Listening to Eicha

Several years ago, a friend of mine who happens to be a medievalist was telling me about the the difficulty she had connecting to Tisha B'Av. I told her what I generally thought at the time, which was that if you pay attention to the book of Eicha (Lamentations), you can't fail to be depressed by it. She said, "I don't know. It sounds just like all the other descriptions of sacked cities I've been reading lately."

At first I was taken aback, but later I realized that she was making an important point. From the standpoint of traditional Jewish theology, the destruction of the Temple is unique among catastrophes, which is why we continue to mourn it in so many different ways. But I was referring to the human tragedy in the book of Eicha, and, gruesome as that is, it isn't any worse than many other catastrophes than have befallen countless peoples throughout history. Those of us who study the past learn to accept descriptions of horrible events as a matter of course. Those of us who study Jewish history may find Eicha even more difficult to relate to, as we've come to see the event it describes as a practically inevitable consequence of regional politics, one of many similar scenarios that were playing out throughout the Near East. More and more, as I read the book of Eicha, that is what I see.

The traditional solution to this would be for me to try to understand the spiritual significance of the destruction of the Temple and the exile of God's presence. But that doesn't work for me right now. Instead, I'm trying to do something much smaller: to hear Eicha in the voice of its authors, people who actually witnessed the brutal destruction of everything they held dear. I can't do this every time I hear about a tragedy; no one can have that much empathy and live. But as a Jew, I can try to connect to this one paradigmatic tragedy this one time a year, with as much of myself as I can.

Postscript:

Last year, I wrote two posts linking to my favorite Tisha B'Av reading on the web, as well as to my own previous posts (link, link). As usual, I recommend Hitzei Yehonatan for both new and old material. (There are two new relevant posts, dated July 16 and 23. Don't get too turned of by the zodiacal stuff.) I also read a nice piece by The Curious Jew about how she relates to some kinot better than others, and I'm looking forward to reading The Velveteen Rabbi's thoughts on Eicha. I'll continue to update if I come across anything worthwhile.

A safe fast to those who are observing it.

The Ongoing Destruction of the Temple

I don't mean that in a metaphorical sense. This is about the actual destruction of Temple Mount artifacts by the Waqf, the Muslim religious trust that controls the area. This destruction has been going on for many years and I haven't blogged about it; there are many bloggers who can offer more informed coverage of biblical archaeology than I can. I've been paying more attention lately, though, because my little sis was recently involved in a Bar-Ilan run project to sift through the debris overturned by the Waqf's bulldozers in the hope of preserving precious archaeological remains. The project has uncovered thousands of artifacts from various periods, some of which are of major historical significance. There is only so much that such a project can accomplish, however. Aside from the damage to the artifacts themselves, their wanton removal from their original site makes the authenticity of many items difficult or impossible to establish. Often, the rubble has even been mixed with modern-day garbage.

Here are some words on recent developments from Hershel Shanks (Hat tip to PaleoJudaica):

Within the last few days, a trench two-feet deep — starting from the northern end of the platform where Jerusalem’s Dome of the Rock sits — has begun working its way toward the southern end of the Temple Mount. The work is being done without any regard for the archaeological information or treasures that may lie below. Destruction is particularly great in places where bedrock is no deeper than the trench. Some of the digging is being done with mechanical equipment, instead of by hand as a professional archaeological excavation would be conducted.

[. . .]

That the Waqf, the Muslim religious trust that serves as custodian of the site, should wish to install new electric and telephone lines is understandable — provided that the necessary trench is first dug as a professional archaeological excavation. That is the required procedure everywhere in Israel before work can be undertaken at sites with archaeological significance.

[. . .]

The Waqf has a long history of ignoring Israel’s antiquities laws, and Israel has a long history of ignoring these violations. As early as 1970, the Waqf excavated a pit without supervision that exposed a 16-foot-long, six-foot-thick wall that scholars believe may well be the eastern wall of the Herodian Temple complex. An inspector from the antiquities department saw it and composed a handwritten report (still unpublished) before the wall was dismantled, destroyed and covered up.

[. . .]

In 1999, to accommodate a major expansion of an underground mosque into what is known popularly as Solomon’s Stables in the southeastern part of the Temple Mount, the Waqf dug an enormous stairway down to the mosque. Hundreds of truckloads of archaeologically rich dirt were dug with mechanical equipment and then dumped into the adjacent Kidron Valley. When archaeology student Zachi Zweig began to explore the mounds of dirt for antiquities, he was arrested at the behest of the Israel Antiquities Authority — for excavating without a permit.

In an excellent article, well worth reading in full, Dr. Richard Benkin provides some background and perspective:

There is extensive evidence to support the notion that Israel never intended to take over the former Jordanian territory to the east of the 1967 armistice lines. In fact, there is record of frantic communications between Israeli leaders and Jordan’s King Hussein, urging him to stay out of the impending war. History records that he did not. Facing a new set of territorial realities, Dayan and others foresaw the volatility of the site and felt they could reach an accommodation with the Jordanian-controlled Waqf. Moreover, secularist Israeli leaders, like Dayan, saw the Mount as little more than an historical curiosity for Jews, while recognizing its religious significance for Moslems. Neither can it be denied that Israel’s historic commitment to tolerance and its respect for all religions in the area—in stark contradiction to its neighbors—contributed to the decision as well. Thus, the two organizations agreed to maintain the status quo in exchange for the other’s non-interference.

