This week on the Jewish calendar, we mark Tisha B’Av, (the ninth day of the Hebrew month of Av), a day of national mourning. Commemorating the destruction of the Holy Temple in Jerusalem and the scattering of our early ancestors into exile, Tisha B’Av has become the saddest day of the Jewish year. Throughout the ages, Tisha B’av has also become a sponge, absorbing millennia of Jewish suffering and calamities.
As the sun begins to set, we begin the day-long fast from food and drink and from washing or wearing leather. As we sit on the ground, we chant Eicha (The Book of Lamentations) to the solemn and introspective music, often with little more light than the flickers of yahrzeit candles. Each year, for this one day, we become a people in mourning, living as if each and every one of us had lost a close loved one. Or, as if our whole people had died, and we are sitting shivafor ourselves.
The destruction of the Holy Temple in Jerusalem marked not only a change in religious ritual and gathering, but also had dramatic effect on the cultural and political governance of the Jewish people. When the Babylonians destroyed the first Temple in 586 BCE and Titus and the Roman troops destroyed the Second Temple in 70 CE, the Jewish people were driven into exile and lost their unique sovereignty and control, instead becoming subjects of other systems, cultural priorities and prejudices, and police and armies.
With observances very similar to those we adhere to on Yom Kippur – fasting, self denial of pleasure, and other signs of mourning – we are intended to enter the space of a mourner in and of Jerusalem. And, despite the graphic images of Eicha and the dramatic changes we know occurred as a result of the destruction of the Temple, these events occurred so long ago that their significance is hard to fathom. Truth be told, I suspect that many of us would have to admit that it is very difficult to intimately connect with the sadness of this element of Tisha B’av in quite the same way as we might to the loss of a loved one. After all, when we visit the house of a friend who is sitting shiva, we do not necessarily sit shiva as well.
Most years, I too struggle to enter Tisha B’Av as a personal mourner. In most years, my work to become a mourner is long and facilitated only through the fasting, sitting on the floor, and thinking of the passages being read in Eicha. This year, however, is different. This year, I need not wait for the rituals of Tisha B’Av to create the sense of mourning, the memory of destruction. This year, Tisha B’Av actually comes to give voice and structure to the feelings I am already experiencing.
Bacho tifkeh balailha v’dimatah al lecheya ein lah menachem mikol ohaveicha … - Bitterly she weeps in the night, her cheek wet with tears. There is none to comfort her amongst her friends. These words, from the opening verses of Eicha have never felt as real as they do this year. This Tisha B’Av, the tears are not only a metaphor or a memory of times gone by; this year, the tears are an actual expression of things all too real. This year, the sadness and sorrow of Tisha B’Av have been played out for the entire three weeks since the 17th of Tammuz, the same three weeks in which our people have been living through a time of great destruction and sorrow.
One need only turn on the TV, read the papers, or listen to the radio to feel the sadness, sorrow, and tears. Israel is engaged in one of its fiercest battles in many years. Like our ancestors exiled from their land in times of the Holy Temple, thousands of people in Northern Israel are now without work, without safety, and without homes. The destruction in Israel (and Lebanon) has occurred in places we have stood. We are a people in mourning for ourselves, as so many have died: lives of people with names and faces and families; lives of people who are connected to us and/or to people we care about.
In a time of sorrow, it is difficult to hold off sadness just as it is hard to be comforted or to find comfort. Yet, we are a people of hope - a people who believe that tomorrow will be better. As the Psalmist reminds us, Hazorim b’dimah, b’rinah ikzoru - The one who sows in sorrow, reaps in joy. We are a people who believe that, somehow out of rubble of destruction will come the seeds of redemption. Now more than ever, we need to hold on to this hope.
As we experience and leave Tisha B’Av, we pray that there can be an end to the violence, destruction, and loss of life. And, we turn to God in prayer using the closing words of Eicah Hashiveinu Adonai Eleicha Venashuva, Hadesh yameinu kekedem – Return us, God, to you and let us return; Renew our days as of old!
Shabbat shalom.