, but he also understood that grief could not become the whole of Jewish life. Patiently, he followed their reasoning. If we cannot eat meat, then neither should we eat bread, because meal offerings have ceased. If not bread, then not the fruits once brought as bikkurim. And if not those, then perhaps not even water, because water too had once been poured upon the altar. At that point, they realized that a life of endless mourning was a life that could no longer be lived.

Rabbi Yehoshua offered another path. “Not to mourn at all is impossible,” he taught. “But to mourn excessively is also unwise.” Instead, the Sages asked us to leave just a little unfinished: this is the source of the custom to leave a small square unfinished on the wall of a new home, or one item missing from a festive meal. These can be one small reminder that even at our happiest moments, Jerusalem is never absent from our hearts.

I have come to appreciate that these customs are about making our memory stronger.

When we mourn someone we love, we are not simply expressing sadness. We are making a claim: this person belongs to me, and always will. Mourning keeps love alive.

In the same way, when we mourn for Jerusalem, we are declaring that Jerusalem is not merely a place remembered in history. It remains our spiritual home. The Temple was not only a magnificent building; it was the place where heaven and earth met, where our people’s highest hopes found expression. Even as Jews built homes across the world, every home carried an unspoken claim: This is not the end of the story. Our truest home still waits to be restored. This balance between making a home in exile while refusing to mistake exile for home has shaped Jewish life ever since.

That is why Tisha B’Av ends as it does—not in despair, but in hope.

We do not stay seated on the floor. We stand. We build homes. We gather around our Shabbat tables. We sing, we celebrate, and we give thanks for the blessings of our lives. Yet we also leave room for memory. The unfinished corner on the wall reminds us that our story is not yet complete.

This Shabbat is known as “Shabbat Nachamu,” the Shabbat of consolation that begins our anticipation of Rosh Hashanah. We’ll gather on Friday evening at 6:30 p.m., Shabbat morning at 9:15 a.m., and Shabbat afternoon at 8:00 p.m.

As we welcome Shabbat, may we carry both its comfort and Tisha B’Av’s memory together. May we never forget Jerusalem, and may we live to see the fulfillment of Isaiah’s promise: “Rejoice with Jerusalem and be glad with her, all who love her; rejoice with her in joy, all who mourn for her.”

Shabbat Shalom,

Cantor Ethan Goldberg