When the Temple was destroyed, the people were thrown into exile. Jerusalem became a war zone and its people became refugees, forced to risk their lives to escape violence, famine, and devastation. The suffering was tremendous — “like deer, not finding a place to graze, walking without strength before a pursuer,” in the words of the Book of Lamentations.

The author(s) of Lamentations (Eicha in Hebrew), the biblical text traditionally read on Tisha B’Av, believed that what happened to the Jewish people was the result of divine judgment. But even though the book sounds like it’s about God punishing us, it’s not really a theodicy — that is, a justification of God’s actions. The question our ancestors faced was not whether the disaster could be reconciled with God’s goodness. Rather, the question was whether God still cared about them.

Choosing a God that cared enough to punish them was better than choosing a God that didn’t care at all. But the anxiety that maybe God doesn’t care is also woven throughout Eicha. In every chapter, the poet beseeches God to pay attention Lamentations 1:9 Lamentations 2:20, and in the very last verse, the poet wonders if God has rejected us forever.

This idea that exile and homelessness were punishment for our sins seems alien to many modern Jews. But the ancients were not as far from us as we think. In Eicha itself, most of the chapters describe the punishment God inflicted as excessive and abusive. Only in chapter 3 is Zion’s destruction consistently described as fair and just.

The real perspective of Eicha is summed up in verse 2:13: “What can I compare to you, daughter Jerusalem, that I may comfort you?” What images, what words, will help people bear the memory of tragedy? The poet is willing to say anything that will enable the people to find meaning and hope in the face of exile.

There is another way to understand the destruction of Jerusalem and the dispersion of its people. According to the prophet Jeremiah, the traditional author of Eicha, the reason for the Babylonian exile was that the people did not let the land rest every seven years, as is biblically mandated Chronicles II 36:21. Since 490 years had passed without a sabbatical year, Israel had to go into exile for 70 years — one year for each sabbatical that was missed.

The Torah teaches that God will take the side of the land against the people if forced to, and that the land will “enjoy her Sabbaths” Leviticus 26:34 — even if that means the people are exiled or wiped out. What has intrinsic value is not humanity, but humanity’s potential to do justice.

The Torah outlines six curses for not observing the sabbatical year, which describe how the relationship between the people and the land unravels. Two curses involve children being eaten – by wild animals Leviticus 26:22, then by their own parents Leviticus 26:29. That image is repeated in Eicha — Lamentations 2:20, 4:10 — and it is the main connection between Eicha and Leviticus. But the idea that the destruction of Jerusalem came about because of how the Jewish people treated the land is not found in Eicha, where identification of the land with the people is total. Instead, Jerusalem’s downfall results only from the moral downfall in relationships between human beings.

In Jeremiah too, the fate of Jerusalem is sealed only after the rich, who briefly set their slaves free, re-enslave them when it looks like the danger has passed Jeremiah 34. The overall message of these texts is that how we treat the stranger (the refugee, the foreigner, the convert) and the poor determines whether we have the right to remain in the land.

Even though most people are uncomfortable with the idea of divine retribution, in an age when our ecological “sins” are coming home to roost, the connection between disaster and divine retribution is not so farfetched. And since Creation is also compared to the sacred Temple in the Midrash, it is natural to connect the story of the Temple’s destruction with the destruction of the earth and the sixth mass extinction initiated by human action.

But there is a very big difference: When the Jerusalem Temple was destroyed, there were other lands for the refugees to flee to. If we destroy the Temple that is the Earth, there will be no place untouched by tragedy.

As climate change puts more pressure on our ecosystems and our social systems, more and more people will become refugees like our ancestors, forced to flee areas no longer capable of sustaining human habitation. And for those fortunate enough not to live in such places, we will need all the spiritual resources we can muster to stay open to the humanity of the refugee and the stranger, while also taking care of our own communities.

All of these issues can become intertwined with the experience of Eicha and the story of Jerusalem’s destruction. Reading Eicha is an invitation to remember what it means to be a refugee, and to think about how we can move towards justice for all people, for all species, and for the land herself.

All translations are taken from Eikhah/Laments, Rabbi David Seidenberg’s original translation of the Book of Lamentations. Laments is designed to connect the reader on the most visceral level to the text and also includes more discussion. Laments can be downloaded here.

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This idea is reflected in the special Aneinu (“Answer Us”) prayer that is added to the silent Amidah on fast days. The prayer asks God to comfort us in our distress, to draw close and to heed our cry.

Answer us, Lord, answer us on our Fast Day, for we are in great distress. Look not at our wickedness. Do not hide Your face from us and do not ignore our plea. Be near to our cry; please let Your loving-kindness comfort us. Even before we call to You, answer us, as is said, ‘Before they call, I will answer. While they are still speaking, I will hear.’ For You, Lord, are the One who answers in time of distress, redeems and rescues in all times of trouble and anguish. Blessed are You, Lord, who answers in time of distress. (Translation from The Koren Siddur)

While this kind of prayer makes sense on most fast days, it’s an odd choice for Tisha B’Av, the fast day that commemorates the destruction of both ancient temples, as well as a host of other calamities that befell the Jewish people. Tisha B’Av is a day when, according to our tradition, prayer ceased to be effective, when the gates of heaven were closed to supplication.

In the Book of Lamentations, the mournful text read in synagogues on Tisha B’Av, we read: “And when I cry and plead, He shuts out my prayer.” For this reason, many synagogues customarily omit the line from the Kaddish prayer that asks God to accept our prayers. Tisha B’Av is not a day when prayers are answered.

So why do we recite Aneinu on Tisha B’Av? In fact, why fast at all if fasts are intended to help speed our prayers heavenward?

The answer can be found in another prayer we recite on Tisha B’Av. Nachem (“Console Us”) is recited during the Amidah in the afternoon Mincha service of Tisha B’Av and it differs from Aneinu in that it seeks not an answer from God, but comfort.

The prayer reads:

Console, O Lord our God, the mourners of Zion and the mourners of Jerusalem, and the city that is in sorrow, laid waste, scorned and desolate; that grieves for the loss of its children, that is laid waste of its dwellings, robbed of its glory, desolate without inhabitants. She sits with her head covered like a barren childless woman. Legions have devoured her; idolaters have taken possession of her; they have put Your people Israel to the sword and delibrately killed the devoted followers of the Most High. Therefore Zion weeps bitterly, and Jerusalem raises her voice. My heart, my heart grieves for those they killed; I am in anguish, I am in anguish for those they killed. For You, O Lord, consumed it with fire and with fire You will rebuild it in the future, as is said, ‘And I myself will be a wall of fire around it, says the Lord, and I will be its glory within.’ Blessed are You, Lord, who consoles Zion and rebuilds Jerusalem. (Translation from The Koren Siddur)

Nachem is a prayer that admits defeat. It accepts the reality of failure and loss. The rest of the year, our prayers hold out the promise of God answering our requests. Yet on Tisha B’Av, we confront the stark reality that, at a moment of national catastrophe, our pleas went unheeded.

So what do we do? We continue to pray — not in the hope of being answered, but for the promise of comfort and consolation, to draw close to God even in our time of loss.

One is reminded on Tisha B’Av of the victims of the Holocaust who offered up prayers to God from the ghettos of Europe and the death camps, who organized prayer services on Jewish holidays in the face of imminent death. Facing the horrors of the Nazi genocide, many must have wondered if prayer held the power to redeem them. And indeed, for many it did not. But those prayers, and the faith that underlay them, outlived the Nazi horror.

In his book Rebbes Who Perished in the Holocaust, Menashe Unger relates the story of Rabbi Shalom Eliezer Halberstam (the Ratzfiter rebbe), who was whispering a prayer to God even as the Nazis led him to his death. A Nazi officer asked him: “Do you still believe that your God will help you? Don’t you realize in what situation the Jews find themselves? They are being led to die and no one helps them. Do you still believe in divine providence?” To which Halberstam replied: “With all my heart and all my soul I believe that there is a Creator and that there is a Supreme Providence.”

Eliezer Berkovits, who cites the story in his book With God in Hell, observed: “In the moment before his death, the eighty-two year old Ratzfiter rebbe was more sure of himself and of what he represented in the world than the Nazi officer, behind whom stood all the might of world-conquering Nazi Germany. Rabbi Halberstam was not only expressing the thoughts of one hasidic rabbi, but was formulating the conviction of untold numbers of Jews from all strata of the Jewish people.”

On Tisha B’Av we recall those times in Jewish history when the power of prayer was inadequate to the moment. In acknowledging the suffering of our people, both past and present, we accept that prayer does not always have the capacity to undo all the pain of the world. Yet we still affirm the importance of prayer as a reflection of our deepest held values. Jewish beliefs and rituals have outlasted many enemies who have threatened us. Even in the face of hopelessness, prayer still serves as an anchor of lasting faith.

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Troubling theological questions simmer beneath Eicha’s surface. These questions relate to God’s nature and to the manner of the relationship between the community and God. Can humans understand God’s ways? Is God an ally or an enemy? Are the people’s sins responsible for the calamity or is it disproportionate and unjust? Is the nation defiant or remorseful? Ashamed or outraged?

These are the critical topics in the book, illustrating the intersection between emotions and theology and outlining a blueprint for coping with pain and loss.

The structure of the book both reflects and encourages theological complexity, offering two divergent approaches to suffering. In one approach, humans come to terms with God’s actions and recognize God’s justness. In the other, humans resist reconciliation and maintain a defiant posture of incomprehension and outrage.

