August 7, 2008
This Shabbat comes before the observance of Tisha B’Av (this year on Aug. 10) commemorating the fall of the First and Second Holy Temples in Jerusalem (586 BCE and 70 CE). It is called Shabbat Hazon after the first words of the haftara portion: “Hazon Yishayahu” — “the vision of Isaiah.”
Isaiah’s prophecy is of the impending destruction of Jerusalem, replete with castigation of sinners and the consequences of sin. It is an appropriate, if depressing, anticipation of the somber setting of the fast of Tisha B’Av.
Tisha B’Av is an opportunity to replace a sense of persecution with a sense of perspective.
Tisha B’Av was at one time the compelling point of convergence for Jewish tragedy. The negative nuances of the day attracted associations ranging from the expulsion of Jews from Spain in 1492 to various pogroms and persecutions.
With the rise of Reform Judaism in 19th-century Europe, the observance of Tisha B’Av began to diminish. Since the early Reformers no longer expected a messianic return to the Land of Israel, they did not mourn the destruction of the Temples, only the loss of life. Instead, they viewed the dispersal of the Jews after the destruction of the Temples as an opportunity to spread the message of monotheism.
In the years following World War II, there was much debate as to whether communal observance of the tragedy of the Holocaust should be absorbed into the observance of Tisha B’Av or whether it should be commemorated in an independent manner.
The emergence of Yom HaShoa, Holocaust Remembrance Day, in the spring, resolved that debate and further contributed to the decline in the observance of Tisha B’Av. The destruction of the ancient Temples became a distant defeat, while the raw reality of the Holocaust made Yom HaShoa more resonant as a day devoted to remembering Jewish tragedy.
There remains a curious and troubling debate within the Jewish community as to the place of suffering in the construction of Jewish identity. There is even a term for defining Judaism as a series of tragedies: the lachrymose theory of Jewish history.
Viewed from this perspective, Judaism is a lurching from one catastrophe to another: from the destruction of the first Temple to that of the second, from the failed Bar-Kochba rebellion to Roman oppression, from medieval expulsions to pogroms, to the Holocaust and then on to the many wars fought by the State of Israel.
While it is necessary for a community to commemorate loss, it is also reasonable to ask what price we pay for defining ourselves only as victims. For many years, the sloganeering summary of Jewish affirmation has been “Never Again,” when it could just as well have been “Kedoshim t’hiyu” — “You shall be holy.”
Jewish tragedies demand commemoration, yet it is prudent to ask what the best way is to memorialize. A recurrent debate in many communities centers on the wisdom of spending limited dollars on statues and sculptures rather than on day school scholarships and subsidized synagogue memberships. Which form of memorial is likely to sustain Jewish living, the loss of which, after all, is what we mourn on Tisha B’Av and Yom HaShoa.
Perhaps more crucially, given the attention devoted to Jewish continuity, what is the message of a negative Jewish identity to those who are marginal in terms of the community? It is like receiving an invitation to board the Titanic after it has begun to sink.
In a debate now nearly half a century old, our community continues to vacillate between two symbols of Jewish identity: Auschwitz or Sinai. From the first perspective, we are either victims, children of victims, or potential victims. Our history is one of tragedy interrupted by periods of false security. The best we can do is defy those who persecute us and stay Jewish to spite them.
From the second viewpoint, we are children of the Covenant, our history defined by the Exodus and Sinai. We have indeed suffered serious tragedy, even destruction, yet we do not abandon our values, our teachings, and our commitment to God. The best we can do is strive for holiness and remain firm in our devotion to the perfection of the world under the rulership of God.
Tisha B’Av is an opportunity to replace a sense of persecution with a sense of perspective. Surely we must mourn and certainly we must not forget. We should fast, we should read Lamentations, we should discuss how defeat and destruction have shaped our identities as Jews. But we should also discuss how to avoid defining Jews and Judaism as if the only reality of our history was a negative one. There is too much we have inherited, and too much at stake, for us to fail to find the positive reasons to remain Jews.
Richard Hirsh is executive director of the Reconstructionist Rabbinical Association, Wyncote, Pa.
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