Pieces of shattered tiles sit scattered around the floor, the
result of a hard days work on Tisha B'Av. These tiles served as a reminder of
the shattering impact of the loss of the Temple and the tragedies that
followed, and also the beginnings of a new creation, a mosaic beginning to take
shape out of the brokenness of the world and of the day. Last summer, I spent
Tisha B'Av at Camp Daisy and Harry Stein working with campers and staff of all
ages to grapple with the challenges of Tisha B’Av. We spent part of the day
decorating tiles, which represented the things, we loved most in or lives, and
then shattering those images. This was no easy task, both logistically or
emotionally for the campers, or for our staff. However, the result of the program
was sincere and meaningful. By shattering tiles and engaging in conversation, I
renewed a process of reflection on this solemn day beginning to rethink my
narrative for Tisha B’Av.
I did not begin to process what Tisha B’Av meant to me as a
Jew or as future rabbi until my first year of rabbinical school in Jerusalem.
As my classmates and I went through the day, I reflected on my own practice and
what remembering the loss of the temple and losses of the Jewish people meant
to me in the 21st century. How could I take this day, this solemn day, to
reflect on our shared history, on my losses, and on the challenges facing our
world today? At the time, I began by exploring the practices related to Tisha
B’Av; a light fast from big meals, not wearing leather, not wearing my tefilin
or tallit in the morning, etc. These were all very practical steps to
understanding my relationship to Tisha B’Av, but they were by no means deep and
thoughtful. Last summer, at Camp Stein, I was forced to begin this type of
reflection, even though my introspection was put off for the cultivation of
reflection in others.
This year, while reading the book of Eicha, I was reminded of
the words of one of my classmates, Sam Pollack “The purpose of prayer or the
intention of prayer is related to kavanah, but not in terms of our sincerity of
even the meaning of the words, but rather in the direction of our prayers,
direction outward to the world, inward towards ourselves, to God, or to connect
with those around us.” What is the kavanah behind what we do on Tisha B’Av? Why
even observe the holiday? As liberal Jews, we don’t see the need to rebuild the
Temple. We even call our houses of worship, our Betei Knesset temples. So, how
can Tisha B’Av be relevant for Reform Jews, most of whom do not necessarily
know much about the fast day or of its observance at all?
Recently Rabbi Elyse Goldstein, a Reform rabbi in Toronto,
wrote an article for The Times of Israel titled "Why I'm not fasting on Tisha
B’Av." Instead of fasting or observing the holiday in any traditional fashion,
she suggested that she would work on building a better Israel, a better state
through advocacy and social justice. A number of my rabbinical colleagues in
the movement responded with praise for her article. I, on the other hand, felt
conflicted. While I rejected her argument out of hand, based on educational
models of historical, experiential education which did not seem to delve into
the meaning of the holiday itself, at the same time, the direction she hoped to
take Tisha B’Av, the kavanah, and her interest in tikkun olam related to the
holiday showed promise. But, why reject fasting and the physical or spiritual
observance of Tisha B’Av? Why not supplement one’s observance with tikkun olam?
Why not have both?
I have always been in favor of compromise, of finding a
middle ground. As I read Eicha this year, it was impossible for me not to be
reminded of the challenges the state of Israel poses for me, but I was also
struck by how broken my home country feels as well. I recognize that I hold
Israel to a high standard, but I hold my own country to the same standard, and
I see the words of Jeremiah echoing throughout all the world; the words seeming
far to fitting for the current situation in Syria and countries across the
globe. Whether we fast or not, whether we observe Tisha B’Av in a synagogue or
in a Temple, at home, or all, Jeremiah’s words in Lamentations can still ring
true for us today. We must find a way to return to ourselves, to call out to
God to remember what has befallen us, our country, and our world, to cry out
for redemption!
“But You, O Lord, are enthroned forever,
Your throne endures through the ages.
Why have You forgotten us utterly,
Forsaken us for all time?
Take us back,
O Lord, to Yourself,
And let us come back’
Renew our days as of old!” (Lamentations 5:19-21)
For me, there is value in traditional observance. For me
there is value in seeing Tisha B’Av not as simply a day which remembers the
fall of the Temple in Jerusalem, but which reminds us to recall our own
failures, our own needs to return to ourselves, to redirect our prayers or
intentions in the world, and to be a little uncomfortable with the world in
which we live. The world is broken. Tisha B’Av reminds us of this, but it also
hopes for a return to wholeness. In the words of Pirkei Avot, it is not our job
to finish the job, but nor are we allowed to desist from it. Tisha B’Av has the
power to begin this process for us. At the end of the day, Tisha B’Av, for me,
is not about the breaching of the walls of the Temple, or even the political
discourse surrounding the Western Wall today, it’s about the real world. It’s
about the widow and the orphan, and those crying out for help in broken
communities and states. For me, it’s about self reflection, about self growth
as we draw nearer to the Yamim Noraim, the Days of Awe. This Tisha B’Av, whatever
branch of Judaism we claim, may we not just go through the routine of the
day, or even accept that Tisha B’Av is not something we need to do, but instead
engage with the meaning behind it, and whether we do it today, tomorrow, next
week, or next year, find time to work to make Jeremiah’s words a reality for
all people, taking the shattered pieces of tile, the divisions among ourselves,
and turning them into a mosaic.