The first approach is reflected in the book’s first and last chapters, which focus on procuring an admission of culpability from the nation. These chapters struggle with suffering — but they also struggle with sin, with the guilt and shame that accompany a confession. In the first chapter, Jerusalem acknowledges God’s righteousness and declares that the destruction occurred “because of all of my sins.” Similarly, Chapter 5 progresses toward an assumption of responsibility, with the community finally proclaiming, “Woe to us for we have sinned!” These chapters arrive at a measure of theological equilibrium, regarding sin as the cause of suffering and concluding that the world makes sense and God is just.

Chapters 2 and 4 suggest quite the opposite. Guiltless children die alongside their righteous leaders and anger is directed toward God, who lobs punitive actions angrily and disproportionately. These chapters depict the incomprehension of humans who struggle with God’s active role in their suffering. If the peripheral chapters of the book project some measure of comprehension, these chapters reflect bewilderment and outrage.

How can one book produce such different perceptions of God’s role in human suffering? The structure of the book indicates that the two opposing approaches co-exist in tension.

Chapters 1 and 5 illustrate the need to rely on simple faith, on the belief in God’s justness, and in a meaningful pattern of relationship between God and the Jewish people. Without this type of faith, the world is dark and absurd, incomprehensible and evil. Moreover, by adhering to this approach, Israel can understand how to repair its relationship with God and restore order to its world.

Nevertheless, Eicha does not rest upon facile answers. Chapters 2 and 4 face the world’s tragedies with stark frankness. Pat answers cannot explain the death of children, mass tragedy, illness, and suffering. Yet these too are part of the human experience and the relationship with God. Chapters 2 and 4 make room for the complexity of the human condition and the inability to comprehend God’s ways.

How is it possible to maintain a relationship with God within such a disquieting paradox? How does one balance simple faith in a divinely ordered world with dismay and anger over its cruelty and unfairness?

This possibility depends upon a willingness to live with complexity and uncertainty, but also upon humility and tenacity, the steadfast determination to maintain faith in both God’s goodness and human resilience.

This we see from the middle chapter, Chapter 3, which is the core of Eicha and its ideological crux. In its middle section (verses 21-39), the chapter describes a sufferer contemplating the theological and philosophic implications of suffering. In reflecting upon God’s nature, the sufferer detects not a wrathful God, but benevolence, kindness and loyalty.

The kindness of the Lord has not ended, His mercies are not spent.
They are renewed every morning— Ample is Your grace!

And later:

For the Lord does not reject forever,
But first afflicts, then pardons In His abundant kindness.
For He does not willfully bring grief or affliction to man,
Crushing under His feet all the prisoners of the earth.

These verses of hope surround the very epicenter of Eicha – the middle verses of the middle section of the middle chapter — whose subject turns abruptly from God to human beings. At the apex of the book, God does not appear at all. Instead, the individual considers the lessons that he may draw from calamity.

The section opens with this verse: “It is good for a man, when young, to bear a yoke.” This is actually the third of three consecutive verses that begin with the word tov (good), tantalizing the reader with the optimistic notion that good lies at the heart of the human experience.

Why is suffering good? Eicha does not explain how it arrives at this startling conclusion, leaving it instead to the individual to determine how pain can be constructive, a conduit to character building and a deepened relationship with God. The sufferer directs the reader to accept hardships with equanimity and regard suffering as beneficial and ennobling. At Eicha’s deepest point, it puts its faith in human resilience and the ability to survive in a broken world.

Eicha’s structure mirrors a whirlwind, its placid center engulfed by swirling misery. This design represents the shape of the sufferer’s theological experience. Two parallel rings enfold the sufferer, representing the tangled fluctuation between theodicy and outrage. Oscillating between these contradictory approaches is critical to contending adequately with the theological questions presented by loss.

Yet within the surrounding turbulence, the sufferer can find tranquility in their innermost being. Humans have the ability to combat the onslaught of hostile forces that swirl around us by drawing on the hope and faith that lie at their core. In this way, Eicha weaves a magnificent portrait of the resources and resilience that lie deep within the human soul.

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Read the full text of the Book of Lamentations in Hebrew and English on Sefaria.

The prophet basically blames Jewish immorality and idolatry for the tragedy. Yet there is a fascinating outburst in Lamentations 3 in which the believer, as it were, accuses God of being the enemy — like a lion lying in ambush to destroy his victim. The prophet comes close to losing his faith (“I thought my strength and hope in the Lord had perished”) before the memory of God’s past kindnesses restores it — barely.

The Book of Lamentations is read softly at first. The volume of the reader’s voice builds to the climax, which is sung aloud by the entire congregation: “Turn us to you, O Lord, and we will return. Renew our days as of old.”

Reprinted with permission of the author from The Jewish Way: Living the Holidays.

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Psalm 137 is recited on the eve of Tisha B’Av, which commemorates the destruction of both Temples. It opens the liturgy, and sets the tone for the day. The liturgy of Tisha B’Av includes a wide array of kinot, poems of sorrow and mourning, giving voice to themes of exile and longing. But this ancient psalm, older than the kinot, captures the pain of exile from the Land of Israel perhaps most eloquently of all. The psalm is short — only nine verses — and can be divided into three parts, each with its own themes and challenges for today’s spiritual yearners. The first four verses read as follows:

By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat, sat and wept, as we remembered Zion.

There on the poplars we hung up our lyres,

for our captors asked us there for songs, our tormentors, for amusement:

“Sing us one of the songs of Zion.”

How can we sing a song of the LORD on alien soil?

In these opening lines, we can hear the sadism of the locals as they mock the newly-arrived Israelites: “Sing us one of those spirituals from the Old Country…” Some scholars remark that the Israelite response, “How can we sing… on alien soil?” reflects another aspect of loss: the poet, like many of the exiles, is wondering whether the God of Israel can hear or act when the people are no longer in their homeland. Perhaps prophecy and prayers only “work” when the People of Israel are located in the Land of Israel? This is more than a rhetorical question: the exile commemorated on Tisha B’Av is not only about distance from a physical place, but also from God. That distance is the cause of pain and loneliness that is reflected in the psalm.

If I forget you, O Jerusalem, let my right hand wither;

let my tongue stick to my palate if I cease to think of you,

if I do not keep Jerusalem in memory even at my happiest hour.

Here, the pain of loss melts into resolve. The poet doesn’t know if God has forgotten, but the poet has not forgotten! The Temple in Jerusalem was the place where God and the people found great intimacy. The memory of this closeness is what Tisha B’Av is ultimately about: not a longing for sacrifices, but for the intimacy with God that worship evoked.

These lines are reflected in some well-known Jewish customs. In many times and places, Jews would leave a wall of their home unfinished or unpainted. This was a reminder that wherever the householder lived, it was still a place of exile until Jerusalem and its people would once again be whole. This practice is first described in the Talmud, Bava Batra 60b.

Another famous Jewish ritual reflects these verses: breaking a glass at a wedding. After all, surely the moment a couple is married must be their “happiest hour.” Shattering a glass at this moment reminds onlookers of the work still to be done, although perhaps this couple’s love is a step in bringing unity back to a fragmented world.

The final verses of the Psalm throw the reader a moral curveball:

Remember, O LORD, against the Edomites the day of Jerusalem’s fall;

how they cried, “Strip her, strip her to her very foundations!”
Fair Babylon, you predator,

a blessing on him who repays you in kind

what you have inflicted on us;

a blessing on him who seizes your babies

and dashes them against the rocks!

The violent revenge fantasy of these lines is painful to read (smashing our enemies’ babies on the rocks!); many of us wish it wasn’t there at all! In fact, many liturgies don’t print them, closing the poem after verse 6, about keeping alive the memory of Jerusalem. What might we do with these harsh words?

It is not our task to validate these violent revenge fantasies, but we can seek to understand them. The poem doesn’t claim that anyone ever did these awful things. Instead, these words reflect the anger of the victim. Imagine the victim in a concentration camp — or consider your own feelings walking through Yad Vashem or the U.S. Holocaust Museum. Is anger not a valid emotional response? Can these feelings help us empathize with other oppressed peoples, and understand that suffering and oppression easily translate into rage? The imaginary deeds we would never justify, but the seething hurt behind these sentiments make the passage extremely, and uncomfortably, powerful.

All this reflects the deep spiritual power of Tisha B’Av. We remember that, no matter where we may be, we live religiously in a state of Exile. We long for a reconciliation with God and with one another. And, through our fasting, our mourning, our kinot, and this psalm we become more compassionate with those who suffer. Because we’ve been there, too, in our Jewish history.

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In the wake of the Temple’s destruction, Judaism transformed from a religion of sacrifice to a religion of prayer and Torah study. Indeed, the rabbis of the Talmud, who lived centuries after the destruction, declared explicitly that without a Temple, Torah study and prayer took the place of sacrifice in Jewish worship. Nearly 2,000 years later, they remain utterly central to Judaism.

So some may be surprised to learn that the Talmud (Taanit 30a) prohibits Torah study on Tisha B’Av:

The Sages taught: All mitzvahs practiced by a mourner are likewise practiced on Tisha B’Av: It is prohibited to engage in eating, and in drinking, and in smearing oil on one’s body, and in wearing shoes, and in conjugal relations. It is prohibited to read from the Torah, from the Prophets, and from the Writings, or to study from the Mishnah, from the Gemara, and from midrash, and from collections of halakhah, and from collections of aggadah.

