You hear it every year, when Tisha B’Av – the Black Fast – comes around.
“Why are they mourning Jerusalem?!” they argue. “Haven’t we rebuilt this city to a size and grandeur that is unparalleled in our history?! Have we not ingathered our dispersed from 100 countries and re-established our ancient capital in wondrous fashion?! Look at the building going on everywhere! See the synagogues and yeshivot on virtually every corner. Witness the sights and sounds of a thriving, vivacious, burgeoning metropolis that was unimaginable just a few decades ago!”
All this is quite true, and so, at least since we reunited the Holy City 57 years ago, the question – Why do we sit on the ground and mourn Jerusalem? – made sense. But not this year.
This year is different from other years. This year we are sensing our insecurity; we are viewing our vulnerability daily. We are in the midst of a gritty war that shows no signs of abating, despite the overly optimistic predictions of our government. We look to the North and we see Hezbollah; we gaze southward and see Yemen’s Houthis, whose so-called national anthem includes the phrase “We hate the Jews.” Europe continues to press for the internationalization of Jerusalem, while across the ocean Jews are mocked and maligned in the streets of virtually every big city.
As I write these words, our entire nation, including all its adherents around the globe, is nervously anticipating an attack by Iran, asking where and when it will strike. More than a few have reasoned it will come on the 9th of Av, a date that is synonymous with disaster throughout our history: not only the destruction of both Temples but also the fall of Betar and the end of the Bar-Kochba revolt against the Romans; pope Urban II’s declaration of the murderous First Crusade; the expulsion of Jews from England in 1290 and from Spain in 1492; and the beginning of the deportation of Jews from the Warsaw Ghetto.
No wonder we beseech God, in the special Nahem prayer recited exclusively on Tisha B’Av, to surround us with a homat aish, a wall of fire – one that will counter the fiery wall our enemies have constructed around us on all sides.
Where did all this travail begin? What did we do wrong? And most importantly, what can we do to make things right?
The original sin
The “original sin” of Tisha B’Av dates back to the incident of the spies not long after the beginning of our march, after the Exodus, to the Promised Land. Rather than reassure the nation that we could indeed conquer the indigenous seven nations living in Canaan – as God had promised – the spies fell victim to self-doubt and personal interests, instilling into the populace fear rather than fortitude. “You cried for naught,” the Talmud has God proclaiming, “but in the future, there will be good reason to weep on this day.”
So, our first failing was a lack of faith – in God, but primarily in ourselves – that sapped our national resolve and made us look over our shoulders rather than straight ahead.
However, the rabbis list a host of other flaws that brought about and perpetuated the calamity of Tisha B’Av. The Talmud in tractate Shabbat, for example, quotes Rav Hamnuna as saying that we neglected the proper education of our children; indeed, I shudder today at what our children are learning – or not learning.
On that same page, the sage Ulla bemoans that we didn’t have enough shame; need I say more than TikTok? Rav Hanina remarks that we did not rebuke one another when we saw a wrong being committed; we just shrugged our shoulders as we watched the motorcycle zoom past us on the sidewalk.
The Talmud in tractate Bava Mitzia sums up our failings when it notes Rav Yohanan’s observation that we judged others far too harshly; we may not have technically erred when we administered justice, but at the same time we did not go “beyond the letter of the law” to show mercy and lenience when we could have. That “extra mile” is often the most important part of the journey.
Of course, all of us are familiar with the most famous indictment of all: Talmud Yoma’s dramatic conclusion that while the first Temple was destroyed due to the sins of idolatry, immorality, and violence, the generation of the second Temple, a generation that “studied Torah, upheld the mitzvot (commandments), and performed acts of kindness,” was plagued with sinat chinam (baseless hatred). This resulted in not only the Temple’s destruction but also our 2,000-year-long exile.
I have two observations about this iconic comment. First, if people were truly “righteous,” if they learned Torah, obeyed the commandments, and even carried out acts of hessed, loving-kindness to others, where was there room for hate? How could they have hated if they were so diligent in their observance? This, indeed, is the exact point. While God perhaps can overlook the negative acts of those who are uninitiated in the lessons of the Torah, those who claim to be its proponents have no excuse whatsoever; they should certainly have internalized the primary virtue of love for one’s fellow man.
And so, when they failed, God had no alternative but to eradicate them and start over, sending us into exile, where we might learn to value and depend upon our fellow Jews.
Secondly, the usual translation of sinat chinam as “senseless hatred” seems illogical to me. Do we ever really hate someone for no reason whatsoever? The reason may be a foolish one – “He’s too tall;” “She looked at me the wrong way” – but it’s a reason nonetheless. Therefore, I suggest interpreting the phrase sinat chinam literally. The words mean “the hatred or dismissal of another’s chen.’” The word chen – often translated as “grace” – essentially means the quality that makes each person special and gives each one of us a special place in the universe.
We are all here for a purpose, identical to no one else’s, and with our own merit and mission that cannot be duplicated. When we fail to acknowledge that, we routinely dismiss others. However, when we realize that, we will accept one another not as our adversary but as our ally.
Tisha B’Av is unique among all the Jewish holy days because it has two diametrically different sides. One, of course, is dark and depressing. However, the construction of the Second Temple transformed that same date into a day of joy, and only the destruction of that Temple restored its mournful persona. One day – may it come this year! – we will perform the greatest feat of Jewish alchemy: foreboding will turn into festivity, sirens into celebrations, and the ninth day of Av will permanently become one of our happiest occasions.
Tisha B’Av is far from obsolete. In fact, this year it may be more pertinent than ever. ■
The writer is director of the Jewish Outreach Center of Ra’anana.
rabbistewart@gmail.com