With every passing year, it becomes increasingly challenging to mourn our lost Temples on Tisha B’Av. The disastrous fall of Jerusalem and the derailment of Jewish history occurred thousands of years ago. Authentic mourning requires actual sadness, and it is difficult to experience genuine woe about events so far in the rear view mirror.
Today, our societies bear little resemblance to the ancient world of Judea and Jerusalem, of Rome and Persia, and of the First and Second Temples. We are governed by democracies. We operate in progressive free-market economies. We enjoy widespread education and advanced medical care. The world of Tisha B’Av appears dated. It sometimes feels as if those catastrophic events occurred on another planet.
Many Jews view our return to Israel as the inception of a broader redemption. While many of our dreams have yet to materialize, our collective happiness over this prophesied process dulls our grief and dries our tears.
In our modern, enlightened world, in which we have the privilege of Jewish sovereignty over our land, Tisha B’Av is less compelling to some. In exile, enduring continuous violence and hatred, our bleak existence felt like an endless nightmare permeated with the sorrow and mourning of Tisha B’Av itself, making the day contemporary and pertinent.
Having come home to Israel, we assumed that our suffering was a relic of the past. No longer facing historical levels of violence and aggression, it became harder for us to feel the pain of Jewish history and more difficult to grieve over our lost destiny.
Oct. 7 changed all that. Suddenly, Tisha B’Av feels more real and relevant than ever. Darkness has once again cast its shadow over Jewish history. We are involved in a relentless struggle for survival against fanatical murderers intent on erasing us from the map. In our post-Oct. 7 world, Tisha B’Av resonates with relevance and urgency, like never before.
How should Tisha B’Av be observed in the aftermath of the horrific tragedy which befell us just 10 months ago? How can we connect 2023 to the year 70?
Meaning and spirituality
IN THE past, in an effort to imbue the day with deeper meaning and spirituality, some rerouted Tisha B’Av from its original purpose. Facing the daunting task of mourning over a tragedy that occurred centuries earlier, many redirected the day toward introspection and teshuva, effectively converting Tisha B’Av into a mini Yom Kippur. Others stressed Jewish nationhood by visiting sites related to the fall of Jerusalem such as the Western Wall or Herodian. Still others held kumsitz gatherings suffused with sorrowful songs capturing the melancholy spirit of the day.
In truth, none of these perspectives captures the ideal of mourning on Tisha B’Av. Such substitute Tisha B’Av experiences may have been necessary, or even enriching; but at its core, the day is earmarked for pure mourning and sadness without any external distractions or public gatherings. A mourner silently absorbs the profound pain and trauma of loss, each moment steeped in sorrow. Mourners don’t ponder personal improvement or penitence; they languish in sadness.
In the Book of Eicha, the prophet Jeremiah depicts the mourner as sitting on the ground, alone, with dirt in his or her mouth. Immersed in grief, mourners sit in silence, helpless and lonely. According to the Talmud, mourners should be so preoccupied with their loss during the initial intense period, known as aninut, that they are excused from mitzvot. Their sorrow should not be interrupted by the performance of mitzvot or even by thoughts of recovery.
Ideally, Tisha B’Av should simulate actual mourning. It should be a day of frustration and despair over the tragedy of Jewish history. This year we have so much to mourn over: the loss of thousands of innocent lives; the horrific pogrom we faced on our own land; the hostages living underground in excruciating conditions; the immense number of wounded soldiers whose lives have been forever altered; and, of course, the horrific desecration of God’s name. This year, it is imperative to dedicate Tisha B’Av, as much as possible, to pure mourning and sadness.
OUR ANGUISH over Oct. 7 cannot be divided from the tragedy of the fall of Jerusalem or the sadness of our prolonged exile. How can we incorporate our continued agony without allowing it to obscure the broader story that Tisha B’Av is meant to lament? How can Oct. 7 be integrated with the past?
First, we must acknowledge and lament our own role in the rupturing of history.
Jewish history wasn’t meant to evolve this way. There was a different arc and a different trajectory to our history and, by extension, to history in general. We were meant to enter the Land of Israel; establish a Jewish monarchy; erect a model society; and model the dignity of a godlike lifestyle.
Tragically, after centuries of betrayal and failure, we were expelled from the land of God. Ever since that bleak moment, history has not been the same. If history feels broken, it is because we broke it.
Our rupturing of history destroyed two Temples, provoked terrible Jewish persecution, and produced the tragedy of Oct. 7. The day the Jews left Jerusalem the world broke, and it has remained shattered for the past 2,000 years. The world is still, in many ways, morally and spiritually broken. We must mourn for the world we broke, the potential we lost, and the consequences we continue to face.
Our broken world gave rise to centuries of antisemitism and to the atrocities of the past 10 months. Of course, we don’t take the blame for the crimes and violence of others, but on Tisha B’Av we mourn our lost potential and the results of the turmoil that ensued.
ON TISHA B’Av, we read about the 10 martyrs brutally massacred by the Romans. Rome subjugated many cultures, but there was only one nation whose leadership they hunted down and sadistically tortured and murdered. The brutal death of our 10 martyrs underscored the disproportion of Jewish history. We are God’s people, tasked with calling the world to higher moral and religious ground. The children of God living in the land of God will always elicit ferocious opposition.
We were reminded of this harsh reality on Oct. 7, when we faced similar sadism and brutality. There is no logic to explain the hatred and animosity our enemies feel for us. It is obvious that we are unlike other nations – and just as obvious that Jewish history is disproportionate. This asymmetry reflects our chosen status and our lofty mission. There has to be a higher meaning to the hatred and anger.
We have outlived the hate and persecution for thousands of years, and we will outlive the current multi-pronged attack on our people. Oct. 7 reminds us that the great struggle of Jewish destiny continues. On Tisha B’Av, we mourn the steep price of that mission.
The writer is a rabbi at the hesder Yeshivat Har Etzion/Gush, with ordination from Yeshiva University and a master’s in English literature from CUNY. He is the author of Dark Clouds Above, Faith Below (Kodesh Press), which provides religious responses to Oct. 7.