Alongside fasting and engaging in acts of self-indulgence and comfort (moisturization and footwear were counted in this category in the ancient world), Jews refrained from studying sacred literature. But why?

The answer is that Torah study brings pleasure. As Psalms 19:9 has it:

The laws of God are just, gladdening the heart,

the commandments of God are lucid, making the eyes light up.

But wait! The Book of Lamentations, one of the five megillot, is read in synagogue on Tisha B’Av. Doesn’t this violate the prohibition against Torah study?

According to the Talmud (same page, Taanit 30a) a few books are an exception to the “no Torah study” rule. Lamentations, a series of poetic laments for the destruction of Jerusalem, which is obviously fitting for the occasion, is on the list. Also included in the exception: Job, a book about the suffering of the righteous, and certain passages of Jeremiah that lament the destruction of the first Temple and upbraid Israel for their faithlessness.

Over the centuries, Jews have often understood this passage in the Talmud to mean not that Torah study is forbidden on Tisha B’Av, but that it must be restricted to passages that are mournful. Indeed, in addition to reading Lamentations, Jewish recite regular daily prayers including passages from the Torah — for instance, the Shema (even though this passage is not mournful). In synagogue, they also read Torah (the reading for Tisha B’Av is Deuteronomy 4:25–40, which describes the destruction of the Land of Israel) and haftarah (Jeremiah 8:13–9:23).

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The Multiple Tragedies

The 17th day of the Hebrew month of Tammuz is a date in which many tragedies and pitfalls happened, according to the Mishnah (Taanit 4:6). It is traditionally believed to be the date that Moses broke the original Ten Commandments tablets after coming upon the Israelites as they worshiped the Golden Calf. The Roman rulers forbade sacrifices to be made in the Second Temple on this date in 69 C.E., and, in the following year, the walls of the Old City of Jerusalem were breached. This attack led to the destruction of the Temple three weeks later.

In Hebrew, the period of the Three Weeks is known as “bein hametzarim,” or, literally, “within the straits” or “within the borders.” This name comes from a verse in the Book of Lamentations, or Eicha, which is read on Tisha B’Av:

Judah has gone into exile because of affliction, and because of great servitude. She dwelt among the nations, she found no rest; all her pursuers overtook her within the borders. (Lamentations 1:3)

This idea of borders — or “restrictions” — alludes to the additional restrictions of mourning which are traditionally taken on during this period.

Traditionally, Jews take on several mourning customs during the Three Weeks. Similar to the period of the Omer, no weddings, parties, or public celebrations are held. Some people abstain from getting haircuts and shaving. Some people also refrain from going to concerts or listening to music during this period.

The Nine Days

The last nine days of the period, starting with the first of the month of Av, occupy a special status. Foods traditionally associated with joy, such as wine and meat, are forbidden, except on Shabbat. Bathing, beyond what is absolutely necessary, is prohibited, as is doing laundry, and buying or wearing new clothes.

This culminates in the fast of Tisha B’Av, the Ninth of Av, a day that is spent entirely in mourning–by fasting, praying, sitting on stools instead of chairs, and reading the book of Lamentations. The Mishnah, in Masekhet Taanit 29b, decrees that these additional restrictions are only valid in “shavua she-hal bo,” or the week that Tisha B’Av occurs. Many Sephardic Jews only observe the restrictions within this period.

“Decreasing … in Joy”

Even though the Three Weeks mark the time of the Temple’s destruction, there are signs of hope throughout. The three haftarot read during this period, are full of admonitions and prophetic passages that warn about the consequences of sin. Yet each ends in a promise of eventual redemption.

The Talmud says, “When the month of Av enters, one should decrease in joy.” The Hasidic rebbe Rabbi Chaim Elazar Spira (1861-1937), said that, though the Talmud says to “decrease in joy,” it should be read, “decrease…in joy.” In other words, though it is proper to mourn, even in that mourning, we should do so joyously, knowing that better times are ahead.

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There are many reasons Jews fast, including atonement, communal mourning, supplication or even to express gratitude. Jews don’t fast on Shabbat or joyous holidays, so as not to interfere with the celebration (except when Shabbat coincides with Yom Kippur). 

In ancient times, public and private fasts were common and practiced throughout the course of the year, often proclaimed with short notice. For that reason, there was a widely circulated calendar, called Megillat Ta’anit (Scroll of Fasts), that listed all the days on which it was not permitted to fast. There’s also evidence that some individuals made regular fasting their own private spiritual practice. For example, during the three years that the Second Temple was besieged by the Romans, Rabbi Tzadok fasted continually in an effort to save the city. The Shulchan Aruch discusses examples of people who fasted every day and became so accustomed to it they found it difficult to eat. These are extreme examples, but what’s clear is that Judaism has built the structure for an abundant cycle of both fasting and feasting.

Here are ten possible reasons Jews might be fasting:

1. It’s a major fast day

There are two major fast days on the Jewish calendar. The best known is Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement. On that day Jews abstain from all food and drink, as well as wearing leather, bathing, intimacy and other luxuries so that they can focus on the sanctity of the day. Fasting on this day is for atonement.

The other major Jewish fast day is Tisha B’Av, which commemorates the destruction of both Temples in ancient times as well as other catastrophes that have befallen the Jewish people, from the Crusades to the Holocaust. This day, too, is marked by a full fast that extends from sundown to sundown; in this case it is a mourning ritual.

2. It’s a minor fast day

In addition to Yom Kippur and Tisha B’Av, there are four minor fast days on the Jewish calendar. These are observed only during daylight hours, which means they begin at sunrise and are completed at sundown the same day. Three of these fasts are connected to the destruction of the Temples: 

1. Tzom Gedalia, observed on the 3rd of Tishrei (the day after Rosh Hashanah), this fast commemorates the murder of the Jewish governor of Judah, an act that was considered a tipping point leading to the destruction of the First Temple. 
2. Asarah B’Tevet, the Tenth of Tevet, marks the beginning of Nebuchadnezzar’s siege of Jerusalem — also a precursor to the destruction of the First Temple. 
3. Shiva Asar B’Tammuz, the 17th of Tammuz, commemorates the day on which the Romans breached the walls of the Second Temple. 

The fourth minor fast is Taanit Esther, the Fast of Esther. On the day before Purim, many Jews fast just as Esther fasted before she went to see King Ahasuerus and request that the decree of death against the Jews be lifted. (Note: If Purim falls on a Sunday, the fast is not held on Shabbat or even Erev Shabbat, but moved back to the Thursday before Purim.)

3. It’s their wedding day

There is a tradition of fasting on the day of one’s wedding from sunrise until the ceremony is complete, so that the couple eat for the first time that day when they are together in yichud (a brief period of seclusion after the marriage ceremony is complete). This is not a requirement (halakhah), but a custom (minhag), and it is more common in Ashkenazi communities than Sephardi communities.

There are several explanations for this practice. One is that the wedding day atones for the sins of the two partners and therefore it is, for them, like a personal Yom Kippur. Another is that the fast prevents the newlyweds — who may be tempted by all the booze at the pre-wedding banquets — from arriving at the huppah intoxicated. Marriage is a serious obligation and should be undertaken in a fully sober state.

4. It’s their conversion day

Converting to Judaism is often a lengthy and intense process that culminates with immersion in a mikveh (ritual bath). Some choose to fast on the day of their immersion until they emerge from the mikveh. 

In a rabbinic responsa, the 20th-century halakhic authority Rabbi Moshe Feinstein explained that a convert fasts on the day of immersion to atone for sins committed prior to conversion and compares the custom to a groom fasting on his wedding day.  

5. It’s Erev Passover

This fast applies specifically to firstborns (traditionally first sons) and commemorates the tenth plague on Egypt which took the lives of all firstborn Egyptians, while firstborn Israelites whose homes were marked with lamb’s blood were spared. This fast is observed from sunrise on the 14th of Nisan until the Passover seder that evening.

6. It’s Sigd

Sigd is an Ethiopian Jewish holiday observed 50 days after Yom Kippur on the 29th of Heshvan. Traditionally, Sigd is marked by fasting from sunrise until mid-afternoon. 

According to Beta Israel tradition, the individual’s sins are forgiven by God on Yom Kippur, while communal introspection and repentance occurs during the 50 days following Yom Kippur. Sigd is believed to be the day that God would forgive all communal sins, as well as the date on which God first revealed himself to Moses. 

Most of the Ethiopian Jewish community is concentrated in Israel, where a national Sigd celebration is held in Jerusalem annually. 

7. It’s an emergency

An entire tractate of the Talmud, Ta’anit, explores the rules around fasting in response to a communal emergency such as a drought, plague or a marauding army. Sometimes, these fasts are observed only by certain leaders in the community, and sometimes by all adults. Usually they are daylight fasts held on Monday and Thursday and can last just a few days or go on for weeks, depending on the emergency. Fasting in the face of disaster is less common in modern times, but some Jews in Israel did declare a fast in response to the coronavirus pandemic in 2020.

8. It’s “Little” Yom Kippur

The custom of fasting on the day before each Rosh Chodesh (first of the Hebrew month) seems to have originated with the kabbalists of Safed. It was never a fast observed by the entire community, but the reserve of particularly pious members. Dubbed Yom Kippur Katan, or “Little Yom Kippur,” as the name implies this is a day of fasting for atonement, allowing the participant to enter the new month with a clean slate. The inspiration for Yom Kippur Katan comes from the biblical prescription to bring a sin offering on the first of every month (Numbers 28:15).

