by Laynie Soloman

In the past week, I’ve seen images of pure joy: children dancing, crying, and beaming with relief at news of a ceasefire in Gaza. Their smiles felt like a prayer, and as the first stages of the deal began to take effect yesterday and new images emerged of families embracing after over a year of separation, I sighed with relief (though my body tensed up again with new worries moments later) and I wondered, What is the blessing for ceasefire? 

Blessings are the Jewish language for responding to what happens in our lives—the joyful and painful moments, and all that is held in between. As the Talmudic sage Rabbi Meir teaches, חייב אדם לברך מאה ברכות בכל יום, a person is obligated to recite 100 blessings a day (Talmud Bavli, Menachot 43b). Parodying this instinct to bless anything and everything is the local rabbi in Fiddler on the Roof, asked by his community to offer a blessing for all they encounter, from the Tzar (“May God bless and keep the Tzar far away from us!” Amen!) to a new sewing machine. To bless something is to give it a home in halakha, Jewish practice and discourse.

The Talmud contains a fixed set of blessings from which many do not deviate. In order to incorporate new realities into the world of blessings, one must discern which existing blessing most effectively—with equal parts poetry and precision—can be analogized to the unprecedented moment. In this spirit, I offer a blessing to give this ceasefire its rightful home in halakha, as an event that merits a response that conveys gratitude, complexity, and hope: ha’tov ve’hameitiv, the blessing made over good news, collective improvements, and anticipated transformation. As a full blessing, it reads: בָּרוּךְ אַתָּה אֲדֹנָי אֱלֹהֵינוּ מֶלֶךְ הָעוֹלָם הַטּוֹב וְהַמֵיטִיב, “Blessed are You God, Royal of Eternity, who is Good and does Good.”

The Mishnah (Berakhot 9:2) tells us that ha’tov ve’ha’meitiv should be said “over rain and over good news” (על הגשמים ועל הבשורות הטובות), and as a result, this blessing is, in practice, said  over moments of improvement and elevation, acknowledging God as the ultimate source of goodness itself. Most succinctly, the Rambam describes this blessing and the events that catalyze its recitation in the following way (Mishneh Torah Hilkhot Berakhot 10:4):

.הגיעה אליו טובה או ששמע שמועה טובה אף על פי שהדברים מראין שטובה זו תגרם לו רעה מברך הטוב והמטיב

When a desirable event occurred to a person or they heard good news, even if it appears that this good will ultimately cause them difficulty, they should recite the blessing hatov v’hameitiv.

Good news, good tidings, desirable events—these are all fairly ambiguous and highly subjective terms. What events and moments warrant this berakha? The gemara, of course, attempts to elucidate.

Analyzing the Mishnah’s named example of rain as an event that warrants hatov ve’hameitiv, the Talmudic rabbis clarify the particular moment this blessing should be said: משיצא חתן לקראת כלה, “from when the groom goes out to meet the bride” (Ta’anit 6b). Later commentators, such as the early medieval sage Rabbeinu Gershom, read this as a metaphor for the “moment at which the rain falls in such a way that the water from above comes to meet the waters from below as beloveds meet each other.” Here the rain and the land are in deep partnership: the land requires the rain in order to produce that which it is intended to produce. Together they co-create harvest, and ha’tov ve’ha’meitiv is recited over this collaborative creation process.

But the harvest hasn’t come yet: the rain is appreciated here in its representation of relief, symbolizing a sign of goodness to come. It—or news of its presence—comes to correct, heal, or offer relief after a period of distress over lack of rain. 

In the language of the Shulhan Aruch (OH 221:1):

.אם היו בצער מחמת עצירת גשמים וירדו גשמים מברכים עליהם אע”פ שלא ירדו עדיין כדי רביעה 

If there is distress (tza’ar) caused by a delay in rains and the rains fall, bless upon them even if there has not been enough rain yet to cause fructification (i.e. heavy rainfall)

There has not yet been enough rain to materially relieve one from the distress that would be caused by a lack of rain. But the distress that the drought causes is relieved, at least in some part, by the falling rain.

The presence of distress and suffering prior to the first rain is a prerequisite to reciting ha’tov ve’hameitiv. However, according to a later 19th century halakhist, R’ Yisrael Meir Kagan, in his work the Mishnah Berurah, it is the joy (simcha) that is brought by the momentary relief from distress that activates the blessing, as he suggests we bless upon hearing the rain in cases in which “every person is joyful (sameach) from it” (OH 221:1, 1-2). The tza’ar is relevant inasmuch as joy follows when it is alleviated. If the rain will cause simcha, it is worthy of a blessing. 

In this way, ha’tov ve’ha’meitiv is a fairly unique blessing, as it—unlike most other blessings which are recited over direct, immediate experiences—is said over something that symbolizes a future outcome: we bless to express gratitude for the symbol alongside our anticipation of the future. In the case of the rain, we recognize that this one rainfall itself is not all that we need, and nevertheless we appreciate that it does represent something real and material, the presence of which is so desperately needed to relieve suffering.

Two other features of ha’tov ve’ha’meitiv may speak to us in this moment: first, our tradition distinguishes moments in which ha’tov ve’ha’meitiv is said as opposed to shehechiyanu (the Talmud’s other named blessing for good news), as being about collective vs. individual experiences: ha’tov ve’ha’meitiv is said in moments in which others participate or share in one’s joy in some substantial way, while she’hechiyanu is said when an individual alone is affected by the news or the action As demonstrated in the case of rain, ha’tov ve’ha’meitiv is recited on things that will bring others into our joy. 

And finally, ha’tov ve’hameitiv is recited even if we are fearful that something might happen to the object of our blessing—that the symbol won’t hold, that the joy won’t remain, or that something will be taken away from us; we need not be entirely or exclusively joyful about something in order to bless ha’tov ve’ha’meitiv. The Talmud teaches that when someone finds a lost object, even though they are fearful that a king—or another interlocutor—might hear about their found object and ultimately seize what they have found, they should bless ha’tov ve’ha’meitiv, for in that moment, they feel the joy and benefit of being united with the object (Berakhot 60a).

This is codified by all major poskim, who agree that one should bless hatov ve’hameitiv even if they are fearful or worried about the eventual outcome of an event. One need not feel only jubilation or excitement; if one feels worry, anxiety, fear, anger—none of these prevents an individual from reciting this berakha. 

This political moment and the emotional reality it ushers in is far from simple, and with every sigh of relief is fear, devastation, anger, and heartache and the knowledge that there is inevitably still more violence likely to come (and that, of course, the violence is still occurring). We can—and maybe we must—still bless this moment, even as the “kings” around us threaten this joy. The practice of blessing at all is an act of hope, allowing ourselves to open to real possibilities for transformation after such unbearable devastation.

For the simcha and relief felt by so many, for the symbol that represents a hope of material transformation that may yet, please God, come, baruch ha’tov ve’ha’meitiv.

Knowing that it is not enough, that it may not work, that it may not hold, that it is too late for too many, and that there is yet so much more to do, baruch ha’tov ve’ha’meitiv.

Laynie Soloman is a Torah-lover and teacher and serves on the faculty at S’vara: A Traditionally Radical Yeshiva, where they co-founded the Trans Halakha Project.