Rabbi’s Message: March 17, 2026
By Rabbi Lauren Ben-Shoshan
I thought to myself that I have, possibly, been watching too much of Dr. Orna Guralnik’s television show, Couple’s Therapy. Then, as I read the Haftarah for this week, drawn from Book of Isaiah 43, I realized that it reads like a conversation between partners who have lost their way with one another. On one side, God speaks with longing and frustration:
“You have not called upon Me, Jacob…
you have burdened Me with your sins,
you have wearied Me with your iniquities.” (Isaiah 43:22–24)
The language is strikingly relational. In this case, God sounds like a life partner who feels ignored and taken for granted.
The rabbis noticed this tone as well. In the ancient commentary Pesikta de‑Rav Kahana, the relationship between God and Israel is compared explicitly to a marriage strained by distance — a covenant that carries both love and disappointment, and as we read forward, the hope and possibility of repair. Similarly, Song of Songs Rabbah frequently reads the relationship between God and Israel through the metaphor of lovers who sometimes miss one another but remain bound together by deep longing.
In other words, Isaiah is not describing a broken relationship so much as a relationship in conflict. And yet, what is remarkable is what happens next. Instead of giving up on the relationship, God names hope:
“Do not remember the former things…
I am about to do a new thing;
now it springs forth — do you not perceive it?” (Isaiah 43:18–19)
The prophet Isaiah reframes the conflict not as an ending, but as an opportunity for renewal.
Modern therapists often observe that arguments rarely begin with anger. They begin with unspoken longing, with unmet desire. Underneath conflict are usually questions like:
What do I really want from this relationship?
What would feeling loved look like to me?
What do I hope is still possible here?
When we cannot name those desires, we often fall into patterns of blame, withdrawal, or silence. The rabbis understood this dynamic long before modern methodologies around couple’s therapy. In Babylonian Talmud, Berakhot 32b, the sages describe prayer itself as a form of courageous relationship: “A person should always arrange praise before prayer.” In other words, before we ask for what we need, we must remember that the relationship itself is still alive. That wrapping that relationship in gratitude is a starting point. And that prayer, like healthy conversation, is an act of hope.
As the prophetic conversation continues, Isaiah’s vision invites us to consider a powerful question: What happens when we learn to say what we truly desire out loud? The Haftarah suggests that renewal begins when we are ready to move beyond rehearsing past disappointments and begin speaking honestly about what we hope for.
“I am about to do a new thing,” God says.
Not: I am returning things to the way they were. Andnot: I am pretending nothing happened. But rather: I am ready for something new, that can grow from here.
Rabbinic tradition echoes this idea in Midrash Tehillim, which teaches that God continually renews the world “each day as if it were being created anew.” Renewal is not accidental; it is a rhythm of relationship that we have the power to try to establish for connections with both ourselves and others.
For us, this week’s Haftarah offers an invitation. It begins with naming what is wanted, what is desired. It acknowledges what what frustrates us, but it also then moves into the meaningful work of questioning:
What do I truly long for here?
What kind of connection am I hoping to build?
What would repair or renewal actually look like?
These questions require vulnerability. But they also restore something powerful: agency.
When we name our hopes, we become participants in shaping what comes next.
Isaiah reminds us that conflict does not necessarily mean a relationship has failed. Sometimes it simply means the relationship is asking us to speak more honestly about what matters to us in this new season. The covenant between God and Israel endures not because it avoids tension, but because it continues to make space for longing, for forgiveness, and for new beginnings.
This requires vulnerability and courage to try something new in a new season. And yet, in this Haftarah we see God model this: “I am about to do a new thing,” the Divine tells us.
As we approach the new season of spring and the holiday of Passover that celebrates it, what new possibility might emerge if we learned to speak — to ourselves, to one another, to our communities, and to the Divine — about what we truly desire? Because hope often begins in a simple place: the courage to say what we are still longing for.