Yom Kippur Katan is not observed for four months of the year. The days before Rosh Chodesh Tishrei and Rosh Chodesh Heshvan are not considered Yom Kippur Katan because of their proximity to Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. The days before Rosh Chodesh Tevet and Rosh Chodesh Nisan are also not fast days because the first falls during Hanukkah and the second is similarly part of the Passover season. If the last day of a month falls on a Shabbat, Yom Kippur Katan is moved back to Thursday.

9. They had a bad dream

Jewish tradition takes dreams seriously. Joseph’s dreams came true, after all, as did the dreams he interpreted for the pharaoh and his servants. And in the Talmud, Rav Hisda teaches: “A dream not interpreted is like a letter unread.” (Berakhot 55a) So a bad dream is not just unpleasant; it can be a dangerous omen. To reverse possible future misfortune that one learns of in a dream, there is a tradition of fasting the day after one has had such a dream to affect atonement. In fact, according to the Shulchan Aruch, one may fast on the day following a bad dream even if that happens to be Shabbat — a day fasting is normally prohibited. But if you do, then you should also fast the next day as well (Sunday) to atone for fasting on Shabbat! (Shulchan Aruch, Orach Chayim, 288:4)

10. Someone dropped a Torah scroll

There is a common belief that Jews who witness a Torah scroll being dropped must fast for 40 days (daylight only). The sources for this practice are murky, but some contemporary congregations have responded to a dropped Torah in this way.

The post When Do Jews Fast? appeared first on My Jewish Learning.

A three-week mourning period preceding Tisha B’Av begins on the 17th day of the month of Tammuz. According to the Mishnah, this was the day the Romans succeeded in breaching the walls of Jerusalem in 70 C.E.; the Mishnah also mentions other tragic events that occurred on this day in Tammuz. This three-week period leading up to the major fast of Tisha B’Av is called “Bayn Ha-Metsarim“–“in the Straits.” Traditional Jews do not get married or celebrate other joyous festivities in these three weeks.

Before the Holiday

Nine days prior to Tisha B’Av, a new period of more intense mourning begins. Traditional Jews do not eat meat, cut their hair, or wash their clothes unless they are to be worn again during the nine days. All these actions are considered signs of joy or luxury inappropriate for this time of mourning. Reform, Reconstructionist, and Conservative Jews adopt a varied range of these practices.

The Shabbat immediately preceding the festival is Shabbat Hazon (vision). The name derives from the haftarah (prophetic reading) for the day. Taken from Isaiah 1, the reading describes Isaiah’s vision of national disaster befalling the Israelites because of their sins.

Tisha B’Av cannot be observed on Shabbat, so if the date falls on Shabbat, the festival is postponed until Sunday. On such occasions, there are some small changes to Maariv (the evening service) on Shabbat. Also, during havdalah (the concluding ceremony of Sabbath), the blessing over the wine is postponed until after the fast on Sunday night, though the blessing over the twisted candle is still said at the close of Shabbat.

The Fast Begins

Tisha B’Av is a full fast day, so the last meal must be eaten before sunset prior to the ninth of Av. This meal marking the boundary between periods of eating and fasting is called the “seudah ha-mafseket.” The meal often is comprised of round foods like eggs or lentils, which symbolize mourning in Jewish tradition because they evoke the cycle of life. Some people eat an egg or bread sprinkled with ashes, and some Jews may sit on the ground during the meal. The birkat hamazon (grace after meals) is said individually and in silence.

In addition to abstaining from food or drink during Tisha B’Av, Jewish tradition also mandates refraining from wearing leather, engaging in sexual relations, washing one’s body, and using perfume or other such ointments. Visiting cemeteries on this day is encouraged, as if to heighten the sadness.

Uniquely on Tisha B’Av, Torah study, meant to be joyful, is not permitted. Some parts of the Bible or Talmud are allowed, like Job or Jeremiah, or sections of the Talmud or Midrash that discuss the destruction of Jerusalem. In the synagogue, the lights are dimmed and the ornamental parokhet (covering) is removed from the ark as a sign of mourning before the evening service. Congregants remove their leather shoes and do not greet each other.

Prayers & Customs

Megillat Eicha (the Scroll of Lamentations)–which is a lament for the destruction of the First Temple — is chanted during the Maariv service, along with several kinot, elegies or dirges written at different periods of Jewish history. The kinot speak of the suffering and pain of Jewish tragedy through the ages. An extended set of kinot are traditionally recited during the morning service, and some communities repeat the chanting of Eicha in the morning as well. The traditional Torah reading is Deuteronomy 4:25-40 and the Haftarah is Jeremiah 8:13-9:23, which is chanted to the same tune as Lamentations the night before.

Tallit (prayer shawl) and tefillin (phylacteries), usually worn during morning services, are instead worn during Minchah (the afternoon service). During Mincha, prayers that were omitted in the morning are recited. The Torah and Haftarah are the same as on other public fasts.

The meal ending the fast traditionally omits meat and wine, in acknowledgment of the fact that the burning of the Temple continued until the next day. Finally, the sorrow that began on the 17th of Tammuz comes to a halt and the Shabbat immediately following Tishah B’Av is called Shabbat Nahamu (Shabbat of comfort) because the Haftarah begins with the words “nahamu nahamu ami” (“comfort, comfort my people”). This begins a period of consolation and comfort leading up to Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year.

The post Tisha B’Av Rituals and Practices appeared first on My Jewish Learning.

1. What calamities does Tisha B’Av commemorate?

Traditionally, both Temples were destroyed on Tisha B’Av. The first Temple was destroyed by the Babylonians in 586 BCE, and the second by the Romans in 70 CE. But other calamities have also befallen the Jewish people on or near this date. King Edward I signed an edict compelling all Jewish subjects to leave England just before Tisha B’Av in 1290 (that expulsion would last 350 years). WWI also broke out just a few days before Tisha B’Av. But beyond these, Tisha B’Av is traditionally a day to commemorate many other tragedies that have befallen the Jewish people including the Crusades, the pogroms, and the Holocaust.

2. Why this day in particular?

Was it a coincidence that both Temples were destroyed on the 9^th of Av, a day that happens to fall at the blazingly hot height of summer? As Midrash (Jewish legend) explains it, the Temples were destroyed on the 9^th of Av because it was on that day that the spies, send out by Moses to reconnoiter the land of Israel in preparation for the Israelites to enter, brought back a negative report of the Promised Land.

3. What can’t Jews do on Tisha B’Av?

Traditionally, Jews fast – meaning they take no food or drink from sunset to sunset. Jews also do not wear leather or other luxurious garments, do not anoint themselves with make-up or creams, and abstain from intimate relations.

4. What are the major practices of Tisha B’Av?

Jews sit on the floor in the dark (usually with only candlelight to read) and chant the Book of Lamentations (Eicha).

5. Is this a day when Jews avoid work, like Shabbat or Rosh Hashanah?

No, there is no restriction on work on Tisha B’Av, as long as the tone of the day remains serious and mournful.

6. If I am not near a synagogue, how can I observe Tisha B’Av on my own?

Although there is great value in observing Jewish holidays in community, there are many ways to bring the thoughts and experiences of Tisha B’Av into your day even if you are not near one. You can fast and refrain from both forbidden and enjoyable activities, read Lamentations, and say the kinnot (religious poetic elegies). You can reflect on contemporary calamities that have befallen the Jewish people, including the rise of bigotry and anti-Semitism. Tisha B’Av is also a good day to be moved to actions that work toward repairing the world. It would be appropriate to make a charitable donation, write a senator, or set aside some time to volunteer where you are needed.

If you are not near a synagogue, but have Jewish friends in the area, you can invite them to join you in some of these activities. There are also some online Tisha B’Av experiences now, including this one.

7. Why do we fast on Tisha B’Av?

There are several reasons. First, fasting fosters a longing that is key to the experience of Tisha B’Av, which is not just about remembering the destruction but viscerally feeling some of that experience. Second, fasting connects Jews to their history, to the generations going back now 2,000 years who have done the same — and also to future generations who will also fast. It is powerful to feel that one is doing the same thing as one’s ancestors and those yet to come.

8. But mourners don’t fast. In fact, people bring mourners lots of food. So why do we fast to simulate mourning?

Tisha B’Av is different from mourning a loved one — especially because most people do not enter the holiday having recently lost someone. Mourners generally don’t feel like eating, so friends bring them food to help them feel stronger. On Tisha B’Av, we are in something of the opposite situation. We are trying to put ourselves in a temporary state of anxiety, desolation, and despair. Depriving ourselves of food is one way to put ourselves in an active state of discomfort so we can connect with tragedies of our past.

9. Are we really supposed to be nothing but gloomy?

It’s true that we are meant to experience the mourning and desolation our ancestors did when they were forced into exile. But the prophet Isaiah also criticized Israel for fasting without committing to goodness and kindness:

No, this is the fast I desire:

To unlock fetters of wickedness,

And untie the cords of the yoke To let the oppressed go free;

To break off every yoke. It is to share your bread with the hungry,

And to take the wretched poor into your home;

When you see the naked, to clothe him,

And not to ignore your own kin. (Isaiah 58:6-7)

It is totally appropriate to take energy from the pain of historical remembrance and do something with it that’s positive in the world.

