A Thought on Tisha B'av

For the past many years, a few of my rabbinical colleagues and I have convened an annual Tisha B'Av service intended to make the Kinos meaningful. We select a number of the Kinos and take turns explaining them with an inspirational preface. This approach is actually introduced in the opening section of Shulchan Aruch (Orech Chaim 1:4) where Rabbeinu Yosef Karo rules that "a few tachanunim said with mindful focus are better than saying many without mindful focus." So, we have a Kinos service which actually lasts as long as those in most shuls yet we recommend that each person praying with us take the time to allow us to guide their focus through some understanding of what each selected lamentation is about, what is its history and scope, and what we are meant to be processing within our minds and hearts as we make our way through its verses. One of the Kinos which my colleagues asked me to cover this year is #24 (Artscroll page 264; #26 in Rosenfeld edition, page 130) which is entitled Al Churban Beis HaMikdash. This Kina, written by the greatest of the paytanim Rabbeinu Elazar HaKalir, describes the degradation of the Great Temple and all that befell it as our foes pillaged its riches and carted them far away. It is fascinating to me that the focus here is not on the deaths and martyrdom of those who dwelt in Jerusalem or in Israel, but on the edifice and its contents, and their fate. This is hard for us to relate to. Our fears are about annihilation. Our pleading is for life, mortal Jewish life, and we do not easily occupy our minds with feelings about places and objects. I think of the tragedy a number of years ago in the town of Shechem or 'Nablus' when the Kever of Yosef was ransacked and reduced to rubble. We were shocked and we were angry yet for many it was more about what that Arab victory symbolized than about the demolished property. Most of us don't have feelings about tangible or impermanent things. How should we relate to Kina #24, and how do we achieve a sense that we have succeeded in mourning for Bais HaMikdash? Remember - the Shulchan Aruch (ibid 1:3) declares that "it is proper for anyone who has fear of Heaven to agitate and worry over the destruction of the Temple." How do we "agitate and worry"? During the Second World War, my father - may HaShem grant him a refuah sheleima - was drafted into the American Army. He was still in his late teens and after basic training, he and his friends, all Jewish boys from Boston, were shipped off to war. My father was stationed in North Africa and he used his occasional free time to make contact with the local Jews wherever he was stationed. Morocco, Libya, Senegal, Egypt - he arranged to meet the Jews of those exotic places, spending Pesach with this or that family and observing their practices and lifestyle. When he was sent to Alexandria, his plane crash-landed on a British base and nearly blew up. Later on, when his group was given a brief leave to rest and relax, a number of the soldiers made their way to Eilat and the "Riviera of Palestine." My father, however, persuaded a couple of his buddies to come with him on the rickety train through the desert that went from Egypt to Jerusalem. You see, Rosh HaShanna was coming and my father determined to pray at the "Wailing Wall" as the Kosel was then known. It was in the hands of the Jordanians who prohibited Jews from approaching their traditional holy place. The area which we now refer to as the "Kotel plaza" was a garbage dump, and the area adjacent to the wall was a thin strip of stone floor. My father, clad in the uniform of an American soldier, was undeterred by the Arabs who patrolled the area. No one questioned him or obstructed him from walking past the shacks and refuse and he made it, on Rosh HaShannah, to the Kotel. I do not know of anyone else, personally, who can claim such an adventuresome accomplishment. My father prayed on Rosh HaShannah at the Kosel haMaaravi when it was in Arab hands. There was no "Israel." This was "Palestine." Some 70 years later, I flew to Israel for my one of my frequent trips. This was three weeks ago. I landed on a Thursday in order to attend the Thursday night yartzeit seuda of my rebbe the Admor of Savraann zy'a, with whom I spent much time over many years obtaining shimush as a dayan on his Bais Din. Our plan was to wake up early Friday morning and go to his kever on Har HaZeisim, the famed and sacred Mount of Olives which overlooks the Temple Mount. Very late that Thursday night, the police contacted the rebbe's family stating that they had to call off the pilgrimage to Har HaZeisim. There were 250,000 Moslems converging on the Old City, packing East Jerusalem and declaring that they were planning a pogrom against any Jew who was seen in East Jerusalem, Har HaZeisim, the area between the Rova and their turf, and even on the Kotel grounds. The police stated that this throng of a quarter of a million Arabs posed a true danger and no Jews were to venture forth in those locales. Heartbroken, I went into Geula. Even there, the streets were relatively empty. The bus lines were virtually deserted as there was no one heading towards the Kotel area. Jerusalem was quiet and somber. Eruv Shabbos had a subdued feeling. The next week I was able to get to the Kosel although there were no crowds. I had no trouble finding a place at the wall to pray. Every day, I spoke to the Savranna gabbai and chassidim. No access to Har HaZeisim. In fact, my entire prolonged stay (I was in Israel longer than planned because of the war and the cessation of flights) we could not get to the rebbe's Ohel. I did not get a chance to pray there despite that having been one of my major goals that trip. I did get to Har HaMennuchos where I prayed at the Kever of my great Rosh Yeshiva Rav Simcha Wasserman z'l. I also went to Kever Rachel and prayed. But - our Mount of Olives? The area just past those somber yet beckoning stones of the Kosel - Har HaBayis? Not in our hands. Not within reach. Not accessible. We can't go there still. This clarified for me the lamenting of Rabbeinu Elazar HaKalir. We try to grasp, to conceptualize, that the Bais HaMikdash and its environs and its contents were ours. They belonged to us. The Mikdash was there for us, and we could travel there at will, at whim. It was our house. It was the embodiment of all that is Kadosh, and with each destructed implement, each damaged wall, each shattered object --- a limb was being torn off our collective spiritual body. The home and the homeland that millions longed for, died for, struggled to get to, whether Rabbi Yehuda HaLevi, the Ramban, the Rambam, or my father in a corporal's uniform - they meant everything to us in times long past and yet we can only get in tune with our deepest sorrow over their loss to us when.......we realize that they are still being taken away from us and we cannot have them. Those of us who know about loss, who work with loss and help others deal with losses, can begin to relate to this collective tragic loss of our Mikdash. The Kina by the Kalir helps us capture this sense of loss by giving us vivid descriptions of how one limb after another was pried off of the sanctified shrine and taken from us. It is true - this was stone and wood and metal and not human life. However, it was the life of the soul. It was the blood and tissue of the spirit. It was ours. And as long as we remain in golus, estranged from our land and from HaShem's ways - we do not get any of it back. We still mourn for our loss and we must mourn for ourselves. This is how we can come to that level depicted in Shulchan Aruch of being among "those who fear Heaven for whom it is proper to fret and worry about the destruction of the Mikdash." The destruction of the Mikdash is also the destruction of our fullest spiritual selves. We want them back. We need them back. May HaShem hear the sincerity in our yearnings this year. May He bring an end to injustice and treachery. May we merit the redemption rapidly and completely. May we make our way back to the sacred places and beyond, reclaiming the Har HaKodesh. May this be the final Fast of Tisha B'Av for our people. Dovid Fox