As Tisha B’Av approaches this year, I find myself feeling particularly anxious. I want to be open with you about what I am struggling with, with what I am feeling in this moment.

First, I’ll say something about the day itself.

Originally, Tisha B’Av, the ninth day of the month of Av marked the destruction of the First Temple by the Babylonians in 586 BCE. It is described by the Prophet Zechariah as one of four fast days that will be transformed into days of celebration when the Temple is rebuilt. For Zechariah, that prophecy was fulfilled by the establishment of the Second Temple.

When the Romans brutally crushed the Judean revolt, they destroyed the Second Temple on the same date in 70 CE.

Now twice cursed, the ninth of Av became the day into which all national suffering and tragedies of the Jewish people would be folded.

The second-century Rabbis of the Mishnah looked back and attributed to Tisha B’Av the sin of the spies in the wilderness, who brought back news to the Israelites that the Promised Land was inhabited by giants whom they stood no chance of defeating. Their lack of faith in God’s plan doomed this day for eternity, says the Mishnah.

That is why, they explain, God selected that day to destroy both Temples. They add, further, that Bar Kochba’s last holdout at Betar fell on this same day in 135 CE. One year later, Hadrian plowed over the city, built a pagan Temple on the site, and banned Jews from entering, except for one day a year.

To rub in their suffering, Jews would be allowed, for a fee, to visit the Temple Mount on the ninth of Av, where two statues of the Emperor Hadrian greeted them amidst the ruins.

For two thousand years, our observance of the fast of Tisha B’Ab centered on the mournful chanting of Megillat Eichah, the Book of Lamentations. Eichah depicts, in tearful detail, the suffering of our ancestors during the Babylonians’ destruction of Jerusalem. While chronicling a specific historical event, Eichah’s description of human misery applies to countless tragedies through the ages.

Added to this, over the centuries, were the addition of Kinot, mournful elegies. These poems describe other tragedies that befell our people, whether or not they occurred on this specific tragic day.

Many Kinot were written during the Crusades, which saw the slaughter of so many Jews and the destruction of countless thriving communities. Kinot mourn the burning of the Talmud in Paris in 1242, and the expulsion of the Jews from Spain in 1492.

Add to this the other expulsions and persecutions, the blood libels, the Chmielnicki Massacres, and the Holocaust. Tisha B’Av is the Memorial Day of the Jewish people. 

Already, and not surprisingly, the massacre of Oct. 7, 2023 is added to the list. I suspect that the plight of the hostages, for 665 days now, will also become part of our narrative of this tragic day. 

The liturgy of Tisha B’Av expresses three main ideas. The first is that the various tragedies that have befallen us are expressions of Divine anger. Punishments against the Jewish people for our sins.

The Rabbis attribute the fall of the First Temple to the sin of idolatry. Nebuchadnezzar was but a pawn, a tool wielded by God to administer judgment against our ancestors for failing to heed the message of the prophets.

The Second Temple fell as a result of the sin of Sin’at Chinam – senseless hatred of Jew against Jew.  Again, the Romans were mere instruments of Divine wrath.

This theological justification for our ancestors’ suffering leaves me feeling uncomfortable. It sounds like blaming the victim. But that is the dominant theology that the Rabbis express throughout the Talmud and midrashim, and that is picked up in the Kinot. “Oh, how these things have befallen us, we must have done something to deserve it.”

But then, we encounter another sentiment. The wailing and crying is turned against God, who surely must see our suffering and have compassion. We cry out against a God who has seemingly forgotten and abandoned us and shout, “Here we are! Don’t you see us?”

Some of the Kinot direct our rage against our oppressors, who make fun of us and mock God. They are not mere instruments of Divine wrath. It is their hatred and violence that caused our suffering. 

Finally, and importantly, Tisha B’Av contains elements of hope.  Most Kinot end on a hopeful note that God will remember us. We end our chanting of Eichah with the words: “Take us back, O Lord, to Yourself, And let us come back; Renew our days as of old.”

We sit on the floor during the evening and morning services. Then in the afternoon, the mood begins to change. We put on the Tallit and Tefillin that we neglected during Shacharit. It is said that the Messiah will be born on the ninth of Av. The seeds of redemption are sown in destruction.

The seven weeks after Tisha B’Av are referred to as Shiva D’nechemata – The seven weeks of consolation.  The Haftarot that we recite on those seven Shabbatot are filled with language of comfort, healing, and hope. 