10. How can I talk about Tisha B’Av with my children?

You can start by explaining what the Temple in Jerusalem was and that it was the center of Jewish life and practice for hundreds of years. Then, in an age-appropriate way, you can also talk about how some people thought that Jews should not be allowed to practice their Judaism in the way they wanted to. You can also talk about the ways that Jerusalem generally, and the site of the Temple specifically, are still important to Jews today (for instance, we face the Temple Mount to pray). You can also talk about goals for rebuilding whether, for you, that means rebuilding the Temple or working toward a messianic era of love and kindness.

11. Does the Vatican really have the artifacts that were stolen from the Temple by the Romans 2,000 years ago? Did Israel really ask for them back.

We don’t know if the Vatican has those items or if they have been lost to history, perhaps melted down or destroyed. But we do know that they were stolen: the menorah is clearly depicted in the Arch of Titus (pictured above) which celebrates the Romans bringing back spoils from Jerusalem. Israeli president Moshe Katzav did ask for them to be returned.

12. Why don’t we wear Tallit and Tefillin on the morning of Tisha B’Av?

On Tisha B’Av, we simulate the Jewish rupture from God. Since Tallit and Tefillin connect us to God, we don’t wear them so that we feel our disconnection more deeply. In the afternoon, however, when we are starting to reconnect, we do wear these ritual garments again.

The post Tisha B’Av FAQ appeared first on My Jewish Learning.

Tisha B’Av Ideas & Beliefs

Although the exact date of the destruction of each of the Temples–the ancient centers of Jewish life and practice–are unknown, tradition dates the events to Tisha B’Av. Indeed, the rabbis of the Talmudic age made the claim that God ordained this day as a day of disaster as punishment for the lack of faith evidenced by the Israelites during their desert wanderings after the exodus from Egypt. During the course of the centuries, a number of tragedies have clustered around this day, from the expulsions of the Jews from England and Spain to more localized disasters. Tisha B’Av is therefore observed as a day of communal mourning, which is expressed through fasting and the abstention from pleasurable activities and extraneous diversions. A whole literature of dirges appropriate to this day of mourning, beginning with the biblical Book of Lamentations on the destruction of the First Temple, has been created to serve the needs of the Jewish community at this time.

Tisha B’Av Rituals & Practices

A three week period of low-level mourning leads up to the holiday of Tisha B’Av; the three weeks commemorate the final siege of Jerusalem that led to the Second Temple’s destruction in 70 C.E. During this period it is traditional to refrain from public celebrations, such as weddings, and many traditional men refrain from shaving, reflecting their practice during personal mourning periods. The last nine days of these three weeks culminating in Tisha B’Av are an even deeper period of mourning, during which traditional Jews avoid eating meat; some who did not previously take on certain aspects of mourning, such as refraining from shaving, will assume these signs of mourning during these nine days.

Tisha B’Av itself is a day of intense mourning, whose practice mirrors that of Yom Kippur in many respects. It is a day of fasting, on which one also is to refrain from washing, sexual activity, using perfume and other such ointments, and wearing leather. The Book of Lamentations (Megillat Eicha) and other dirges (kinot) are read in the synagogue.

Find prayer resources for Tisha B’Av services here.

Visits to cemeteries reflect the mood of the day, which continues even at the break fast meal at the conclusion of Tisha B’Av, when neither meat nor wines are traditionally consumed.

The post Tisha B’Av 101 appeared first on My Jewish Learning.

All this came to a screeching halt in 70 CE when the Temple was destroyed in a devastating war with the Romans. In its wake, rabbinic Judaism (the Judaism practiced by virtually all Jews today) and its central text, the Talmud, laid the foundation for Jewish ritual and worship in a world without the Temple. 

Though the Temple is long gone, it is far from forgotten. The construction of the Temple is described in great detail in the Hebrew Bible, and its practices are meticulously documented and parsed in the Talmud. An entire annual holiday — Tisha B’Av — is given over to mourning its absence from Jewish life. And a piece of the Temple — the western retaining wall of the platform on which it stood, called the Kotel or Western Wall — is today one of the holiest sites for Jews.

Even though remembering the Temple remains a central part of Jewish practice today, it can be difficult to grasp just how central the Temple was to ancient Jewish life. Here are 12 facts that help illustrate what the ancient Temple was really like, and what it has meant to Jews throughout history.

1. There were actually two Temples on the same spot

The first Temple, built by King Solomon in approximately 1000 BCE, was destroyed by the Babylonians in 586 BCE. When the Persians conquered the Babylonians almost a century later, they agreed to let the Jewish leaders who had been taken into exile return to the land of Israel where they would rebuild the Temple. This Second Temple stood for hundreds more years, then was thoroughly renovated and expanded by Herod the Great in the last few decades before the beginning of the Common Era. The Second Temple was destroyed by the Romans in 70 CE.

According to Jewish tradition, both Temples were destroyed on the ninth day of the month of Av. Tisha B’Av (literally: Ninth of Av) commemorates the destruction of both Temples, as well as other disasters in Jewish history, both ancient and modern.

2. The Temple was built on a mountain that goes by many names

Jerusalem is in the hill country. The Temple was situated on one particular rise that goes by many names in the Hebrew scriptures. The Torah never identifies the mountain, but simply talks about “the place God will choose to rest His name” (e.g. Deuteronomy 12). 

The specific mountain is identified in Isaiah and the Book of Psalms as Mount Zion (e.g. Isaiah 60:14, Psalms 125:1). The biblical Book of Chronicles, however, calls it Mount Moriah (2 Chronicles 3:1). Micah 4:1 refers to it generically as Har Beit Adonai — meaning “The Mount of the House of the Lord.” Jeremiah 26:18 shortens this to Har HaBayit, “The Mountain of the House,” commonly translated as the Temple Mount. This last name, Temple Mount, is used frequently in the Mishnah and Talmud and other rabbinic literature.

3. The Temple stood on the spot where the world began

According to the Talmud, on the top of Mount Moriah is a foundation stone from which God created the whole world (Yoma 54b). This same foundation stone later lay under the Holy of Holies, the most sacred room of the Temple. Ancient interpreters also believed that more than a millennium before the Temple was built, the stone was the site of the Binding of Isaac.

4. The exact location of the Temple is still debated today

The Temple definitely stood on the Temple Mount — that has always been an agreed fact and has been confirmed by archaeologists. However, where exactly it stood is a matter of debate. Some believe that it was in the exact location of the Dome of the Rock, a Muslim shrine (highly recognizable on the Jerusalem skyline) which houses the foundation stone. Another view agrees with a statement in the Talmud (Berakhot 54a) which says it was aligned with the Eastern Gate, which would place it slightly north of the Dome of the Rock. There is also a theory that it was situated slightly east of the Dome of the Rock.

5. After the First Temple was destroyed, the priests returned the keys to God

Taanit 29a describes a remarkable scene that took place as the First Temple was being destroyed by the Babylonians:

When the Temple was destroyed for the first time, many groups of young priests gathered together with the Temple keys in their hands. And they ascended to the roof of the Sanctuary and said before God: Master of the Universe, since we did not merit to be faithful treasurers, and the Temple is being destroyed, let the Temple keys be handed to You. (Taanit 29a)

The priests’ final act of divine service was to throw the keys up to heaven, where a divine hand reached out of the clouds to catch them. Then the priests threw themselves into the flames consuming the Temple.

6. The Temple was enormous

Picturing something the size of a synagogue? Not even close. In the first century, when Herod renovated the Temple, he began by building a retaining wall around the Temple Mount and then constructing a platform over the top, turning the mount into a four-sided plateau 37 acres in area. 

Pictured: A 1:50 scaled model of the Second Temple and the Old City as it is believed to have looked in 66 CE. The model is located at the Israel Museum in Jerusalem, Israel.

The Temple complex itself contained a series of courtyards surrounding the central room, the Holy of Holies, which was only entered once a year, on Yom Kippur, by the high priest. In addition to the large courtyards and Holy of Holies, the Temple complex contained many other storage and administrative rooms, plus numerous ritual baths for purification. The whole system was fed by an aqueduct that brought water from 10 kilometers away, and it was protected by high walls and a series of gates.

To get a sense of the scale, consider that the Kotel, the famous Western Wall that is a central Jewish holy site, is what remains of just a piece of the western side of the retaining wall built around the Temple Mount.

7. The Temple was messy — and smelly

The primary purpose of the Temple and its staff (the priests and Levites) was to offer sacrifices to God. It was open for business 365 days a year. Many of these sacrifices were animals that were brought live into the Temple and slaughtered in the courtyard before some or all of their flesh and/or blood was offered on the altar. On pilgrimage festivals, all of Israel came from near and far to offer sacrifices. As a result, the courtyard of the Temple ran almost constantly with animal blood, while the smell of sacrifices on the fire probably pervaded most of Jerusalem. (The smell was largely the point — that fragrant smoke is what went up to God.) 

Some sacrificial blood was carefully collected and sprinkled on the altar as part of the ritual. Much of it, however, was rinsed away via channels that were built into the floor and conducted it out to the nearby Kidron River. The water of this river, enriched by this blood, was sold to farmers as fertilizer (Mishnah Yoma 5:6). Despite this impressive ancient plumbing system, the Temple stones required regular deep cleaning. Mishnah Middot chapter 3 indicates that there was also a schedule for whitewashing the stones of the Temple, as well as the altar and ramp leading up to it. 

