I have been waiting for Tisha B’Av since Oct. 7.
Why would you have started to think about our very sad historical day when the extent of the tragedy of Oct. 7 only had begun to be known?
On my religious and personal calendar, Tisha B’Av is when my tears begin to flow as I remember my beloved grandmother Frieda Stavsky Birshtein, of blessed memory.
In 1963, about to leave the p’nemiah (boarding school) of the Jewish Theological Seminary of America with my wife to search in Jerusalem for the first time the meaning of Tisha B’Av, the director of the building walked over to me. I will never forget his words: “David, your grandmother Frieda in the USA died a few weeks ago.”
How could that be? When we left America six weeks before, she was a little sick – but dead? I began to cry, to wail. Everybody in the cavernous building heard – what has happened? “David is in deep distress – and what caused it has spilled forth from him as if his personal bottle of sadness has been broken open.” My sadness when she died was a singular moment for me.
My father Louis went into the US army in 1940 as a judge advocate. A few weeks after the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki in August 1945, he was ordered to ship out to Manila. Two months later after World War II was over, he was sent to Yokohama to prosecute Japanese war criminals. During his overseas duty, we lived in Norfolk, Virginia, with my Bubbie Birshtein, my mother’s mother. He was finally discharged and came home from Japan. My father had been a lawyer in Atlanta, Georgia, and there we returned.
EVERY SUMMER, from 1946 to 1953, we went to visit her, staying in a rented cottage at Virginia Beach. One summer as I sat with my Bubbie at the water’s edge, she turned to me and said, “Davidele, a maise far eich” a story for you. Knew it would be in Yiddish.
“I grew up in an area called Brestlotovsk – married your grandfather Cathriel there. Soon we had two children. Your mother Anna, the younger one, was born in 1906. Your Zaidie worked hard to earn enough money, but alas he could not care for us properly. Like some men, he decided that he had to go to the USA alone and earn enough to bring me, your mother, and her brother to live in the ‘Golden Land.’”
She explained to me what could be the consequences of leaving his family. “Davidele, many men left their families, never to be in touch and never to return. Their wives were called agunot [chained] and, according to Jewish law, could not remarry [because they could] not get a Jewish divorce. My father, Moshe David, told me ‘have a get [Jewish divorce document] written. Then if Cathriel never comes back, you can remarry,” she said.
“Davidele, he had a get written – and then he left,” Bubbie said. “He ended up here in Norfolk, Virginia. He wrote me, he sent money, but I was still anxious: Will he return?
“One day, a rumor went through Brestlotovsk – pogroms nearby.” This is why Tisha B’Av is so connected with Oct. 7 for me.
Bubbie could write well in Yiddish, and parts of her letters survived. “Cathriel and the Rav had his assistant announce: ‘The murderers are coming. Get out of your houses; run away, dig a pit in which to hide.’ I took our two kids; [we had] no family where we lived,” she said.
“I found a barn with a cellar underneath: There we survived. The shouting pierced the air – cries of men, women, and children could be heard; screaming, moaning, sometimes silence. It was finally announced that we were safe.”
Then she continued: “When I came out from the anxiety of hiding, I saw what had been done. Men and women butchered – men’s heads cut off. Little children torn apart.” I still carry her words with me.
ALMOST ALL of us continue to live with the horrors of Oct. 7. We are never allowed to forget because we are frequently shown pictures of what happened to our fellow Israelis, slaughtered by Hamas. Each time, unbelievable “views” of how they were butchered; our eyes well up for the families who must see the worst that could possibly be. But for me, Oct. 7 and the pogroms of Brestlotovsk are linked together.
Antisemitism is a major factor we encounter as Tisha B’Av approaches
In my life, I was branded. It was March 19, 1959. I was on a bus traveling along in Cuba. I was part of the Emory Glee Club traveling squad, which was on the way from Matanzas, a Baptist camp on the coast of the country. We had sung there the night before.
It was a tumultuous time for the country. In January, Fidel Castro and his forces had taken over Havana and the rest of Cuba after years of fighting in the jungles and in the cities. President Fulgencio Batista had to flee for his life.
The glee club members were very joyful as we made our way to the big city, the capital. A pause, a booming voice – “When we get to Havana, Geffen will ‘Jew’ the prices down for us.”
Next to me was the other Jew concertizing on the trip. His name was not mentioned. I was floored; sat there stunned. Almost immediately, other voices could be heard protesting: “Geffen is one of us – not like the other Jews.” The lightning bolt of antisemitism had struck me.
Antisemitism could also be silenced. Six years later, in 1965, I was a chaplain in Oklahoma during the Vietnam War. The 15 other chaplains, of very Christian denominations, asked me to teach them Bible, since I was one of the “People of the Book.” Of course I felt good.
We now see, dramatically, that antisemitism was underground, waiting to erupt. It has branded the Jews all over the world – the killers of Palestinians, the bombing of Hamas children, making Arabs second-class citizens in their country, “Palestine.” Two thousand years of Jew-hatred was triggered on Oct. 7 when Israel was attacked. Israelis of all ages murdered, mutilated – but Israel is responsible.
SO NOW, Tisha B’Av has arrived. This “black fast” stares us in the face and asks “What are you Israelis, you Jews around the world, going to do? Fast, wear only non-leather shoes, read Eicha (Lamentations), cry over past tragedies in which Jews were killed during the last 2,000 years? Go to the Western Wall?
I decided, through my words, the following:
Now that Tisha B’Av has come, filled with anguish we all feel.
We wonder what the next step is our future fate to seal.
It appears no one knows the answer – are worse times ahead?
Can we finally understand why so many have died and bled?
Our nation has to rise to a challenge that is unexpectedly pointed.
How can it be that we are suffering so – we, “God’s anointed”?
Who can make the decision that will bring the war to a halt?
Who can boldly stand up and say loudly: “It is our fault!”
The stifling heat, day by day, pours out of us sweat and fear.
Protected by our soldiers, fighting fearlessly, we hope the end is near.
Our great nation and its leadership are tested day by day.
Each of us, broken-hearted, as this heavy burden on us does weigh.
My fellow citizens, it is you and I who must never yield.
Use your strength, so that our future can be positively sealed.
These months since Oct. 7 have continued on and on.
Now our country: Rise again – we will never be forlorn. ■