A New Tisha B’Av

Image Source: Keshet Starr

The thought came to me in the very early days after October 7th–that this year, Tisha B’av will be different. No longer will we need to watch documentaries and read Kinnot to connect to our dark history, so distant from our own secure world. No longer will we need to borrow another generation’s tragedy to connect to the day, finding a link in the daisy chain of persecutions that lead us all the way back to the Churban, to the memory of our own national home on fire. 

This year, we have our own tragedy to speak of. This year, we will use our own memories, the videos we have seen and the voices we have heard and the images we cannot unsee, no matter how hard we might want to. And while we have all coped with the last ten months in different ways, this Tisha B’av there will be no distractions, not even gathering and organizing, to help dull the pain. 

For my generation, this is one of the first times we have landed right in the middle of the story of Jewish history–no neat ending, no celebration. We are the Jews of Shushan fasting, before the reprieve comes and they are saved. We are the ancient Israelites on the bank of the Red Sea, the churning ocean on one side and the agitated Egyptian army on the other. We are mid-scene, mid-story, not knowing how and when the redemption will come. 

I saw a meme that made me laugh and cry a few months ago; it referenced the old saying that every Jewish holiday consists of the same story: They tried to kill us, we won, let’s eat. “Can we get to the let’s eat part?” the meme says, and I think the same thing. When can we get to that part?  Tisha B’av is a difficult day–after all, there are so many tragedies, so many horrific episodes in our history to choose from. And yet, this year, that tapestry brings me some comfort. We have been through a lot, yes, but we also have a long history of surviving. Through every generation, every fresh horror, every new and sad story we have collected, there is also an extraordinary reality: After all of it, we are still here. 

It’s not easy to live in the messy middle of a story. As we await a larger resolution, we look for what we can do, redeem the broken pieces we can fix. But the power of Tisha B’av is that it does not allow us to jump right into action. There is a place for action, to be sure, but first, we have to stop, to mourn, to cry. We must not be so fast to move forward that we abandon those we lost. We must not allow the positive focus of action to prevent us from fully grieving. 

This Tisha B’av requires us to be brave enough to look October 7th in the eye–to look at the faces of the dead, at the burnt homes and ruined villages, at the heartbreak that reflects back at us wherever we go. It’s a day to recognize that while a lot has changed since the days of the pogroms and Crusades, more stays the same. It is a day to acknowledge the darkness that has always been part of the Jewish story, that no action, no duffel bag-organizing, no meal train can fix. 

There is a story in the Talmud about Rabbi Akiva–how as the Sages watched a fox scamper in the burnt rubble of the Beit Hamikdash, Rabbi Akiva laughed; saying that just as the prophecies foretold this destruction, so too, the rebuilding would come. 

One day, we will get to the end of this story. One day, we will have our hostages home, we will rebuild, we will close this painful chapter. We will marvel at what we have gone through and survived, again. One day, we will get to the part where we eat. 

But until that day arrives, this Tisha B’av, we cry.