8. The Second Temple was missing a few key items

In Tractate Yoma of the Babylonian Talmud, the Gemara lists significant items in the First Temple that were not in the Second Temple:

The Ark of the Covenant, and the Ark cover upon it, and the cherubs that were on the cover; fire; and the Divine Presence; and the Divine Spirit; and the urim v’tummim (the stones in the high priest’s breastplate). (Yoma 21b)

Some of the most religiously charged items in the First Temple were apparently already lost to history in the time of the Second Temple. Whereas the first Holy of Holies contained the Ark of the Covenant that housed the Ten Commandments Moses had brought down from Sinai (both pairs: the one he smashed when he discovered the Golden Calf and its replacement), the second Holy of Holies stood empty. Likewise, the special stones the high priest used for divination purposes (urim v’tummim). Even God’s presence, this text suggests, which literally dwelt in the First Temple, was absent from the second.

There is a rabbinic legend (Shekalim 16) that the Ark of the Covenant was not destroyed with the First Temple, but secreted away beneath one of the flagstones in the floor of the Temple. When a priest accidentally discovered it and tried to tell others, God smote him before he could get the words out. Clearly, it was meant to stay hidden.

9. The Temple was a party zone

Think Jewish Temple worship was all serious business? Not at all. Joy was an integral aspect of Jewish worship. On Sukkot in particular, the Temple became the site of a carnival that, according to the Talmud, was unlike anything else around:

One who did not see the festival of water-drawing never saw celebration in his days. (Sukkah 51a)

The Talmud continues describing Simchat Beit Hashoevah, the water-drawing festival. During this nighttime celebration, golden candelabras hoisted onto poles burned so brightly they illuminated the entire city. The festival featured dancing, juggling, singing and a full orchestra of Levite musicians.

10. Synagogues are designed to mirror the Temple

Since it was destroyed for the second time in 70 CE, Jews have not been able to worship at the Temple. But elements of the Temple ritual are brought into Jewish practice, including in the architecture of the synagogue. The ark of the synagogue, which houses the Torah scrolls, mirrors both the Ark of the Covenant that held the original Ten Commandments and also the Holy of Holies, the chamber where it was stored — which was also screened by a curtain. The ner tamid, or eternal light, that hangs above the ark recalls the fire of the altar. And in synagogues where men and women sit separately, the women’s section is called the ezrat nashim, the courtyard of the women, as was the area of the Temple permitted to women.

As the synagogue mirrors the Temple, the prayers said inside it are explicitly linked to the sacrifices. In particular, the three traditional recitations of the Amidah each day — Shacharit (morning), Mincha (afternoon), and Maariv (evening) — parallel the sacrifices offered at those times in the Temple.

11. Real Temple treasures might still be in the Vatican

The Arch of Titus, a first-century monument built to celebrate the destruction of Jerusalem, depicts the Romans marching back to Rome after having destroyed the Second Temple. Their hands are full of treasure, including vessels of gold and silver and the famous seven-branched menorah made entirely of pure gold that was lit at all times in the Temple. Though these treasures have never been recovered, some speculate they may remain locked in the vaults of the Vatican.

12. Jews don’t agree about whether a Third Temple should be built

For thousands of years, Jews have mourned the destruction of the Temple on Tisha B’Av and prayed for its reconstruction. But it has never happened, even now that a Jewish state exists in the land of Israel. There are many reasons for this.

First, the Temple Mount is under Muslim authority and home to a sacred Islamic shrine, the Dome of the Rock. A Temple could not be built on that spot without destroying it. 

Second, not all Jews believe God has granted them authority to rebuild the Temple. Many hold that only God will build it. 

Third, Judaism has flourished for thousands of years without a Temple. Since the rabbis say that Torah study and prayer can replace Temple service, there is less urgency to bring back a Temple. And many Jews agree with Maimonides that sacrifices are no longer the best way to worship God. Early leaders in the Reform movement even named their houses of worship temples to signify they had abandoned the traditional Jewish longing to rebuild the Temple. 

There are, however, a minority of Jews who are preparing to build a Third Temple, by studying Temple worship practices and constructing implements to be used in the Temple when it is rebuilt.

The post 12 Things To Know About the Temple in Jerusalem appeared first on My Jewish Learning.

The word kinah is already found in the Bible, where it indicates an elegy or lament (Ezekiel 19:1 and Amos 5:1). In rabbinic times, the term kinah was associated with mourning practices. At burials, kinot would be sung to pull at the heartstrings of those who suffered a loss Mishnah Moed Kattan 3:9. According to one teaching, even poor people could not be denied a singer of dirges at their funeral. Mishnah Ketubot 4:4

On Tisha B’Av, we are all mourners, and we all join together in the recitation of communal laments. In fact, Eicha, the biblical book we read in synagogue on the holiday, was originally called Sefer Kinot, a fact that is reflected in its English name: the Book of Lamentations. The purpose of reciting Eicha was to “arouse one’s heart to mourn,” according to one rabbinic teaching.

But apparently Eicha wasn’t enough. Toward the end of the talmudic period, poets began writing special pieces for Tisha B’Av. The scholar E. Daniel Goldschmidt claims that originally the poems were added into the middle of the Amidah prayer, in the blessing about rebuilding Jerusalem. Some time later, the poems shifted to later in the service, after the special Torah reading for Tisha B’Av. That spot in the service was expansive, and the number of poems grew. It is not uncommon for some communities to recite 40 or more kinot during the Tish’a B’av morning service. Later still, the kinot’s effectiveness and popularity led them to be included in the nighttime service for Tisha B’Av as well, following the reading of Eicha.

The first known poet to write kinot was Eleazar Ha-Kallir, the finest creative literary mind of 6th-century Palestine. Kallir drew on hundreds of midrashim and biblical verses to craft poems that abound in allusions. A single line might include multiple references to rabbinic legends and images, all while fitting a rhyme and/or meter.

One example of Kallir’s brilliance is the kinah Im Tochalna Nashim Piryam, an elegy to merciful women who, in the crisis of the Temple’s destruction, ended up turning on their children instead of protecting them. An alphabetical acrostic, each line draws upon a verse from Eicha or, more often, a midrash based on its verses. The lines are followed by a refrain: Allelai Li (“I cried out”), a quote from the Book of Job.

In one line, Kallir deftly describes a trick played on Jewish refugees who had escaped from Jerusalem. Originally detailed in the Jerusalem Talmud, the story concerns 80,000 young priests who sought shelter with the descendants of Abraham’s son Ishmael. They asked for water, but their hosts gave them salty foods. Then they brought out water skins, but instead of refreshing liquid, there was nothing but hot air inside. Thinking they were going to taste water, the priests were tricked into ingesting the air, distending their bellies and killing them. Kallir memorializes this story in the line: “When their breath burned from salty foods and blown up skins, I cried out.”

This is just one of 22 tragedies recounted line by line in this kinah, one of 50 Kallir wrote for Tisha B’Av.

Following Kallir, dozens of poets wrote kinot that covered a wide range of tragic subjects: the destruction of the first and second Temples, the experience of exile, the death of prominent rabbis, and the rituals of the bygone Temple period. But many poems also focused on the sins of Israel as a cause of this suffering, although some end with a plea for redemption because the suffering far outweighed any deserved punishment. A particularly popular story that found its way into the poems was the death of Zecharia ben Yehoyada, a biblical priest and prophet who fell victim to internal Jewish strife. Much later suffering stemmed from the Jewish people turning a blind eye to this murder.

During the Middle Ages, the number of kinot continued to grow. Many dealt with more contemporary tragedies: Jewish deaths during the Crusades, the burning of the Talmud in Paris in 1242 and, in the last century, the Holocaust. The series of kinot ends with poems longing for Zion, including Yehuda HaLevi’s poem Tzion Halo Tish’ali. In many traditions, the final poem in the kinot series is Eli Zion, which first appeared in the 14th century and yearns for a rebuilt Zion.

The post Kinot: Poems of Lament appeared first on My Jewish Learning.

The nine days culminate in the fast of Tisha B’Av, the Ninth of Av, a day that is spent entirely in mourning —by fasting, praying, sitting on stools instead of chairs and reading the Book of Lamentations. The Mishnah, in Masekhet Taanit 29b, decrees that these additional restrictions are only valid in “shavua she-hal bo,” or the week that Tisha B’Av occurs. Many Sephardic Jews observe the restrictions only within this period.

The post What Are the Nine Days? appeared first on My Jewish Learning.

What is Tisha B’Av?

Tisha B’Av is the major day of communal mourning. First and foremost Tisha B’Av commemorates the destruction of both the first and second temples in Jerusalem (586 B.C.E, and 70 C.E respectively), but many other travesties have occurred on the same date.

How is Tisha B’Av observed?

On Tisha B’Av Eicha (the book of Lamentations) is read with a unique nusah, a special melody.

As a sign of mourning it is customary to fast, refrain from bathing, wearing leather shoes, and having sexual relations.

Learn more about Tisha B’Av rituals and practices.

Watch a recording of My Jewish Learning’s class on The Rituals of Tisha B’Av, led by Dafna Siegman.

The post Tisha B’Av 2021 appeared first on My Jewish Learning.

The historical veracity of this tale is questionable, but the talmudic narrative encapsulates an important shift in the political and religious life of the Jewish people following the destruction of the Second Temple. The story of the founding of Yavneh represents the birth of rabbinic Judaism, a way of life focused on Torah and Jewish law, rather than Temple worship or political sovereignty.

