The Rabbi's Message: A Collective Bereavement

We. continue our cooperation with the Steinsaltz Center and publish material prepared specifically for the member communities of the EAJC.

On the eve of Tisha B'Av (falling on July 29 this year), as the Jewish people gather to immerse themselves once again in profound mourning for what was lost during the long exile, sitting on the ground prepared to recite Kinnot — liturgical poems of lamentation — the service leader traditionally stands and proclaims aloud: "Tonight marks so many years since the destruction of our Temple." The grief over centuries of wandering and persecution, over all the misfortunes that have befallen the nation, traces back to its origin: the destruction of the Temple and Jerusalem.

These tragic events held greater significance for us than merely the fall of an ancient capital and the loss of a national shrine. This concerns not only the destruction of the Temple, but a devastating blow to the very center of Jewish life. The entire world suffered from this blow and will only be able to recover and return to its proper state upon the restoration of the Temple in Jerusalem. The Midrash describes the unique place of Jerusalem in the world as follows: "Abba Hanan says in the name of Shmuel ha-Katan: 'This world is like a human eye. Its white is the ocean surrounding the world. Its dark part is the inhabited world. Its pupil is Jerusalem. The reflection in the pupil is the Temple, may it be rebuilt speedily in our days'" (Masechet Derech Eretz Zuta, 9, at the end).

The collapse of Jerusalem represented the destruction of our entire reality. Since then, a veil of sorrow has covered all existence. Mourning for Jerusalem is not confined to a single day of mourning per year. Indeed, the entirety of Jewish life is permeated with the memory of this loss. The expressive lines of the Psalm (137:5-6): "If I forget thee, O Jerusalem, let my right hand forget her cunning. If I do not remember thee, let my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth; if I prefer not Jerusalem above my chief joy," are not a mere metaphor, but the reality of our life, a practical instruction to be followed constantly in remembrance of Jerusalem. We must always remember our pain and loss, even in times of joy. When setting a table for guests, an intentional flaw must be left in the arrangement in memory of the destruction. When building a house, something must be left unfinished—a portion of the wall is left unplastered and unpainted in memory of the destruction. The memory of Jerusalem is "preferred above chief joy": even at a wedding, the groom's head is sprinkled with ashes instead of flowers; under the chuppah (wedding canopy), the groom must shatter a glass in the sight of all. Our joy cannot be complete until the Temple in Jerusalem is rebuilt. Thus, for nearly two thousand years, mourning for Jerusalem has been observed, weaving a thread of bloody tears through our entire existence.

Yet, any mourning, even the deepest sorrow, generally passes sooner or later. Over time, people adapt to grief and loss. This holds true both for individual bereavement and for the national mourning for the Temple: so many years have passed since its destruction that the sense of personal loss has virtually faded. Only those for whom the Temple has not lost its significance today will grieve for a ruined house. In our days, the pain caused by the absence of the Temple can only be felt by those to whom the concept of the Temple is particularly close, and who live in hope of its restoration.

The problem of the diminishing emotional impact of various days of remembrance is not new. Toward the end of the Second Temple era, a special scroll, Megillat Taanit, was compiled, listing joyous days established to celebrate the deliverance of the Jewish people, as well as specific days commemorating the victories of the Jewish kingdom of that era. This list eventually ceased to be binding, as it no longer influenced national memory in subsequent generations. The passage of time and the multitude of new calamities and misfortunes that befell the nation displaced past events from its memory and diminished the significance of former days of remembrance. The reason certain days continue to be observed across generations is not due to the inherent power of the events associated with them, nor the decrees of legislators, but because they acquired a broader and deeper significance that allowed them to remain relevant for all generations.
Many tragedies occurred on the ninth of Av: the destructions of the First and Second Temples, the fall of Betar, the expulsions of Jews from Spain and England, the outbreak of the First World War, and others. However, the deep sorrow of this day is not solely due to the fact that many tragic events coincide with it. It became a focal point of calamity; on Tisha B'Av, we remember all the misfortunes that have befell the people of Israel throughout generations, not only those that occurred on this specific day.

Tisha B'Av has become a symbol — a Day of Remembrance for the tragedies that befell the people of Israel across different lands and generations. Therefore, the liturgical lamentations recited on this day contain mention of all the misfortunes that have afflicted the people of Israel since the exile from their land. They mourn the destruction of Jerusalem, the massacre of Jews during the Crusades, the public burning of the Torah, the expulsions of Jews from Eastern countries, and numerous religious persecutions.

In the last generation, an event occurred that seemed to encapsulate all the centuries-old reasons for mourning: the Holocaust of European Jewry. Over the course of six years, one could witness the physical manifestation of all past calamities and tragedies in all their horror and scale: humiliation, torture, the barbaric destruction of the entire Jewish world of European countries, and a shocking, systematic, and planned mass murder unparalleled in history. Jews once again found themselves completely alone, cast in the role of the "scapegoat" and the target of the world's absolute hatred and indifference. All the imagery of ancient Kinnot once again became an accurate description of reality, reflecting the unique Jewish destiny and conveying the full measure of pain and destruction. These recent events cry out to us from the past, demanding that we do not consign them to oblivion, but remember them — if not daily, then at least on the day designated for this purpose. In the Jewish calendar, no day can better express the essence of what occurred than Tisha B'Av — the Day of National Mourning, which, due to its significance and customs, has become akin to a day of personal bereavement (as if for departed relatives and loved ones).

Remembering the Holocaust on Tisha B'Av can awaken and strengthen the sense of grief among our contemporaries, adding contemporary relevance to the centuries-old mourning for the suffering of Jews of all generations. Furthermore, the Holocaust will thus be linked to a day that will continue to be observed in the future, its memory preserved within a shared Jewish day of mourning that encompasses all the tragedies of Jewish history. Perhaps the glimpses of Redemption that appear through the veil of mourning on Tisha B'Av can help cast the Holocaust in a clearer light.