This past Shabbat, we celebrated the bris of my grandson, who was born two weeks ago. A tiny, perfect baby with a head full of red hair. We named him Shiloh. A name of promise. A name of redemption. A name of Mashiach himself.
But how can I speak of joy when this was a week of such unbearable sorrow? The Bibas children came home. Not in the way we had prayed for, not alive. Their return broke the heart of Am Yisrael all over again. We saw their faces, their red curls, and we cried out in agony, ad matai? Till when? How much longer can we endure this suffering? How much more pain, how much more loss? How much longer will we wait for salvation?
And then, in the midst of this darkness, a tiny baby was born. A new redhead entered the world, full of life, full of promise. A whisper from Hashem, as if to say: Ad Ki Avoh Shiloh. Until Shiloh comes.
This is who we are. A nation that has known endless heartbreak, yet somehow still finds the strength to believe. We are a people who bury our dead and then bring new life into the world. We cry ad matai, and then we keep going, because deep in our souls, we know that there is an answer. Hashem hears us. And this week, His answer came in the form of a tiny baby boy.
It was no coincidence that his name was Shiloh. Shiloh, the place where the Mishkan stood, waiting for the Beit HaMikdash. Shiloh, the name of Mashiach, the one who will end this bitter exile. My father, who passed away almost a year ago, used to speak about redemption all the time. He lived with the belief that it was just around the corner. And now, as we stand in a world that feels so broken, his grandson carries that name – the name that holds the promise of an end to all suffering.
And this week, as the Jewish people wept and cried out, ad matai, Hashem gave us an answer. Ad Ki Avoh Shiloh. Until Shiloh comes.
And Shiloh came this week.
A tiny baby, a bright spark of light in the darkness. A reminder that even now, Hashem is weaving together the pieces of our redemption. That He has not abandoned us. That our story is still unfolding. That the day will come when the suffering will end, when the exiles will return home, not in sorrow, but in joy.
And maybe it’s not a coincidence that this happened now, as we enter the month of Adar – the month of joy. A month that demands happiness from us, that tells us to increase our joy, no matter how much pain we are in. And we wonder, how? How can we celebrate when there is so much grief? How can we dance when the wounds are still fresh? How can we be happy when our hearts are still broken?
But the answer is here, in this tiny baby. In his name. In the timing of it all.
We are happy because we know what’s coming. We are happy because we believe in redemption, because we know that even if it feels far, it is already in motion. Hashem doesn’t leave us without light, without hope. He gives us signs – small but powerful reminders that the end of exile is near.
And we know that only through joy can we bring it closer. That simcha itself is part of the redemption. That in these days leading up to Purim, when everything seemed lost and then turned around in an instant, we are meant to hold onto the joy, to live in the belief that our own v’nahafoch hu is coming.
So we cry, but we also dance. We mourn, but we also laugh. We walk through the darkness, but we do not forget that there is light ahead. Hashem has promised us that every struggle we face will lead to something greater. This week, as we welcomed Shiloh, we are reminded that even in our deepest pain, hope shines through.
As we embrace the month of Adar, let us fill our hearts with joy, celebrating every small miracle along the way. Let us lift our voices in gratitude, knowing that joy has the power to transform our reality. The future is bright; redemption is coming. Let us hold hands, strengthen one another, and walk together towards the light.
Shiloh is here, and with him, the promise of a beautiful tomorrow. May we always remember that in the darkest moments, hope is alive, and we are never alone.