From a distance of 2,000 years, it appears that this shift in priorities enabled the spiritual wealth of Israel to become migratory, based on Torah study, not on the location of an altar or a King’s palace — Jerusalem to Yavneh, to the North of Israel, to Babylonia, and finally throughout the Diaspora. Were the rabbis willing to remodel the former Jewish kingdom into a wandering people unified only by a shared text? Were they enthusiastic about this shift, which empowered scholar over priest and King? Or was the founding of Yavneh a contingency plan, meant to preserve Jewish identity during the years of Roman rule, always awaiting a return to Jewish sovereignty in the Land of Israel?

The stories told in the Talmud and Midrash offer a window into the rabbis’ perspectives, many of whom were already living comfortably in the Diaspora at a distance of hundreds of years from the Temple’s destruction.

The Bar Kochba Revolt

If the story of the founding of Yavneh suggests that the rabbis were content to leave the institutions of Statehood and Temple in the past, the figure of Rabbi Akiva — who lived two generations after Ben Zakkai — complicates this narrative.

Akiva supported the Bar Kochba Revolt (132-136) and even believed that Bar Kochba himself would be the Messiah. In one famous vignette in the Talmud, Akiva is walking with a group of his colleagues near the ruins of the Temple. The group witnesses a fox running over the desolated Holy of Holies. While his companions cry, Rabbi Akiva laughs. The other sages balk at his reaction, but he explains: “Now that I have seen the prophesies of destruction fulfilled, I believe that the prophesies of redemption will be as well.” (Makkot 24b)

For Akiva, the promise of redemption is very real — and, indeed, lurking right around the corner. The paradigm of destruction followed by Messianic redemption was deep-seated in rabbinic thought. Their expectations were molded by the experience of the destruction of the First Temple, which led to the  Babylonian exile but was swiftly followed by a return to Israel and the building of the Second Temple. Some historians suggest that the supporters of Bar Kochba were anxiously anticipating Bar Kochba’s victory to lead to such a restoration.

However, Akiva’s support for the rebellion is judged foolhardy by the majority of sages. In response to Akiva’s belief in the Messiah’s nearing, one colleague scoffs: “Akiba, grass will grow out of your jawbones [out of your grave], and he will still not have come.” (Lamentations Rabbah 2:5 & Jerusalem Talmud, Ta’anit 4:8). Lamentations Rabbah briefly records Rabbi Akiva’s optimism, but the narrator swiftly crushes this spirit by brutally recounting the story of the defeat of the revolt, as well as criticizing Bar Kochba.

Passively Awaiting the Redemption

Though we can’t pinpoint a specific moment of change, rabbinic thought came to accept the reality of subjugation. The Talmud describes a contract of sorts in which the Jews swear not to return to Israel by force, not to rebel against the nations, and not to extend or prematurely shorten the length of their exile; God then promises to prevent the subjugating nations from overly oppressing the Jews while they live under foreign rule. (Ketubot 110b-111a).

Does the rabbinic acceptance of exile mean that the rabbis of the Talmud abandoned the idea of Israel as the singular spiritual capital? There is no simple answer. Following Bar Kochba’s rebellion, yeshivas (houses of study) continued to flourish in both Israel and Babylonia. In fact many talmudic texts describe rabbis traveling back and forth, fueling a friendly rivalry between these two centers of Judaism. While some rabbis in the Talmud extol the value of learning in Israel, and make decrees against those who would leave, Babylonian rabbis place such a premium on their yeshivas that they too forbid their students to leave Babylonia (Ketubot 110b).

An Abiding Love for Israel

Talmudic descriptions of the exceptional nature of the Land of Israel are split as well. The Talmud’s statement that “It is better to live in Israel even when it is overrun by non-Jews” seemingly encourages Jews to remain in Israel even as the Jewish population there began to dwindle (Ketubot 112). On the other hand, the Talmud describes the Land of Israel as a magical place, where cake and silk clothing grow straight from the ground (Ketubot 111b). This type of description propels the Land of Israel into a myth, a place of perfection and fantasy, reserved for a far-off redemption.

Perhaps it is possible to discern two streams of rabbinic thought — one holding on to a realistic dream of strengthening Jewish settlement in the land; the other content to live in the Diaspora and relegate Israel to a distant reverie, symbolizing an eschatological end of days.

Even as he established his yeshiva in Yavneh, Johanan Ben Zakkai’s facile acceptance of Roman rule perhaps belies his true feelings. He flatters the Roman general with a verse: “Jerusalem will be captured by a ‘mighty one’.” While Johanan’s meekness towards Rome wins the Jews a modicum of protection, the subtext of his flattery is quite subversive. In its original biblical context, “the mighty one” refers to the Jewish messiah, not to a foreign conqueror! It is as if Ben Zakkai is actually teasing the Roman general–who is unfamiliar with the Bible — saying: We will accept your temporary rule, study our Torah, and bide our time.

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Out of approximately four to five million Jews in the world, over a million died in that abortive war for independence. Many died of starvation, others by fire and crucifixion. So many Jews were sold into slavery and given over to the gladiatorial arenas and circuses that the price of slaves dropped precipitously, fulfilling the ancient curse: “There you will be offered for sale as slaves, and there will be no one willing to buy” (Deuteronomy 28:68). The destruction was preceded by events so devastating that they read like scenes out of the Holocaust.

Hear the words of the ancient Jewish historian, Josephus:

Famine: “Famine overcomes all other passions and is destructive of modesty… Wives pulled the morsels that their husbands were eating out of their very mouths and children did the same to their fathers and so did mothers to their infants, and when those that were most dear to them were perishing in their hands, they were not ashamed to take from them the very last drops of food that might have preserved their lives…”

Carnage: On the ninth day of Av: “One would have thought that the hill itself, on which the Temple stood, was seething hot from its base, it was so full of fire on every side; and yet the blood was larger in quantity than the fire, and those that were slain were more in number than those that slew them. For the ground was nowhere visible for the dead bodies that lay on it.”

Civil war between Jews: “The shouts of those [Jews] who were fighting [one another] were incessant both by day and night, but the continual lamentations of those who mourned were even more dreadful. Nor was any regard paid by relatives for those who were still alive. Nor was any care taken for the burial of those who were dead. The reason was that everyone despaired about himself.”

The exhaustion from all-out sacrifice of lives and fighting in vain was in itself debilitating, but the religious crisis was even worse. God’s own sanctuary, restored after the return to Zion in the sixth century B.C.E., the symbol of the unbroken covenant of Israel and God, was destroyed. This cast doubt on the very relationship of the people and their Lord. Had God rejected the covenant with Israel?

The Focal Point of Jewish Worship

The Temple was central to Jewish religious life in a way that is hard to recapture today. Many Jews believed that sin itself could be overcome only by bringing a sin offering in the Temple. Without such forgiveness, the sinner was condemned to alienation from God, which is equivalent to estrangement from valid existence. But the channel of sacrifice was now cut off.

For many Jews, the whole experience of Judaism was sacramental. The Priests served; the ignorant masses watched; their religious lives were illuminated only by those extraordinary moments when multitudes gathered in Jerusalem. There, in the awe of a Paschal sacrifice or at the Yom Kippur atonement ritual, they felt an emanation of divine force that showered grace and blessing on the people and made the Lord’s power a stunning presence. For these people, after the destruction there was only emptiness.

Responses to the Destruction

The majority of the Jews refused to quit. One element in this community reacted with overwhelming despair. The Talmud speaks of “mourners of Zion”who would neither eat meat nor drink wine. They rejected any possibility of normal life and chose not to marry or have children. Simple human activities–having a child, getting married, doing acts of kindness in a community–are sustained only by enormous levels of faith and life affirmation, and trust in ultimate meaning. Considering the tragedy and the threat that still hung over the Jewish community, these people felt they simply could not go on with life as usual. Yet by refusing to live normally, they harnessed despair into a force for action: to make an all-out effort to restore the Temple. Only rebuilding the sanctuary could reduce the terrible angst and restore life to normal.

The two major remaining sects, the Pharisees and the Sadducees, shared a common conviction that the Temple must be rebuilt, although the Sadducees, who included the court nobility and priests, were particularly unable to envision Judaism without a Temple. This consensus drove people to drastic action. In the years 115 to 117 C.E., there were widespread rebellions by Diaspora Jewry, which were bloodily suppressed.

In 132 C.E., the remaining population of Judea revolted, led by Simon Bar Kochba. But again, the overwhelming might of Rome was brought to bear. Bar Kochba and his troops were destroyed, and the remaining population of Judea was deported. With this defeat, hopes for an immediate restoration of the Temple were set back indefinitely.

Reprinted with permission of the author from The Jewish Way: Living the Holidays.

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Anyone who has spent a summer in Israel can more easily understand how the Three Weeks is in fact in consonance with the natural cycle. There the afternoon sun seems to bleach all the color from the landscape. Movement slows or comes to a halt in the afternoon—for even if the sun is no hotter than in the United States, it seems to beat down unrelentingly on the land’s inhabitants.

One can easily become parched and debilitated just from spending a few hours outdoors. No longer are the prevalent colors the greens of spring that decorated the synagogue on Shavuot; rather, the colors are a blazing white of sun on stone and the contrasting deep blacks of shade. Thus in Israel it is easy to call up images of a burning temple and a desolate land.

The 17th of Tammuz & the Golden Calf

This aura of desolation reflects the fall from the heady moments of Egypt and Sinai. No sooner is the unique experience of the revelation at Sinai over [on the holiday of Shavuot] than Moses and God disappear for 40 days. Feeling lost, the people turn to a golden calf (on the 17th of Tammuz). [The sin of the golden calf is ascribed by tradition, if not historical scholars, to the 17th of Tammuz.]

