History has shown us that some of the greatest breakthroughs come not in times of comfort, but in times of challenge.
A History of Wandering
Many times throughout history—and even in our own generation, including very recently—we’ve witnessed the heartbreaking phenomenon of refugees: people who have lost their homes and their sources of livelihood. Sometimes it’s because of a storm or natural disaster. Sometimes they’re expelled from their homes. And at times, they become refugees because their lives are in serious danger, and they’re forced to leave everything behind and move to a new, unfamiliar place.
We, as Jews, have a special responsibility to be especially sensitive to the suffering of refugees—more so than any other nation. The Jewish people have been refugees throughout history. Not just since the destruction of the First Temple, when we began wandering from one land to another, but even earlier: starting with the exile in Egypt, which became the model for every exile in Jewish history. And even before that, we find that Yaakov Avinu fled from Esav and went into exile in Charan. That’s the very first time we encounter the concept of “galus”—exile.
But when we take a deeper look at the idea of galus, we find something surprising: exile has actually been a source of great blessing for the Jewish people. In fact, many of our greatest accomplishments came specifically during times of exile—accomplishments we never could have achieved had we remained in our own land, in our natural, comfortable setting.
Yaakov’s Strongest Years
Let’s start with the story of Yaakov.
Unlike his father Yitzchak and grandfather Avraham—who raised their families in Be’er Sheva, right in the heart of the Jewish homeland—Yaakov ended up far from home. He arrived in Charan with absolutely nothing. No family, no money, no support system. And yet, it was there, in a foreign and unfamiliar place, that he built something remarkable.
What’s even more striking is the outcome. Avraham had a son, Yishmael, who broke away from his values. Yitzchak had Esav, who took a different path. But Yaakov? Yaakov raised a family of twelve children, and every single one of them stayed connected to his values. That’s no small thing.
In fact, the most fruitful and successful years of Yaakov’s life took place while he was living outside his homeland. When he came back, things got harder—he lost Rachel, dealt with the crisis of Dina, and the long, painful saga of Yosef.
But later, when Yaakov moved down to Egypt, something shifted. The Torah describes those final seventeen years of his life as his best.
Prayer Born in Exile
As we continue through Jewish history, we notice many other positive things which came about during exile.
Take prayer, for example. During the time of the First Temple, prayer wasn’t a central part of Jewish life. It was only later—after the destruction of the Temple—when the regular offerings could no longer be brought, that the Sages established daily prayers as a replacement.
When the Temple stood, an individual Jew had no direct role in connecting to G-d. A group known as the anshei maamad would stand in the Temple courtyard while the communal offerings—like the daily tamid or the musaf—were brought. They represented the entire nation, since not everyone could be present. The prophets had established twenty-four rotations of Kohanim, Levites, and Israelites. Each week, one group would serve: the Kohanim and Levites in the Temple, and the Israelites standing by in the courtyard on behalf of all.
The Rambam explains that the group of Israelites being represented that week would gather in their local synagogues and pray, reading from the story of Creation. But this was just twice a year, during their two weeks of assigned service. The rest of the year, the average Jew had little connection to the offerings, aside from giving the half-shekel donation. So in truth, it was only after the destruction that prayer became a personal experience—not something done by a small group on behalf of the nation, but something every individual does: men, women, and children—each creating a direct, personal connection with G-d.
In fact, the beginnings of this shift go all the way back to the very first exile. The Midrash says that when Yaakov lay down on the road during his journey, “he lay down there”—but for the twenty years he spent in Lavan’s home, he didn’t lie down to sleep. What did he do all night? Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi says he recited the fifteen Shir Hamaalos chapters from Tehillim. Rabbi Shmuel ben Nachman says he recited the entire book of Tehillim. The verse “And You are holy, enthroned on the praises of Israel” refers, he says, to Yaakov.
The Rebbe explains in Likkutei Sichos vol. 20 (Parshas Vayeitzei, p. 124) that the Midrash isn’t asking how Yaakov filled his time—we already know he worked hard for Lavan, as he said: “By day I was consumed by heat, and by night by frost, and sleep fled from my eyes.” Rather, the Midrash is asking: what did Yaakov say? What prayers did he use to stay spiritually strong during those 22 years in exile?
The answer: he said Tehillim.
The Chida adds that the fifteen Shir Hamaalos chapters that David later composed were rooted in the fifteen years that Avraham, Yitzchak, and Yaakov were all alive at the same time. The chapters Yaakov said were a way of drawing on the merit of the forefathers to give him strength during his difficult years in exile.
The Origin of the Haftarah
Another significant addition that came about during exile is the custom of reading the Haftarah on Shabbat.
During the Roman era, there was a time when the authorities banned the public reading of the Torah. Jews were forbidden to read from the Five Books of Moses. In response, the sages, concerned that the mitzvah of Torah reading would be forgotten, instituted the reading of the Haftarah instead.
They selected passages from the Prophets that echoed the themes of the weekly Torah portions and established the custom of reading from the Prophets each Shabbat.
Eventually, when the ban was lifted, the custom of reading the Haftarah remained. In Jewish tradition, once something sacred is established, we don’t cancel it. As the saying goes: maalin bakodesh velo moridin, we ascend in holiness, not descend. Since the practice had brought added holiness to Shabbat, it became a permanent part of the service.
Two Days of Joy
Another major addition that came about because of exile is something we all experience on the holidays: the second day of Yom Tov, observed only outside the Land of Israel.
As we know, in Israel each festival is celebrated for one day, while in the Diaspora we celebrate two. (Some even joke that in exile, we get to keep everyone happy—first night at her parents, second night at his…)
What’s the reason for this?
Back in the day, there was no fixed calendar. Each new month was declared by the rabbinical court in Jerusalem based on when the new moon was sighted. Once they declared the new month, the rest of the Jewish world would calculate the date of the holidays based on that ruling.
But once the Jewish people were scattered across the world, and there were no advanced communication tools, Jews living in places like Babylonia didn’t know exactly which day the new month had been declared in Israel. Was it day 30 of the previous month, or day 1 of the next? To be safe, they celebrated every holiday for two days, just in case. (While today’s fixed calendar technically eliminates that doubt, the custom remains—as halachah tells us, once something holy is established, it stays.)
Thanks to this tradition, we now have beautiful additions to our calendar: Acharon Shel Pesach—the final day of Passover—and the celebration of Simchas Torah, which in the Diaspora comes the day after Shemini Atzeres, giving us two distinct days of joy. In Israel, they’re all rolled into one.
When Pressure Creates Brilliance
Even in Torah, we see that the Talmud Bavli—the Babylonian Talmud, which is the primary and most authoritative version of the Talmud—was developed specifically in exile. Much of the Jewish intellectual and spiritual legacy was created and flourished outside the Land of Israel, in exile, where some of the greatest scholars in Jewish history emerged and taught.
Because that’s how the world works: when under pressu, a person often uncovers hidden strengths and abilities they never knew they had. In peaceful, comfortable times, they would never have imagined they were capable of such creativity or resilience. But in moments of struggle, those strengths surface.
The same is true for the Jewish people. Through the pain and hardship of exile, we produced some of the greatest achievements in Judaism.
But today—after thousands of years of exile, and after bringing out the very best of what we could—we now look forward with hope and longing for the coming of Moshiach, who will redeem us speedily, in our own time.
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