Renewed relevance of mourning our history

With every passing year, Tisha B’Av mourning for the lost Temple becomes more challenging. The disastrous fall of Jerusalem and the derailment of Jewish history occurred thousands of years ago. Authentic mourning requires actual sadness, and it’s difficult to experience genuine woe about events so far in the rear-view mirror.

Additionally, not only have thousands of years passed, but our society has dramatically advanced, bearing little resemblance to the ancient world of the Temple. We’re governed by enlightened democracies; operate in progressive free-market economies; are privileged to have widespread education; and enjoy advanced medical care. The world of Judea and Jerusalem, of Romans and of Persians appears dated. It sometimes feels as if these catastrophic events occurred not only 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. In spite of the reality that many of our dreams have yet to materialise, our collective happiness over this historical awakening dulls our grief.

In exile, when we endured unending violence and hatred, Tisha B’Av felt contemporary and pertinent. Our bleak existence felt 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.

The date 7 October changed all that.

Everything changed, and suddenly Tisha B’Av feels more real and relevant than ever. Darkness has once again cast its shadow over Jewish history. We’re waging a relentless struggle for survival against fanatical murderers, 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-7 October world, Tisha B’Av resonates with relevance and urgency like never before.

How should it be observed in the aftermath of the horrific tragedy which befell us just 10 months ago. How can we connect 2023 to 70 CE?

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 over a tragedy which occurred 2 000 years ago, many redirected the day toward introspection, improvement, and teshuvah (repentance), 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 kumsitz gatherings suffused with soulful, sorrowful songs to capture the melancholy mood.

In truth, none of these perspectives capture the ideal of mourning on Tisha B’Av. At its core, the day is earmarked for pure mourning and sadness without any external distractions.

Ideally, Tisha B’Av should simulate actual mourning and shouldn’t be oriented to teshuvah or other important values. It should be a day of frustration and despair over the tragedy of Jewish history.

This year on Tisha B’Av, we have so much to mourn over: the loss of thousands of innocent lives; the horrific pogrom we faced on our own land; the hostages who still live underground in excruciating conditions; the immense number of injured soldiers whose lives have been forever altered. And of course, the horrific desecration of G-d’s name. This year, it’s 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-relevant experiences.

However, our anguish over 7 October cannot be severed from the tragedy of the fall of Jerusalem or the sadness of our prolonged exile. There’s real danger that our continued agony over 7 October will obscure the broader story that Tisha B’Av is meant to lament. How can we incorporate the suffering of 7 October into past Jewish tragedies?

First, acknowledge and lament our role in the rupturing of history. Jewish history wasn’t mean to evolve this way. There was a different trajectory to our history and, by extension, 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 G-d-like lifestyle. Tragically, after centuries of betrayal and religious failure, we were expelled from the land of G-d.

Ever since that bleak moment, history hasn’t been the same. If history feels broken, it’s because we broke it. Our broken world gave rise to centuries of antisemitism and the atrocities of the past 10 months. Of course, we don’t take blame for the crimes and violence of others. But on Tisha B’Av, we mourn the potential we lost and the turmoil that ensued. Our rupturing of history destroyed two Temples, provoked terrible Jewish persecution, and produced the tragedy of 7 October. The day we left Jerusalem, the world broke, and it has remained shattered for the past 2 000 years. That shattered world is still, in many ways, morally and spiritually broken.

On Tisha B’Av we read about the 10 martyrs who were brutally massacred by the Romans. Rome subjugated many cultures, but there was only one nation whose leadership it hunted down and sadistically tortured and murdered. The brutal death of our 10 martyrs underscored this discrepancy. We are G-d’s people, tasked with calling the world to higher moral and religious ground. The children of G-d living in the land of G-d will always elicit ferocious opposition.

We were reminded of this harsh reality on 7 October, when we faced similar sadism and brutality. There’s no logic to the hatred and animosity our enemies feel for us. It’s obvious that we’re unlike other nations, as our history reflects.. This asymmetry reflects our chosen status and our lofty mission. There has to be higher meaning to the hatred and anger.

We outlived the hate and violence for thousands of years, and we’ll outlive the current attack upon our people. The massacres of 7 October remind us that the great struggle of Jewish destiny continues. On Tisha B’Av, we mourn the steep price of that mission. The events of 7 October show that we’re still paying that price.

Moshe Taragin is a rabbi at Yeshivat Har Etzion/Gush, a hesder yeshiva. He has smicha and a BA in computer science from Yeshiva University as well as a Master’s degree in English literature from the City University of New York. He’s the author of Dark Clouds Above, Faith Below (Kodesh Press), which provides religious responses to 7 October.