The rabbis of old explored this very idea, asking profound questions about comfort, compassion, and who is truly capable of offering it. In Pesikta deRav Kahana, a collection of rabbinic teachings, we find a fascinating interpretation of the verse "Comfort, O comfort, my people" (Isaiah 40:1).
But it begins with a seeming contradiction. The text quotes Job 4:17: "Can a mortal be more righteous than God? Can a man be purer than his Maker?" Is it even conceivable that a human could be more righteous than the Creator? The answer, of course, is no. So, what's the point?
The text offers a beautiful resolution: "Said the Holy One Blessed be He, Boaz provides comfort; should I not provide comfort?" In other words, if a mortal like Boaz can offer solace, surely God, the ultimate source of compassion, can do the same, and even more so.
The story of Boaz and Ruth, as told in the Book of Ruth, becomes a powerful example. How did Boaz provide comfort? "Boaz answered and said to her, 'It has been repeatedly told (huged hugad הוגד הוגד) to me....'" (Ruth 2:11). The repetition, huged hugad, is significant. The text explains that Boaz is saying, "It was told to me in the house, and it was told to me in the field." He knew of Ruth's devotion and sacrifices.
He acknowledged "All that you did for your mother-in-law after the death of your husband" – and, of course, during his lifetime too. He recognized "that you left your father and your mother" – her actual parents. And "the land of your birth" – her neighborhood.
Another interpretation goes deeper. Leaving "father and mother" could also mean forsaking her idols, as Jeremiah 2:27 says, "They say to wood, 'You are my father,' and to stone, 'You gave birth to me.'" Leaving "the land of your birth" could represent leaving her entire province, her government, her power structure. Buber suggests this signifies Ruth's permanent alienation from her former home of Moab, a complete severing of ties. This wasn't just moving houses; it was a profound shift in allegiance and identity.
Boaz continues, "And you came to a people who you did not know of yesterday or the day before yesterday" (Ruth 2:11). He was acutely aware of Ruth's vulnerable position. He essentially says, "Had you come anytime before now, we couldn't have accepted you." Why? Because the law, "An Ammonite and a Moabite shall not enter the congregation of God" (Deuteronomy 23:4), hadn’t yet been clarified. The rabbis understood it to mean only male Ammonites and Moabites were excluded, not the females. Boaz acknowledged the risk Ruth took and the potential rejection she faced.
Then comes the blessing: "May the Lord recompense you for your deeds...." (Ruth 2:12). Boaz wasn't just offering kind words; he was invoking divine reward. "And it shall be your full (sh'lemah) reward": Here's a clever play on words. The text points out that Shlomo, Solomon, is written within sh'lemah. Rabbi Yosei says Boaz was telling Ruth, "Solomon will arise from you." A hint of the incredible future that awaited her!
"From the Lord, the God of Israel, to whom you have come to seek refuge under His wings (k'nafav)." (Ruth 2:12). This image of seeking refuge under God's wings is powerful. Rabbi Abun expands on this image, listing wings for the earth, the dawn, the sun, the Cherubs, the Chayot (holy living creatures), and the Seraphim (angelic beings). He cites verses to support each one: Isaiah 24:16 for the earth, Psalm 139:8 for the dawn, Malachi 3:20 for the sun, Ezekiel 10:5 for the Cherubs, Ezekiel 3:13 for the Chayot, and Isaiah 6:2 for the Seraphim.
But Rabbi Abun makes a crucial point: those who perform acts of kindness don't need the protection of these lesser "wings." They don't seek refuge in the extremities of the earth, the fleeting dawn, the powerful sun, or even the angelic beings. Instead, they find shelter in the shade of the Holy One Blessed be He. As Psalm 36:8 says, "How precious is Your lovingkindness, O Lord, and humankind takes shelter in the shade of Your wings."
Ruth, overwhelmed by Boaz's kindness, responds, "Let me find favor in your eyes, my lord, because you comforted me (nachamti), and because you spoke to the heart of your maidservant, although I am not [even of so high a rank] as one of your maidservants" (Ruth 2:13).
Boaz rebukes her humility. He says, "No (lo)! How can you say this? Heaven forbid! Should you be counted as one of the handmaidens (aimahot)? Rather, you shall only be counted as one of the matriarchs (imahot)!" He elevates her, recognizing her inherent worth and the greatness she would achieve.
The passage concludes with a powerful a fortiori argument: If Boaz, through kind words and comfort, could so profoundly impact Ruth, how much more so when God comes to comfort Jerusalem? "Comfort, O comfort, my people, says your God" (Isaiah 40:1).
It's a reminder that even small acts of kindness and words of comfort can have an immense impact. And it points to the ultimate source of comfort: a compassionate God who sees our struggles and offers solace, hope, and the promise of a brighter future. So, the next time you're feeling down, remember Ruth, remember Boaz, and remember the comforting words: "Comfort, O comfort, my people." Perhaps that's the most important lesson – that even in our darkest moments, comfort is possible, and often comes from the most unexpected places.