With every passing year, Tisha B’Av mourning for the lost Beis HaMikdash becomes more challenging. The disastrous fall of Yerushalayim 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.
In addition, not only have thousands of years passed, but our society has dramatically advanced, bearing little resemblance to the ancient world of the Beis HaMikdash. We are governed by modern democracies, operate in Free Market economies, enjoy widespread education, and advanced medical care. The world of Judea, Jerusalem, ancient Romans, and Persians seems so dated. It sometimes feels as if these catastrophic events occurred not just in a different era, but on a different planet.
On top of all this, many Jews view our return to Israel as the inception of a broader redemptive process. Facing a future of optimism and opportunity, we feel gratified to live in an era of historical reawakening. Despite the reality that many of our dreams have yet to materialize, our collective happiness over this historical awakening dulls our grief and dries our tears.
In a modern, enlightened world of Jewish sovereignty Tisha B’AV is to some less compelling, and for others, feels outdated. In galus, when we endure unending violence and hatred Tisha B’Av feels contemporary and pertinent. Jewish persecution in galus echoes the despair of past tragedies. Our bleak existence feels at times like an unending nightmare permeated with the same sorrow and mourning of Tisha B’Av itself.
Having arrived home in Israel, we assumed that our suffering was a relic of the past. No longer facing violence and aggression, it became harder for us to feel the pain of Jewish history and more difficult to grieve over lost destiny.
October 7th changed all that.
After October 7th everything changed, and suddenly Tisha B’Av feels more real and more relevant than ever. Darkness has once again cast its shadow over Jewish history. We are waging a relentless struggle for survival against fanatical murderers who are intent on erasing us from the map. Fierce antisemitism rages across the globe, as furious mobs hunt down Jews with unchecked hatred. In the post-October 7th 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 70 CE?
Focus upon Mourning
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 a tragedy that occurred 2000 years ago, many redirected the day toward introspection, improvement, 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 Kotel, the Old City, or Herodian. Still others held kumzits gatherings suffused with soulful, sorrowful songs to capture the melancholy mood of the day.
In truth, none of these perspectives capture the ideal of mourning on Tisha B’Av. These substitute Tisha B’Av experiences may have been necessary or even enriching, but at its core the day is earmarked for pure aveilut, mourning and sadness without any external distractions or public gatherings. An avel silently absorbs and bears the profound pain and trauma of loss, each moment steeped in sorrow. Mourners don’t ponder personal improvement or penitence, but languish in sadness.
In sefer Eichah, Yirmiyahu depicts the mourner sitting on the ground, alone, with dirt in their mouth. Immersed in grief, a mourner sits silent, helpless, and lonely. According to the Gemara, a mourner is and should be so preoccupied with loss, that during the initial intense period known as aninut, they are excused from mitzvot. Their sorrow should not be interrupted by mitzvot or by thoughts of recovery, just despair, sadness, and loneliness.
Ideally, Tisha B’Av should simulate actual mourning and should not be oriented to teshuva or other important values. It should be a day of frustration and despair over the tragedy of Jewish history.
This year’s Tisha B’Av, we have so much to mourn over: the loss of thousands of innocent lives. The horrific pogrom we faced our homeland. The hostages who are still underground in excruciating conditions. The immense number of injured soldiers whose lives have been forever altered. And of course, the horrific desecration of Hashem’s name. This year it is imperative to dedicate Tisha B’Av, as much as possible toward pure mourning and sadness, without rerouting it to other important, but less Tisha B’Av-related experiences.
It Could Have Been Different
Our anguish over October 7, however, cannot be severed from the tragedy of the fall of Jerusalem or from the sadness of our prolonged exile. There is a real danger that our continued agony over October 7th will obscure the broader story that Tisha B’Av is meant to lament. How can we incorporate the suffering of October 7th with past Jewish tragedies? How can October 7th be integrated with the past?
Firstly, acknowledge and lament our own role in the rupturing of history. Jewish history wasn’t mean 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 Jewish monarchy, erect a model society, and model the dignity of a holy lifestyle. Tragically, after centuries of betrayal and religious failure, we were expelled from the land of Hashem.
Ever since that bleak moment, history has not been the same. If history feels broken it is because we broke it. Our broken world gave rise to centuries of antisemitism and the atrocities of the past ten months. Of course, we don’t take blame for the crimes and violence of others. But on Tisha B’Av, we mourn for the potential we lost and for the turmoil that ensued. Our rupturing of history destroyed two temples, provoked terrible Jewish persecution, and produced the tragedy of October 7th. The day we left Yerushalayim the world broke, and it has remained shattered for the past two thousand years. That shattered world is still, in many ways, morally and spiritually broken. Mourn for the world we broke, the potential we lost, and the consequences we continue to bear.
Jewish History is Imbalanced
On Tisha B’Av we read about the ten martyrs or the “asara harugei malchut,” who were 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 ten martyrs underscored the disproportion of Jewish history. We are Hashem’s people, tasked with calling the world to higher moral and religious ground. The children of Hashem living in the land of Hashem will always elicit ferocious opposition.
We were reminded of this harsh reality on October 7 when we faced similar sadism and brutality. There is no logic to explain the hatred and animosity our enemies feel toward us. It is obvious that we are unlike other nations and just as obvious is the fact that Jewish history is disproportionate. This asymmetry reflects our chosen status and our lofty mission. There has to be higher meaning to all the anger and hatred.
We outlived the hate and violence for thousands of years and we will outlive the current attack on our people. October 7th reminds us that the great struggle of Jewish destiny continues. On Tisha B’Av we mourn the steep price of that mission. October 7th showed that we are still paying that price. n
Rabbi Moshe Taragin is a rabbi at Yeshivat Har Etzion/Gush, a hesder yeshiva, with smicha from Yeshiva University and a master’s in English literature from the City University of New York. He is the author of “Dark Clouds Above, Faith Below” (Kodesh Press), which provides religious responses to Oct. 7.