Erev Tisha B’Av and Parashat Devarim: Beyond Mourning, Toward Meaning

As we approach Erev Tisha B'Av, a day that, this year, precedes Shabbos Chazon, we are called to a profound moment of reflection. The Haftarah of Chazon, read on the Shabbos before Tisha B'Av, features the poignant prophecies of Yeshayahu HaNavi. Spoken some 150 years before the actual destruction of the Beis HaMikdash (Holy Temple), Yeshayahu’s words serve as a stark warning, foreseeing the causes of the impending downfall and the tragic consequences if those causes were not eradicated.

Yet, his words were met with skepticism. How could a doomsday prophet be taken seriously during a time of great comfort, economic prosperity, and an easy life? People questioned his pessimism, secure in the presence of the Beis HaMikdash and their seemingly thriving existence.

This historical context brings us to the core question posed to each of us as we prepare to read Eicha (Lamentations) on Tisha B'Av. For nearly two millennia, we have awaited the rebuilding of the Third Beis HaMikdash, prompting us to ask: How could such calamities befall Am Yisrael (the Jewish people)? How is it that we suffer so greatly and have yet to merit its rebuilding? The very introduction to Eicha hints at these profound questions.

The Echo of "Ayeka?": Where Are You?

As Am Yisrael sits on the floor on the night of Tisha B'Av, Yirmiyahu HaNavi, who witnessed the destruction firsthand, cries out, "Eicha!" – "How could we allow ourselves to reach such a tragic situation?" Yet, the word "Eicha" holds a deeper meaning. By altering its vowels, it transforms into "Ayeka?" – "Where are you?" This was Hashem's first question to humanity after Adam HaRishon sinned. It wasn't a geographical query; Hashem knew where Adam and Chava were hiding. Rather, it was a profound inquiry into their state: "How did you let such a thing happen? Where are you spiritually?"

Every Tisha B'Av, Hashem echoes this question to us: "Where are you? How are you reacting to tragedy? What do you truly feel? What are you doing?" It challenges us to introspect: "Where am I? What am I doing with all my power to help rebuild the Beis HaMikdash?"

Moshe Rabbeinu, at the beginning of Parashas Devarim, delivers words of encouragement and rebuke before his passing. He alludes to the sins of Am Yisrael—at the Yam Suf, with the Cheit HaEgel (Golden Calf), and the Meraglim (spies)—that ultimately led to their downfall. Rashi teaches that each geographical name mentioned in this context is an allusion to a specific sin. Moshe Rabbeinu's message then, and for us now, is a call to understand the root causes of our challenges.

Eicha: A Wellspring of Hope, Not Despair

While Megillah Eicha can be perceived as a book of despair, reflecting the depth of our tragedy, it is fundamentally a book of immense hope. It conveys that we possess the tools to reverse our situation. It is solely through our reconnection with Hashem that the rebuilding of the Beis HaMikdash can be achieved. Each individual's realization that "it's up to me" can collectively make a profound difference. Mourning and crying, while essential, must be accompanied by internalizing the message and actively striving for change. Without it, chas v'shalom (G-d forbid), nothing will change.

The verse in Eicha, "Mai yeit onen Adam Chai, gever al chata'av?" – "Why does a man who is still alive complain? Why does man complain about his sins?" – prompts deep reflection. Yirmiyahu HaNavi, in the preceding verse, states, "Mi'pi Elyon, Lo teitzey hara'ot" – "From the mouth of Hashem, the creator of the world, bad things do not come out." This implies that while tragedy may be a divine decree, its root often lies within human action. Hashem has granted us free choice to choose between good and life, or, chas v'shalom, tragedy. Our choices fundamentally determine the events of the world.

Tisha B'Av: A Call to Awaken Profound Feelings

This year, with Tisha B'Av falling on Shabbos, it becomes a unique day of reflection, urging us to consider what we could have done better, particularly in fostering peace and unity. Tisha B'Av is not merely a day for logic or prayer; it is a time to awaken our deepest feelings, to truly comprehend what we have lost, and to experience genuine pain. Tears, after all, spring from the heart's depths, born of profound feeling, not just intellectual understanding.

The Sages (Chazal) offer various reasons for the destruction of both Temples. The First Temple's downfall was attributed to grave sins, but primarily to the lack of appreciation for the Torah, as encapsulated in "shelo birchú baTorah techila" – they did not bless the Torah first. The Second Temple was destroyed due to sin'as chinam (baseless hatred). Chazal explain that had the warring factions within besieged Jerusalem lived in peace, they could have withstood the Romans. Their disunity and extremism led to the burning of food supplies, ultimately sealing their fate.

Furthermore, a lack of mutual rebuke—not fault-finding, but a failure to speak up when needed—contributed significantly. The incident of Kamsa and Bar Kamsa at a wedding, where no great leader intervened, highlights this critical deficiency. Chazal teach that everything must be "our problem," fostering sensitivity and emotional connection within Am Yisrael, recognizing our collective responsibility as Areivim. Before the Churban, people lacked this sensitivity and did not cry. Only when the terrible pain arrived—"Bocheh tifkeh"—was sensitivity awakened through suffering.

King Yehoyakim's callous burning of Yirmiyahu's prophetic scroll, even after foreseeing the destruction, exemplifies this pervasive lack of feeling. People, swayed by false prophets, were insensitive to the Navi's warnings. We are challenged to ask ourselves: Do we truly feel the pain of not having a Beis HaMikdash? Do we grasp how profoundly different our lives would be with its presence, with the Kohanim and Leviim, and the Urim v'Tumim providing clear divine guidance?

