Feast or fast?
A religious Israeli notable stirred outrage by saying that he will hold a feast on Tisha B’Av.
Avraham Burg, a former Labor Party lawmaker and Jewish Agency for Israel head whose father founded Israel’s National Religious Party, said in a radio interview that rather than abstain from food or drink on Tisha B’Av, the day that marks the destruction of the First and Second Temples, he and his family plan to hold a festive meal in celebration of Jerusalem’s reunification in the modern State of Israel.
The skullcap-wearing Burg’s defiance of Orthodox ritual drew quick censure from Israeli religious figures. “The existence of a State of Israel and the rebuilding of Jerusalem are still no replacement for our lost Temple,” NRP leader Zevulun Orlev said. (Jewish Telegraphic Agency, 11 August 2005)
This year, Tish'ah B'Av falls on Sunday, 14 August.
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In August 1981, when I was beginning my year of studies at Hebrew University, I had my first meeting with my advisor, himself a Modern Orthodox oleh from the Boston area. Somehow, our conversation turned to the observance of Tish’ah B’Av (which had occurred some weeks earlier.) To my surprise, my advisor thought that Tish’ah B’Av was no longer relevant at a time when the Jewish people were returning to their homeland and had established a new state and were reestablishing religious and social institutions there.
My argument then was probably little different than it is today. I am not impressed by claims that Tish’ah B’Av is no longer relevant to us as we now celebrate 57 years of Jewish statehood. In fact, perhaps the existence of the state gives us all the more reason to be aware of that day’s importance.
Make no mistake about this: I am a blue and white dyed in the wool Zionist. I am not one of the Neturei Karta, those ultra Orthodox Jews who believe that, according to Jewish law, the establishment of a Jewish state before the coming of the messiah is illegitimate.
But I am afraid that Tish’ah B’Av is misunderstood.
Tish’ah B’Av is one of only two 25-hour fasts on the Jewish calendar. It commemorates a series of cataclysms in Jewish history that occurred on or around that date in different years. Both the first (in 586 BCE) and second (in 70 CE) Temples in Jerusalem were destroyed on Tish’ah B’Av. Commentators on the Torah claim that the report of the spies, which led to the grumbling of the Israelites and the 40 years of desert wandering, was given on that day. The expulsions from England in 1290, France in 1306, and Spain in 1492 (the same day that Columbus set sail) also took place on Tish’ah B’Av. World War I (which led to World War II and the Holocaust) began on the same date on the Hebrew calendar.
Yet Tish’ah B’Av is less about disasters that befell our people than about what precipitates disaster.
In focusing on the origins of this fast day, the Talmud offers an explanation why the Temples were destroyed. It tells us that the first temple was destroyed because of idolatry, adultery, and wanton bloodshed; the second because of the wanton hatred (sin’at hinnam) that was rampant among the Jewish people at that time.
The history of the Second Temple period is replete with accounts of the fratricidal politics of the Hasmonean dynasty and the House of Herod, and the divisions among the numerous sects of the day, including the Pharisees, Sadducees, Essenes, Zealots, Sicarii, and others. These were days when Jews thought little of taking the blood of their brethren for political gain, and where political and religious sniping were commonplace. Divisions lasted into the very siege of Jerusalem, when different groups vied for power in a hopeless situation that was further exacerbated by domestic divisiveness.
The Talmudic story of Qamtza and Bar Qamtza, presented as the (metaphorical?) cause of Jerusalem’s downfall in 70 CE, speaks to the destructive power of frail and inflexible egos, demonstrating how one tragic mistake can lead to disaster. Someone hosting a banquet sent a messenger to invite a man named Qamtza to his party, but the messenger delivered the invitation to his rival, Bar Qamtza, instead. When Bar Qamtza appeared at the event, the host moved to have his rival evicted. Seeking to avoid public humiliation, Bar Qamtza offered to pay the costs of the party if the host would allow him to remain. But the host, in the presence of the leaders of the community, stood his ground. Insulted, Bar Qamtza plotted against the leaders of Jerusalem and manufactured evidence against them, informing the Roman rulers that they were engaged in planning an insurrection. The story continues with further details of poor judgment and perilous errors that led to the destruction of the city.
The point of these stories, apocryphal as they might be, is not to present historical facts of events that occurred, but to teach about the conceptual backdrop to these historical events. As much as we can blame Rome for the destruction of the Second Temple, we can look inward to what allowed for that defeat to take place.
The question for today is this: Is the internal Jewish condition any better today than it was in 70 CE? Whether we look at Israel or at our situation in the Diaspora, the answer is: “probably not.” We may be above the cloak and dagger operations of the ancient Sicarii, though we have come perilously close to bloodshed from time to time. In the religious sphere, no camp is willing to surrender its claim to the truth, and all are guilty of verbal or political acts against others in the service of God.
In Israel, we have seen the assassination of one prime minister on the accusation of treason by a religious zealot, and the vituperation of the accusations hurled from one camp against the other continues the spirit that led to that murder. We are blessed with prosperity, opportunity, and freedom in the Diaspora, and in Israel we are blessed with political independence in our ancestral homeland. But our behavior often shows how little we have learned from the rabbis who sought to teach us some important lessons in the Talmudic account mentioned earlier, and others like it, about the infighting that has sapped our strength as a people during critical junctures of our history.
This year, Tish’ah B’Av marks another painful moment in our history. As of midnight immediately following Tish’ah B’Av, it is no longer lawful for Jews to remain in the Gaza Strip, by order of the Government of the State of Israel. It doesn’t matter what position one takes on Israeli politics and policy, whether one is dove or hawk, right wing or left, secular or religious, the expulsion of Jews by Jews is painful to accept. The disruption of lives built over decades in communities deserves sympathy. And the emotional pain that will be experienced by those given the task of carrying out the orders of expulsion in the days following Tish’ah B’Av deserves our consideration as well.
But there is a difference. Israel lives today under the rule of law in a democratic state. Its policies, like them or not, are promulgated out by those elected by the people and charged with making the decisions that affect their daily lives. A democratic society must be open to disagreement and debate, but in the end, dina d’malchuta dina, “the law of the state is the law.” The efforts of some, especially of rabbis and religious individuals, to take exception to that dictum and to encourage violations of the law, to persuade soldiers to refuse orders or desert, is reprehensible.
As we mark Tish’ah B’Av, we should dwell less on the destruction brought upon us by outsiders but on the destructiveness of our divisiveness, and our apparent inability to find unity within our diversity. Until such a time when the Jewish people can dwell peacefully together, we should continue to fast on Tish’ah B’Av, in the hope that the hunger that we feel on that day will make us think of how we might suffer more if we, as a people, cannot learn to live as one.
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