The Talmud teaches, “Those who mourn for Jerusalem will merit to see its rejoicing…”

By concentrating all of our mourning into a single day, we make sure that it does not overwhelm us throughout the year.  During this day, we go through the three stages. First we look inward, and ask ourselves how we have gone astray. Next we look outward, to proclaim to God that our suffering is unreasonable, that it is our enemies who have wronged us. And then we look to the future, so that we can step back into the world after our mourning with hope.

This year, more than any in my lifetime, I find myself feeling increasingly worried as Tisha B’Av nears. Hatred of Jews and Israel has become more accepted in the world than at any time I can remember.

At the moment we find ourselves in, Israel, home to half of the world’s Jews, is becoming a pariah state. 

The images of starving children in Gaza, and the daily reports of civilian deaths, regardless of who is or is not at fault, take their toll. Perceptions of Israel and of Judaism around the globe are becoming increasingly negative.  This includes among our own people, especially younger generations of Jews.

We can complain about it. We can argue about whether it is misguided or naïve. We can point out how Hamas launched the war and has been stealing the food and supplies meant for Palestinian civilians, but those arguments are not working.

Pointing out how complicated it is cannot compete with a simplistic statement like “Stop the genocide.”

Explaining how Hamas hides underground, letting their people starve, instead of releasing the hostages, simply cannot compete with photos of children crying in a mass of people, pressed up against a metal grate in front of a food distribution center.

Declaring, “What about the millions of people facing war and starvation in the Congo, or Sudan, or the persecution of the Uighyers in China, or the Rohingya, or take your pick,” will never convince anyone.

Whether or not Israel’s War in Gaza is justified, and I do believe it is, anyone with a heart cannot but be moved by the suffering that is happening right now. Suffering which, by the way, is a lot like what we will be reading later tonight. Whether or not Israel is at fault, it is responsible to do everything it can to prevent starvation. I do believe that deep in my heart.

I don’t know what is actually happening on the ground. I read all of the same articles and accounts that you do, and I do not have any confidence in the actual situation. All I can say is that I hope that the IDF is operating according to its stated principles and is doing its best to prevent suffering.

I am afraid that the impact on attitudes about Israel and about Judaism and Jews is taking a hit that will take a long time to recover.

This will lead to continuing violence against Jews around the world, like we have seen recently in this country in D.C. and Colorado. It will be awful. But we know how to deal with that.  We have been doing it for thousands of years. That is why we have Tisha B’Av. We look inward. We look outward. We look forward to better times. 

What I am afraid of, and this is the first time I have voiced this in a sermon, is that a generation of Jews is going to decide, “It’s just not worth it,” and walk away from the Jewish people. And then that, too, will become part of the narrative of Tisha B’Av. That’s my fear.

I don’t have the secret formula to prevent this. But I suspect the remedy probably involves something along the lines of increasing our own commitment to Torah learning, Jewish practice, and living proudly as members of the Jewish people, despite the differences we have. 

I’ll add as well that living here in Silicon Valley, where there is such a large Israeli ex-pat community who have very different experiences of the war in Gaza, it is so important to be in open communication with that segment of the community.

I’ll add as well that programs like Camp Ramah, at which I was able to spend last week, is also critical. It is an explicitly Zionist camp. There is a large Israeli contingent. We are surrounding our kids with pride in Judaism, a love of who we are, and connections that last a lifetime.

Supporting kids within our synagogues who are surrounded by these kinds of experiences on a daily and weekly basis – that has to be part of the solution. We need to double down on that.

I hope my fear is unjustified. 

So I will end with the closing words of this morning’s Haftarah that we chanted just a few minutes ago.

וְאָשִׁ֤יבָה שֹׁפְטַ֙יִךְ֙ כְּבָרִ֣אשֹׁנָ֔ה
וְיֹעֲצַ֖יִךְ כְּבַתְּחִלָּ֑ה
אַֽחֲרֵי־כֵ֗ן יִקָּ֤רֵא לָךְ֙
עִ֣יר הַצֶּ֔דֶק קִרְיָ֖ה נֶאֱמָנָֽה׃ 

צִיּ֖וֹן בְּמִשְׁפָּ֣ט תִּפָּדֶ֑ה
וְשָׁבֶ֖יהָ בִּצְדָקָֽה׃

I will restore your magistrates as of old,
And your counselors as of yore.
After that you shall be called
City of Righteousness, Faithful City.” 

Zion shall be saved in the judgment;
Her repentant ones, in righteousness.