Although not well known to non-Jews, this day is a major day on which Jews fast and pray as a communal observation of mourning, as somber as Yom Kippur. It is our saddest day of the year. In fact, it is such a deep day of mourning that we do not greet one another on this day at all (if one is traditional/orthodox). It is a very serious, intense day. It is a holy day, but not a “holiday.” It is not a day we celebrate; it is a day we observe by fasting and mourning and praying.
Why do we mourn? We mourn all the losses over the centuries that have befallen us, most significantly the destruction of both sacred Temples. While our tradition says that a large number of disasters have befallen us on this day throughout history, the major disasters mourned on this day are the two destructions of our Temples. The first destruction was in 586BCE, and after finally rebuilding the Temple, the second one was destroyed in 70CE by the Romans. It was this second destruction which completely ended Jewish Temple worship via animal sacrifice, and ushered in the age of Rabbinic Judaism, which remains in place to this day.
Other destructions and tragedies have also befallen us around this day in history, or at least have been recorded as such, including expulsions from countries, genocide, and other acts of violence and extreme discrimination.
To this day, orthodox Jews still pray for the re-establishment of the Temple and reinstatement of the sacrificial system of worship. Those of us who are more progressive in our understanding do not look for the rebuilding of the Temple and the re-establishment of the sacrificial system.
While I do mourn on this day, I do not pray for the re-establishment of the Temple and its sacrificial system. I do not mourn only for the Jewish losses and genocide attempts and destructions and holocausts. These are terrible indeed, and that anyone would put another to death or drive from a country based simply on color, creed, gender, nationality, or other reason is simply unthinkable to me. The fact that it has happened is enough to mourn; the fact that this kind of baseless hatred and senseless cruelty, inhumanity, and violence is still happening is beyond my ability to grasp. Even in our own country.
So yes, I mourn. I fast. I pray. However, I do not stop there.
I also spend the day in study, searching for answers to how I can be the change for which our world yearns.
While those with a more traditional take would tell me I am wrong to spend the day reading or writing or studying or looking for ways to be the solution, I believe that the only antidote to destruction, such as what we mourn during Tisha B’Av, is both/and, inclusion, and building connections.
Yes we mourn the losses, but we must not stop there. We must seek to mend the fences and build the bridges of connections. Just as the moment after Yom Kippur and the closing of the gates, we immediately go home and begin building the sukkah, our symbol of hope and joy, even more so we must do with Tisha B’Av.
We do not need to rebuild the Temple of Sacrifice; we must instead build the Temple forged of kindness and compassion and connections. We must build the Temple of both/and. We must build the Temple of kindheartedness and loving kindness, and become the people worthy of worshiping therein. We must never slow in our work of acting as if we are each a l'vavnik, a righteous person concerned with spreading compassion through small daily acts of radical kindness.
We do not need to return to sacrificing animals to draw us closer to G!d. We need to turn and turn again to sacrificing the animal nature within each one of us, that animal nature which keep us from G!d and from connecting to one another through the power of kindness and peace and wholeness and understanding.
So when I mourn, I mourn the losses by so many, not just Jews, and I mourn that in the year two thousand eighteen, we are still at war, we still foster hatred, we still point fingers and divide our country and the world into camps of "us" versus "them."
I begin my fast on this day, not in celebration, but in mourning the destruction that hatred and fear brings to our world. I call forth the awareness that we are in relationship with every being and creature on this planet, and with all of life. Then, I rise up with courage and love. I know that at this time in our country and our world, it is so easy to be filled with hatred. Yet hatred only begets hatred. So as I begin my fast this Saturday night, I do so by looking deep within myself, into those nooks and crannies where I harbor distrust, hatred, unkindness, and disrespect. I look for ways to develop empathy, compassion, awareness, and radical kindness.
That, I believe, is the day of fasting and mourning to which I am called. Our world will be fractured and fragmented until we do the work of repair to which we are called, as the prophet Isaiah reminds us in Chapter 58:
“5 Is this the kind of fast I have chosen,
only a day for people to humble themselves?
Is it only for bowing one’s head like a reed
and for lying in sackcloth and ashes?
Is that what you call a fast,
a day acceptable to the Lord?
6 Is not this the kind of fasting I have chosen:
to loose the chains of injustice
and untie the cords of the yoke,
to set the oppressed free
and break every yoke?
7 Is it not to share your food with the hungry
and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter—
when you see the naked, to clothe them,
and not to turn away from your own flesh and blood?
8 Then your light will break forth like the dawn,
and your healing will quickly appear;
then your righteousness will go before you,
and the glory of the Lord will be your rear guard.
9 Then you will call, and the Lord will answer;
you will cry for help, and G!d will say: Here am I.
If you do away with the yoke of oppression,
with the pointing finger and malicious talk,
10 and if you spend yourselves in behalf of the hungry
and satisfy the needs of the oppressed,
then your light will rise in the darkness,
and your night will become like the noonday.
11 The Lord will guide you always;
G!d will satisfy your needs in a sun-scorched land
and will strengthen your frame.
You will be like a well-watered garden,
like a spring whose waters never fail.
12 Your people will rebuild the ancient ruins
and will raise up the age-old foundations;
you will be called Repairer of Broken Walls,
Restorer of Streets with Dwellings.”
As a Community Rabbi, I am available to the entire community--Jewish, not Jewish, and everyone in-between. My work is to connect people to one another, to support and encourage, and to explore the possibility of deeper spiritual meaning in daily life. This is my personal charge as an ordained Modern Rabbi. Feel free to connect with me: aCommunityRabbi@gmail.com
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