This past Tuesday we observed the fast of Tisha B’Av, the saddest day of the Jewish calendar, marking the destruction of the First and Second Temples in Jerusalem, as well as other tragedies that have befallen the Jewish people throughout history.
Given the horrific events of October 7 and the subsequent 10-plus months of war, Tisha B'Av — rooted in ancient Jewish history — suddenly seems very relevant to the here and now.
Eicha (the Book of Lamentations), recited on Tisha B’Av, cannot help but evoke excruciating modern echoes.
Who can read “[Jerusalem’s] infants have gone into captivity before the enemy” without thinking of the Bibas children, now ages 1 and 5, almost incomprehensibly still being held hostage in Gaza.
Who can read “When enemies looked on and gloated over [Jerusalem’s] downfall” without thinking of those who celebrated the atrocities of October 7.
Truth is, I couldn’t bring myself to write about the coming Tisha B’Av observance last Friday. The possibility, reported in the media, that Iran might deliberately attack Israel on a day historically steeped in Jewish suffering was just too difficult.
For most of our lives, American Jews have blessedly been on vacation from Jewish history. No longer. The holiday is over. And our purpose as a people and as a community has never been clearer.
We must rise to the moment, recognizing our responsibility to confront antisemitism and to live proud and public Jewish lives. And to be stalwart advocates for Israel's right to exist as a Jewish homeland.
Embedded in Tisha B’Av is also a critical cautionary note. We’re taught that the temple in Jerusalem was destroyed because of sinat chinam, senseless hatred, within the Jewish people. That same hatred has divided us for generations and remains — yes, even more than Iran and its proxies — our most existential challenge.
Since October 7, in the face of a new reality, Jewish pride and unity has been unleashed across large swaths of our community. Shared grief has blurred at least some of the fractures that long divided us. But we cannot let this be a fleeting moment. This war, please God, will end. The college campus climate will improve. Things will return to something more akin to “normal.”
But normal is no longer enough.
Even when the specter of war isn’t hanging over us, we need to find a way to sit in the same rooms and think across difference about what it will take to create the most inclusive and vibrant Jewish future for all of us. We need to be just as engaged and full of Jewish pride when we’re not feeling as threatened. We need to ensure our Torah, traditions, and values are passed to future generations here in America, even when we’re lulled by less fraught times.
I arrived this morning in Israel to attend a family wedding — the second I've attended here since October 7. It's a source of comfort and inspiration that while coping with such staggering loss and challenge, life in Israel very much goes on.
And fittingly, this Shabbat, the one following Tisha B’Av, is called Shabbat Nachamu, the “Sabbath of Consolation.” It takes its name from the words of the prophet Isaiah, who in the weekly haftarah expresses God’s message of comfort and the promise that the Jewish people will be restored to their homeland in Jerusalem.
"Nachamu, nachuma ami” — Comfort, comfort, my people.
May we, too, be comforted. By the return of the hostages. By the end of innocent human suffering. By a secure and thriving Jewish and democratic state of Israel. And by the unity and strength of a people who dance at weddings, sometimes through tears, and choose life.
Shabbat shalom from Jerusalem