A Message from Rabbi Bellows

July 19, 2026/5 Av 5786

Dear Friends,

*My sermon delivered Friday night: 

This Shabbat is known as Shabbat Chazon, the “Sabbath of Vision.” It takes its name from the opening words of this week’s haftarah: Chazon Yeshayahu—”The vision of Isaiah.”

It is the Shabbat immediately before Tisha B’Av, the day on which we mourn the destruction of both Temples and so many other tragedies in Jewish history. It is a difficult Shabbat. Isaiah does not offer comforting words. He delivers a searing critique of a society that has lost its moral compass. He speaks to people who continue to bring sacrifices while neglecting justice, who pray with their lips while ignoring the vulnerable.

We read Isaiah calling us:

“Learn to do good. Seek justice. Defend the orphan. Plead for the widow.”

We are to take care of each other; we are to pursue that which is good, right, and just in the eyes of God and humanity. 

Yesterday, many of us woke to an eerie reminder of how fragile our vision can be. Smoke from the Canadian wildfires drifted hundreds of miles, blanketing our skies with a hazy orange-gray veil and prompting hazardous air quality warnings across much of the Midwest. 

The irony is striking: one was unable to see the Chicago skyline amid the dust and ash from the fires on Shabbat Chazon, the Sabbath of Vision. Familiar skylines disappeared into the haze. We were urged to stay indoors, to protect our lungs from dangers that were largely invisible. It is a fitting metaphor for our spiritual lives as well. Sometimes the smoke of fear, anger, grief, or endless headlines clouds our moral and spiritual vision. We lose sight not only of where we are going, but of one another. Isaiah’s challenge is to clear away that haze—not by ignoring the dangers around us, but by seeing through them with clarity, courage, and purpose.

Isaiah was not predicting the future in his prophecy. He was teaching his generation to see reality honestly. He refused to look away from injustice or pretend that everything was fine. But neither did he surrender to despair.

We are commanded to see suffering without becoming paralyzed by it.

To mourn without giving up.

To acknowledge brokenness while continuing to repair the world.

Shabbat itself trains us in this discipline. Six days each week, we confront problems that need solving. On Shabbat, we step back—not because the problems disappear, but because we need to remember that the world is more than its crises, more than insufferable injustices.

Isaiah ends his prophecy with a call to hope. Jerusalem, he says, can once again become a city of righteousness.

Not because someone else will fix it.

Because people will choose to live differently. And fix the brokenness around us. 

That remains our calling.

The smoke eventually clears. The winds shift. The blue sky returns. But while we wait for clearer skies, we don’t stop living. We don’t stop caring for one another. We don’t stop doing justice or acts of kindness. Isaiah reminds us that spiritual vision is not dependent on perfect visibility. Even when the horizon is obscured, we can still choose the next right step.

In just a few days, we will sit on the floor and remember destruction. But Jewish tradition never intended Tisha B’Av to be the end of the story. Immediately afterward comes Shabbat Nachamu—the Sabbath of Comfort. Mourning is followed by consolation. Destruction is followed by rebuilding.

That rhythm is one of Judaism’s greatest gifts.

We grieve. We hope. And we keep building.

Perhaps that is the deepest meaning of Shabbat Chazon.

Vision is not merely seeing what is.

Vision is seeing what still might be.

May we have Isaiah’s courage to face the truth.

May we have our ancestors’ resilience to rebuild after loss.

Ken Yihi Ratzon, May this be true. 

With Blessings,

Rabbi Bellows