The air is filled with a sense of loss and abandonment: the people abandoned by God, God abandoned by His people, each longing for the other, each eager to renew the covenant of Shavuot, the trust of that night of the Exodus when we faithfully went off into the desert with only God to sustain us. No rain, no sustenance, no wave offerings, no joy. Illusions or ideals seem to have melted under the fiery rays, of the summer sun with no sheltering wings to protect us.

Tisha B’Av [the ninth of Av] erases the last innocence and brings home the difficulty of living by the covenant, for the covenant means being chosen for strife, anger, and even destruction and persecution, as well as love. No longer a mountain suspended over our heads (as at Sinai), nor as yet a sukkah of our own construction, we cringe in the heat of the day, and even find solace in the blackness of three long weeks of night and nightmare. We sit as mourners on Tisha B’Av, first remembering and then bewailing what could have been.

Heading Toward Yom Kippur

The two worst sins of the desert are attributed by tradition to these two days respectively: the golden-calf incident on the 17th of Tammuz and the incident of the spies [who reported that the Land of Canaan was unconquerable] on Tisha B’Av. The first incident, only 40 days after the Revelation at Sinai, shows how quickly the people forgot the Sinai experience in seeking a tangible image to worship. The second incident occurred in the second year of the Exodus. Because they believed the spies’ report that they could not defeat the inhabitants of Canaan, God condemned that whole generation to die in the desert; only their children would enter the Promised Land. These rejections of God and of Eretz Yisrael can be regarded as prophetic of the later historical experience when the Jewish people were exiled from both God and the land.

The rest of Jewish history is an attempt to work our way back. According to tradition, the Israelites received final forgiveness for the golden-calf incident when Moses came down from Mount Sinai at the end of the third period of 40 days. That day was the 10th of Tishrei—Yom Kippur.

Just as Yom Kippur brings forgiveness for the golden-calf incident of the 17th of Tammuz, so the minor holiday Tu B’Av [the fifteenth of Av](according to one tradition) brings forgiveness for the spies’ incident of Tisha B’Av. It marks, in fact, the end of the 40 years of wandering [with the death of the generation that had left Egypt] and immediately precedes the entrance to the promised land. No longer abandoned in the desert, we, as part of the mythic dimension of Judaism, can end our aimless wandering and finally move onward.

Rediscovering Joy After Tisha B’Av

Tu B’Av provides a contrast of joyous celebration following the ever-deepening gloom and mourning of the Three Weeks. Coming seven days after Tisha B’Av, Tu B’Av symbolically serves as the end of the shiva—the seven days of mourning for the dead. Just as the mourner ends shiva on the morning of the seventh day, so may we cast off the blackness of despair and go out of our house of mourning wearing white and dancing and courting in the fields as did the maidens of old in Israel.

From Tu B’Av we are ready to move on to Elul, a prelude to the High Holiday season with its themes of renewal and return. In fact, the period of Elul embodies a process of courtship between us and God. This theme of courtship is captured in the traditional belief that the Hebrew letters of the word Elul are an abbreviation for the phrase Ani le-dodi ve-dodi li—”Iam my beloved’s, and my beloved is mine,” referring to God and Israel. Estranged from each other during the Three Weeks, Israel and God rediscover each other beginning with Tu B’Av and initiate the slow and at times painful process of becoming lovers again. This process climaxes with Yom Kippur, when we are forgiven for that original breach of faith, the incident of the golden calf, which began this whole process of mourning and renewing on the 17th of Tammuz.

Reprinted with permission from The Jewish Holidays: A Guide and Commentary (HarperCollins Publishers Inc.).

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In ancient times, the Temple was the focus of mass pilgrimages, three times during the year, as prescribed by biblical law. Pilgrims from all over the land came to the spot chosen by God to “place His name there” (Deuteronomy 16), and during the Second Commonwealth both pilgrims and contributions reached the Temple from the Diaspora.

Although the Temple has not been standing for close to two millennia, the memory of these events has been preserved in the synagogue liturgy, particularly in the “additional prayer” of the festivals, which recalls the former sacrifices and the ascent to the Temple. The fact that the pilgrimage festivals are a major occasion for present-day visitors to the Kotel places ancient expressions of collective memory in metonymic relation to a contemporary “place of memory,” creating a sense of continuity, and perhaps even identity, between their devotional visit and that of their ancestors.

READ: These American Jews are Looking Beyond the Western Wall — to Prayer on the Temple Mount

Each festival attracts thousands to the Wall, but each takes on a special atmosphere reflecting the requirements of the holiday. The first night of Passover represents the most intense ingathering of the family during the ritual year, and travel to the Kotel later in the week is preceded by careful preparations to bring food from home that has been made according to the strict Passover rules. Even when the Wall is not the focus of celebration, as during Lag B’Omer, 33 days after Passover, when more than 100,000 Israelis flock to Meron, it stays in contact with the ritual pace of the people. It also accommodates, easily, modern festivities and solemnities; the sameness of place provides a persuasive link between the old and the new.

The Kotel thus appears to be the natural setting for modern celebrations such as Israeli Independence Day or Holocaust  Remembrance Day, even as the forms of these recently established celebrations evolve amid debates over their significance. In some of these ceremonies religious themes are given prominence, while in others the national component clearly dominates.

In the energetic Friday evening dance to the Kotel from the Jewish quarter on the part of young male yeshiva students, it is difficult to untangle the political overtones from the religious commitment. The meshing of modern Israeli identity and traditional religious symbols is salient at military swearing-in ceremonies, which have become more frequent at the Wall since the previous favorite site, Masada, has relinquished its primacy. In these ceremonies the recruit, after his basic training, holds a Bible in one hand, a rifle in the other, and is told that without the Book he is nothing but a murderer.

Other ceremonies reflect current political events as in the case of demonstrations concerning distressed Jewish groups in Russia, Syria, or Ethiopia. A particularly impressive event takes place on the eve of the anniversary of the reunification of Jerusalem, when thousands of yeshiva students from all over the country, stirred by the ideology of the Gush Emunim movement, come to the Kotel carrying torches.

Observing Tisha B’Av

Tisha B’Av, which falls in mid-summer when the sun has dried up vegetation everywhere, is a Fast Day that commemorates the destruction of both the First and Second Temples and has become a fundamental observance at the Kotel. Dressed in slippers, sneakers, or other footwear without leather, observant Jews come to spend part of the day and night at the Wall. Heightened solemnity intermingles with pronounced intimacy. Fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, boyfriends and girlfriends, yeshiva students share mats or blankets spread out both inside and outside the synagogue plaza. On this night (and day) all the Jewish communities and ethnic groups, all the religious tendencies–including the Chabad-Lubavitch Hasidic “mitzvah tank,” which provides phylacteries (tefillin) for the afternoon prayers — are present. Individual and collective, communal and national, can be found, compounded with one another.

The police guard the area all night long. Ultra-national groups may try to reach the Temple Mount, while pseudo-messiahs and would-be prophets both lament the existence of the Diaspora and announce the imminent reunification of the people. Inside the synagogue area and outside, pilgrims read the biblical Book of Lamentations, chant dirges, or fraternize in this unique setting of a foodless picnic in which daily needs are hardly a distraction. A mourning ceremony animated by a pervasive but disorganized sociality, Tisha B’Av, since the retaking of the Wall, has emerged as a point in time and space in which the meeting of messianic aspiration and national sentiment has been crystallized.

This process is reminiscent of the famous conceit of the Talmudic sage, Rabbi Akiva. When asked why he laughed upon seeing a fox running through the Temple ruins, Akiva assured his puzzled colleagues that his mirth stemmed from his witnessing the evidence of the prophecies of destruction and the implicit certainty that this guarantees the fulfillment of the prophecies of redemption.

Excerpted with permission from “Meanings of the Western Wall,” which appears in The Life of Judaism (Harvey E. Goldberg, ed.) published by the University of California Press.

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The synagogue services on Tisha B’av are most unusual. The room where the evening service is held often has its lights dimmed, and candles are lit. The prayers are spoken rather than chanted with melody. The reading of the Book of Lamentations is chanted using special musical notations that create a tone of weeping and mourning. Knowledgeable congregants often take turns reading different sections of the book. During the service there may be a discussion related to the themes of tragedy and destruction, often led by the rabbi.

The morning service the next day is also unique. The tallit (prayer shawl) and tefillin (phylacteries) are not worn, as a sign of mourning. Special prayers of mourning, called kinot, are read during this service. There is a reading from the Torah (Deuteronomy 4:25-40) whose theme is the punishment of Israel for its sins, and opportunity and hope for redemption.

In the haftarah [reading from the Prophets] of the morning (which is chanted in the same mournful melody as Eicha), Jeremiah speaks of the despair of the Israelites, describing Jerusalem as a total wasteland.

During the afternoon Mincha service, the mood of Tisha B’av becomes more hopeful. Tallit and tefillin are worn at this service. Both the Torah reading and the haftarah reading of this service are the same as on all other public fasts, describing the Thirteen Attributes of God and the promise of salvation. Special prayers of comfort (Nachemta) are also a feature of this service.

The evening service marks the official end of the fast of Tisha B’av.

Reprinted from Sacred Celebrations: A Jewish Holiday Handbook with permission from Ktav Publishing House, Inc.

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