G-d will tolerate many things from His servants. Becoming a prosecutor of Israel is not one of them.
The Haftorah for Parshat Yitro (Isaiah 6:1-7:6 according to the Ashkenazi custom) is majestic and awe-inspiring yet also somewhat unsettling. Isaiah beholds a vision of G-d enthroned in glory, attended by Seraphim, a type of angel, who proclaim, “Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of Hosts; the entire world is filled with His glory" (6:3).
The foundations tremble. Smoke fills the Temple. Heaven itself seems to shake.
And then something unexpected happens.
Isaiah does not rejoice. He recoils.
“Woe is me, for I am undone," he cries, “for I am a man of impure lips, and I dwell among a people of impure lips" (6:5).
At that moment, one of the Seraphim flies toward him, holding a glowing coal taken from the altar, and touches Isaiah’s lips. The angel declares that his sin has been removed and his iniquity atoned for.
Why the lips? Why fire? And why this searing act at the very moment Isaiah is being called to prophesy?
Rashi (Rabbi Shlomo Yitzchaki, 1040-1105), cites the Midrash Tanchuma and says that Isaiah was punished for indicting the Jewish people. It was acceptable for Isaiah to say, “I am a man of impure lips." What crossed the line was adding, “I dwell among a people of impure lips." That judgment, Rashi explains, was not his to make. A prophet may rebuke Israel. He may warn, exhort and admonish. But he may not speak with contempt.
And so G-d responds. Not with words, but with fire.
Speech is the instrument of prophecy, and Isaiah’s speech required correction before it could be entrusted with Divine truth. The mouth that would soon carry G-d’s message to kings and nations had first to be purified of any hint of disdain for its own people.
The Midrash in Shir HaShirim Rabbah (1:6) amplifies this message. It too records G-d’s rebuke of Isaiah’s statement, with the Creator telling him that he had no right to say that Israel is “a people of impure lips". Self-judgment is legitimate. Condemning the Jewish people is not.
The Midrash then turns to the burning coal itself, which verse 6 refers to with the Hebrew word “ritzpah". Rav Shmuel explains that this is no ordinary ember. The word “ritzpah", he says, may be read as a contraction of “rotz peh", or “smash the mouth." Why? Because Isaiah had used his mouth to slander G-d’s children.
And just how grave a sin is it to besmirch the entire Jewish people? The Vilna Gaon, in his commentary to Tikkunei Zohar (Tikkun 21), is unequivocal: “The Holy One, blessed be He, hates one who accuses His children". Not dislikes. Not disapproves. Hates.
The implication is inescapable: even someone as righteous as a prophet can not and must not denounce Israel. Holiness grants no license to indict. Spiritual stature confers responsibility but not immunity.
Read through this lens, the application of the burning coal to Isaiah’s lips becomes inevitable. The angel’s act is not merely purifying; it is corrective. Isaiah’s lips are seared because leadership demands responsibility in speech. A prophet who speaks on behalf of Israel must carry loyalty alongside truth. Moral clarity divorced from love risks becoming cruelty. Criticism untethered from solidarity becomes destructive.
Only after Isaiah’s lips are purified does G-d issue the call: “Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?" And only then does Isaiah respond, “Here am I; send me" (6:8).
The sequence is deliberate. Moral authority must precede moral instruction.
This Haftorah is read alongside Parshat Yitro for a reason. At Sinai, revelation is collective. The entire nation hears G-d’s voice directly. But once guidance is channelled through human speech, the risks multiply. Frustration can harden into contempt. Disappointment can curdle into accusation.
G-d will tolerate many things from His servants. Becoming a prosecutor of Israel is not one of them.
The message of Isaiah’s singed lips could not be more relevant today. We live in an age of reckless speech, when Jews attack other Jews with ease and even relish. Israel is maligned, its defenders delegitimized, its moral standing denied, often by those who claim to inhabit the highest ethical ground.
But Isaiah, the Midrash and the Vilna Gaon all deliver the same warning: righteousness begins with restraint.
Fire can destroy, but it can also refine. G-d places fire on Isaiah’s lips not to silence him, but to make him worthy of being heard. Leadership demands truth anchored in loyalty, criticism shaped by love and speech forged in responsibility to the people it addresses.
Only then can a voice truly speak for G-d.
Only then can it endure.
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