Defending Israel When It Was Hardest

The Haftorah of this week’s portion, Yitro, tells the story of one of Israel’s greatest prophets, Yeshayahu. Isaiah cries out:

“Woe is me; I am lost! For I am a man of unclean lips, and I dwell among a people of unclean lips; yet my eyes have seen the King, the Lord of Hosts.”

An angel takes a burning coal from the altar, touches Isaiah’s lips, and declares his sin purged. Then God asks, “Whom shall I send?” and Isaiah answers, “Here am I; send me.”

What was Isaiah’s sin? And why did his mouth need to be purified by fire?

This question inspired one of the most powerful and compassionate letters in Jewish history—written by Rabbi Moshe ben Maimon, the Rambam.

Maimonides (1135–1204) lived through one of the darkest periods in Jewish history. Born in Cordova at the end of the Golden Age of Spanish Jewry,

 he witnessed its violent collapse with the rise of the Almohads. Jews were given a brutal choice: convert to Islam or die.

Communities across Spain and North Africa were destroyed. Some Jews fled; many were forced to convert outwardly while secretly remaining Jewish.

 These forced converts, anusim, prayed, studied Torah, and observed mitzvot in hiding.

During this time, a rabbi living safely outside Spain wrote a devastating letter. Responding to a secret Jew who asked whether his hidden mitzvot had value,

 the rabbi ruled harshly: the forced converts were idolaters; their prayers were worthless; their mitzvot were sins. 

Even entering a mosque, he wrote, rendered a Jew an apostate. According to him, every Jew was obligated to die rather than accept Islam.

This letter crushed the morale of Spanish Jewry. Many concluded that if they were condemned regardless, they might as well abandon Judaism entirely.

At age 27, Maimonides responded with Igeret HaShmad—the Letter of Apostasy. Unlike his usual calm tone, this letter burns with emotion, empathy, and moral clarity. 

It is a fierce defense of persecuted Jews and a rebuke of religious cruelty.

The Rambam praises those who kept Judaism secretly and condemns the rabbi’s arrogance and lack of sensitivity. 

He insists that Islam is not idolatry, and therefore Jews were not obligated to give up their lives rather than convert under duress.

Even one who fails to sanctify God’s name out of fear, he writes, deserves no punishment—just as a woman violated against her will bears no guilt.

Even more radically, the Rambam asserts that every mitzvah a Jew performs has value, even if that Jew sins elsewhere, and certainly when the sin is coerced.

He urges Jews to flee oppressive lands when possible, but insists they must never be shamed or cast out of the Jewish people.

At the emotional peak of the letter, the Rambam explains why Isaiah’s lips needed purification. Throughout history, prophets who criticized Israel were rebuked by God: Moses, Elijah, and Isaiah himself. 

Isaiah was punished not for calling himself impure but for saying he lived “among a people of unclean lips.”

The message is clear: you cannot lead a people you do not love.

“If such punishment befell the pillars of the world,” writes the Rambam, “what will be the fate of one who casually condemns entire Jewish communities?”

A prophet is not a detached critic. He speaks from within, not from above. He is the voice of God to the people and the voice of the people to God. Leadership requires solidarity, faith, and love.

God was teaching Isaiah, just as He taught Moses and Elijah: It is not whether they believe in you that matters, but whether you believe in them.

The Rambam’s letter defines the task of every Jewish leader and teacher: to defend the people, see their goodness, and raise them through love rather than condemnation.

“Cleanse your lips,” says God to Isaiah, “before you speak for Me.”
Because God believes in His people—and so must His prophets.

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Yoseph Geisinsky 

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