The Transformative Power of a Sigh

A beautiful Midrash relates that King Koresh (Cyrus), a non-Jew who later merited building the Second Beis HaMikdash, was a young boy of six or seven when the First Temple was destroyed. Upon hearing the news, he let out a deep sigh of "Oh!" Hashem, recognizing this pure, innocent empathy, declared that Koresh would be granted the privilege of rebuilding the Temple.

The Chofetz Chaim beautifully expounded on this, explaining that while a six-year-old could not fully grasp the spiritual significance of the Beis HaMikdash, he understood it was the world's most beautiful building, now lost to him. His simple, heartfelt sigh—"Oh, oy va'e! What a pity!"—was profoundly acknowledged by Hashem. The Chofetz Chaim then challenged his students: if Koresh's simple sigh merited such a reward, imagine what could happen if we, with our deeper understanding of what was lost, were to truly sigh from the depths of our hearts, longing for the Shechinah (Divine Presence) to return from Galut (exile).

The enduring exile of the Shechinah, the absence of the Beis HaMikdash, is the ultimate reason for our tears. Are we crying for this, or primarily for our personal problems? Yirmiyahu HaNavi's ceaseless cries for the destruction, though he foresaw it, stemmed not from logic but from profound emotional pain, a pain compounded by the loss of his Ruach HaKodesh (Divine Spirit) which emanated from the Temple.

The very first destruction, rooted in the sin of the Meraglim, involved crying for no reason—"Tem Bachitem Bechasel Chinam." This led to the decree of crying for generations on Tisha B'Av. The fundamental cause was "Tachas asher lo avadeta et Hashem Elokecha b'simcha" – not serving Hashem with joy, a lack of appreciation. Yeshayahu HaNavi in the Haftarah of Chazon begins with, "Banim gadalti v'romamti, v'hem pashu bi" – "I have raised children and elevated them... but they have rebelled against Me," highlighting a profound lack of gratitude for Hashem's immense gifts.

From Anger to Action: The Path to Rebuilding

So, where is the hope? The verse in Eicha, "Nachp'sa d'racheinu v'nachkora v'nashuvah el Hashem" – "Let us search our ways and examine them, and return to Hashem" – urges introspection. We must strive to eradicate baseless hatred and strengthen our connection to Hashem and to one another.

Crucially, Tisha B'Av is not a time of despair. The concluding verse of Megillah Eicha, "Ki im ma'os ma'astanu, katsafta aleinu ad me'od" – "For if You had truly despised us, You have shown tremendous anger towards us"—offers a profound insight. Despise implies total rejection and no hope. Anger, however, suggests a possibility of reconciliation. After anger subsides, there's room for making amends. Thus, the very "anger" (kitrug/Din) of Hashem is a sign of hope. It impels us to cry out, "Hashiveinu Hashem eilecha v'nashuva" – "Return us, Hashem, to You, and we shall return." We beg Hashem to help us realize the extent of our loss and what is expected of us to bring about the building of the Third Beis HaMikdash.

The number 42, representing the "42 journeys" of life, also holds significance. It is one of Hashem's names, associated with miracles. Intriguingly, Mizmor Todah (Psalm 100), expressing gratitude, contains exactly 42 words. This reminds us to see the good in our lives and cultivate hakarat hatov (gratitude).

Stories of Selflessness and Divine Reciprocity

Two powerful stories illuminate the transformative potential of our actions:

The first tells of a German convert in Yerushalayim, Avraham ben Avraham, who discovered his father was a high-ranking SS officer responsible for horrific atrocities. Summoned to his dying father's bedside, Avraham confronted him, questioning how such a murderer could have lived to old age without divine retribution. The father revealed one act: tasked with clearing a barn of hiding Jews, he found two small children. Overcome by an inexplicable impulse, he slammed the door shut and reported no one was there, sparing their lives. The story highlights the immense divine reward for even a single act of saving lives—the murderer's own son becoming a righteous Jew with beautiful children. This demonstrates Hashem's boundless reciprocity: even small acts of ahavas chinam (unconditional love) can hasten the rebuilding of the Beis HaMikdash.

The second story speaks of a poor couple in Borough Park renowned for their Hachnasat Orchim (welcoming guests). One Shabbos, they hosted a young man from far away. When the father insisted the guest stay, he ordered his six-year-old son to give up his bed. The fuming boy begrudgingly slept on the floor. Years later, on her deathbed, the mother revealed a secret: after the boy went to sleep, the father himself took his own blanket and pillow and slept on the floor beside his son. When questioned, he explained he wanted his son to understand the importance of hakna'ah (self-nullification) and that if his son was in pain, he too would share that pain.

This profound message resonates deeply with Tisha B'Av. Hashem is in pain when we are in Galut. "Immo Anochi be'tzarah" – "I am always with you, I am in distress with you." If we truly feel the pain of the Galut HaShechinah (exile of the Divine Presence) and our deepest longing is for the Beis HaMikdash, then our tears will be for the most important reason. In that merit, the day of Tisha B'Av will be transformed from a day of sorrow into a day of joy.

May we all have a meaningful Shabbos, an easy fast, and may this be our last Tisha B'Av in exile.