Last week, we observed Tisha B’Av — the saddest day in the Jewish calendar, once again infused with tragic, modern-day relevance. Fifty hostages remain in the tunnels of Gaza. The war with Hamas rages on. Globally, the conversation around Israel and Gaza is deeply distressing. In New York, we’re facing the normalization of antisemitism and mourning the senseless killings of beloved members of our community.

This week, we’re given a measure of relief, at least textually.

At sundown, we usher in Shabbat Nachamu, the “Shabbat of Consolation,” which takes its name from the opening words of the haftorah we read tomorrow: “Nachamu, nachamu ami” — "Comfort, take comfort, my people."

With so much weighing on our collective souls, many are aching for comfort. But there is precious little to feel comforted by.

In recent days, the horrifying videos of emaciated, tortured hostages in the tunnels of Gaza that broke our hearts should have generated widespread global condemnation.

They did not.

Instead, more world leaders are moving toward unilateral recognition of a Palestinian state — a gift to Hamas that emboldens terror and makes a ceasefire more difficult to reach. Hamas — whose brutal actions turned Gaza into a battlefield, who uses its own population as human shields and revels in their deaths, who has willfully impeded the distribution of aid, and who spreads deliberate misinformation. And yet, Hamas is largely absent from media reports attributing blame for the current situation.

We are left to wonder: What has become of the world’s moral compass?

At the same time, we cannot lose our own.

Understanding that Hamas bears ultimate responsibility for this conflict does not negate that civilians in Gaza are facing desperate conditions.

Both can be true at once.

What many of us feel is a confluence of unbearable grief, anger, and the moral imperative — the Jewish imperative — to act. Not everyone agrees on what should be done, or how. There is anguish and outrage around every perspective.

We must hold tight to what has always anchored the Jewish people: the belief that all human life is sacred.

As Dani Dayan — currently the chairman of Yad Vashem, formerly Israel’s consul general in New York, and a past leader of Israel’s settler movement — wrote in a recent op-ed in the Jerusalem Post:

"Accusations that Israel is committing genocide are unfounded and constitute a dangerous distortion of the term. But that does not mean we should not acknowledge the suffering of civilians in Gaza. There are many men, women, and children with no connection to terrorism who are experiencing devastation, displacement, and loss. Their anguish is real, and our moral tradition obligates us not to turn away from it… Seeing the humanity of others, even in war, is not a sign of weakness but a testament to our strength.”

In that spirit, UJA’s longtime partner IsraAID — Israel’s largest nongovernmental humanitarian aid organization — has been extending critical relief inside Gaza, already reaching more than 100,000 Gazans.

Before October 7, IsraAID’s work focused entirely on global natural disasters and conflicts beyond its borders — arriving under the Israeli flag to offer lifesaving aid after earthquakes, floods, wildfires, epidemics, and displacement. They were, for example, central partners in our Ukraine crisis response.

After October 7, for the first time, they used their hard-earned expertise to meet needs across Israel.

And now, they’ve turned to Gaza, where they’ve built deep working relationships with the IDF unit responsible for aid in Gaza (COGAT), as well as highly reputable global aid organizations on the ground, positioning them to ensure the effective delivery of relief.

This week, we allocated $1 million to IsraAID to support their efforts in Gaza, specifically to provide food, medicine, and the installation of filtration systems to enable safe drinking water for displaced families.

IsraAID represents the very best of Israel — and of us.

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As we enter this period of intended consolation, comfort may still feel elusive.

It is there, though — if we look.

It’s there in being part of a community that lends its strength to one another.

That extends comfort to others, even while we’re hurting.

There in our Torah, values, and traditions. Our resilience. 

There in our capacity to hope that better days will come — please God, soon. 

Shabbat shalom