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B”H. New York.
Just concluded the mincha afternoon service
and took off my Tefillin, which we don on Tisha B’Av in the
afternoon (not in the morning as we do the rest of the year)
to commemorate the Temple’s tragic destruction 1934 years
ago on this day.
I enter the synagogue and see old and young
praying on this sad day, as Jews have been doing for the last
20 centuries. I wonder what it looked like at the Wall this
year, after yet another senseless attack, following a devastating
year in Israel, and for that matter also abroad.
How strange. Jerusalem is under siege again,
just as it was 1934 years ago and before that, 2424 years
ago (when the First Temple was destroyed), and many times
before and after. The Crusaders. The Moslems. Everyone seems
to want a piece of this mystical city. I should correct that:
Not “under siege again,” but perhaps always been under
siege; its just that now we are painfully aware of it.
Why is Jerusalem under siege and always been
under siege? Because Jerusalem (and even more: the Temple
Mount) is a place of power – potency that everyone wants to
feed off. Jerusalem in Hebrew (Yerusholayim) combines
two words: Yira (awe), Sholom (peace). Awesome
harmony. Jerusalem is the place where Abraham offered Isaac
at the altar and where Jacob fell asleep and has his ladder
dream. Jerusalem is the place from where Adam and Eve were
created. That is why all humans – children and carriers of
the genes of Adam and Eve – gravitate back to that holiest
of places. Jerusalem is the center of the universe, and everyone
feels it consciously or unconsciously.
We pray toward the East, toward Jerusalem and
the Temple Mount. We stand in New York, Los Angeles, Paris,
Moscow, London, Bangok, Sydney – wherever we are on the globe
(and even on the moon) – we always face Jerusalem. 5000 years
ago, 1935 years ago and today.
All these thoughts come rushing through me as
I see the old 94 year-old man putting away his Tallit, as
a 12 year-old boy near him is opening up his Siddur (prayer
book) to begin the service, all against the backdrop of the
Aron Kodesh (Holy Ark) situated silently – but prominently
– on the Eastern wall of the shul. History flashes right before
my eyes. I ask the older man, “How many years have you been
fasting on Tisha B’Av?”… It turns out that he has been honoring
the Temple’s destruction for 85 years (when he began fasting
a complete day), and he did so during diametrically opposed
years – eight decades that span the harsh years under Czarist
Russia, followed by an even harsher Communist regime, the
years of the Holocaust, and finally the years in free America.
And now it’s 2002. The world is again in turmoil.
America is reeling. Israel is bleeding. Every sensitive person
feels a profound tentativeness and uncertainty.
85 years. Here stands a man who has been crying
on Tisha B’Av for 85 years – a century that has given birth
both to the greatest technology and to the greatest destruction.
But even these 85 years pale in comparison to
the 1934 years of our collective Tisha B’Av grieving.
There is something about pain, about loneliness
that is extremely powerful when you see it remembered and
commemorated for millennia. We usually like to remember our
joys and forget our losses. Yet, here we are recreating ruin
and destruction, and we are… strengthened, not weakened.
Something so powerful about this recognition
of hurt and vulnerability. It’s almost like by facing it we
become more powerful. In cliché terminology: That which
does not destroy me makes me stronger. When all you experience
is beauty and comfort, you can never know how you will face
pain and loss. However, when you have been destroyed and still
remain standing, then you know you can endure anything and
everything.
We also just recited (in the Mincha prayer)
the special Tisha B’Av entreaty “Nacheim – Be consoled.” The
Arizal (whose yahrzeit was four days ago) explains the reason,
because Moshiach is born on Tisha B’Av in the afternoon (as
our sages teach).
“Is that,” I am thinking “how the people endured
generation after generation, despite all the trials and difficulties?”
Was this the belief, the promise, they held on to – the firm
belief that Redemption is born in the throes of ruin?
“Next Year in Jerusalem!” our ancestors have declared for
centuries and centuries. “May Jerusalem be rebuilt” is our
daily prayer for thousands of years. As trying as it may be
– and as difficult as it ever was – this dream, this aspiration
has kept us alive, despite all odds.
We always know that Moshiach is born as the
flames rise and consume our structures. And with every birth
the light intensifies, to the point that it will never be
extinguished.
From Tisha B’Av we enter right into Shabbat
Nachamu – “Comfort, comfort my people” - and then into the
full moon of the 15th of Menachem Av, when we celebrate
the greatest of holidays (“There were no holidays as great
as the 15th of Av…” the Mishne tells us), the ascent
that follows the deep descent of the 9th of Av.
And what about Jerusalem? What is the holy city
of Jerusalem thinking? Does she still sit alone, as the prophet
Jeremiah saw her 2424 years ago (as he writes in the opening
verse of the book of Eicha)?
I’ll let you know next week when, please G-d,
I will write to you from the holy city.
Next week (not year) in Jerusalem. Hopefully
all of us will be there.
With eternal hope,
Simon Jacobson
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