An uneasy but effective truce was maintained until 1993, the year of the Oslo accords. Shortly after the accords were signed, the Jordanian-controlled Waqf withdrew in favor of members appointed by and beholden to Yassir Arafat’s Palestinian Authority. The Jordanian-appointed Waqf was not exactly friendly to Israel. It did, however, recognize the practicality of maintaining the status quo. The PA’s appointment of a Minister for Waqf Affairs effectively radicalized the situation and formally subordinated all Mount activities to political aims.

It was less than three years later that the above actions began. The Israeli government and Antiquities Authority were facing a new challenge. Up until that point, the Authority could count on voluntary compliance with its edicts, which were supported by all academics and researchers of good will and were based on long established principles respecting the integrity of inquiry. The new Waqf, however, gave greater priority to politics than historical truth. Its leaders were not schooled in the same set of principles as other researchers. Moreover, it adhered to a PA article of faith to reject the authority of any Israeli agency or institution. Thus, any attempt by the government to enforce its authority, or the 1993 Supreme Court ruling confirming it, would face fierce Arab opposition, involving mass demonstrations and other public displays. Israel could expect international condemnation and declarations that it was attempting to derail the Oslo peace process. Actions by the Arab world to discredit attempts to stop the Waqf’s illegal activity and other nations’ inaction in even questioning their claims confirm Israeli fears. In Orwellian fashion, official Arab and Moslem media throughout the Middle East accuse the Israelis of plotting to destroy the “Moslem” Mount. One Iranian piece quotes the Jerusalem mufti of accusing those who have protested Waqf actions as creating “a big hue and cry to justify [Israel’s] interference in [Moslem] affairs.”

Usually, around Tisha B'Av I write about the human tragedy that the fast commemorates. Loss of life, after all, seems much more serious than the destruction of a building, however sacred, and the relationship between Tisha B'Av and the physical temple has always been a complex one for me. Two years ago, when Judith Weiss hosted a Temple Mount blogburst for Tisha B'Av, I virtually ignored the Temple Mount part.

But physical remains are a vital source for reconstructing Jewish history, for understanding who we are and where we've come from. They give us the ability to transcend time, reaching back to the past and bringing new knew knowledge to future generations. That which is discovered today could transform our understanding of our past. That which is removed or destroyed may hide truths that will never see the light of day.

Go to PaleoJudaica for ongoing coverage of Temple Mount events.

Tisha B'Av Reading II

Rahel on Wouk
Dovbear on Judah Ha-Levi
Gil on the Holocaust theodicy
Soferet has the words of Rabbi Itzchak Marmorstein on transforming our inner wickedness.
The Velveteen Rabbi has a roundup and a story.
Rabbi Riskin on the hope for truth and peace.
Am Echad poses the question his own way.
Tzvi presents a paradox.
Dovbear on Judah Ha-Levi.
Soferet on the nature of the true tzaddik.

Tisha B'Av Reading

It is traditional not to read for pleasure on Tisha B'Av, or even to engage in Torah study that is not directly related to the themes of the holiday. On the other hand, as much as emotionally heavy reading comes with the territory, it can be difficult to handle intellectually heavy reading when you're fasting. Appropriate blog posts seem like just the right thing, so for the past few summers, I've been keeping my eyes open for Tisha B'Av reading in the blogosphere. Here's what I've found:

General

The "miscellaneous" category usually comes at the end of a list, but these are some of the best Tisha B'Av posts I've read, so I'm listing them first:

This essay by Rabbi Joshua Yuter addresses the historical significance of Tisha B'Av (or lack thereof). Rabbi Yehonatan Chipman addresses a number of issues in this lengthy but worthwile post, including divine and human justice. He discusses the haftarah for Tisha B'Av morning here, Maimonedes' laws for the final meal here, and Psalm 137 here. All are, characteristically, very good reads.

The Contemporary Problem

For many centuries, I believe, mourning for Jerusalem came naturally to most Jews. Their experience was one of continuing exile, and they longed to return to the glorious past in which the Jews were a nation with a homeland, a respected leader, and a central place of worship. The Enlightenment, with its promise of emancipation, complicated matters as many Jews began to see more promise in the ideal of integration than in the old messianic dream. Another wrinkle came in 1967, when that dream was partly fulfilled. Notwithstanding all the problems that have plagued Israel and Jerusalem since then, it can be difficult to mourn the destruction and loss of a city that now stands intact, well-populated, and generally prosperous. The problem is expressed poignently in this post by Out-of-Step Jew.

One contemporary approach to Tisha B'Av is simply to mourn less, either by de-emphasizing Tisha B'Av in various ways, or by shortening the fast. (The Conservative Movement, characteristically, has two official responsa on the subject, one calling for the fast to be shortened and one prohibiting any such change.) In this post, BZ explains why he finds both the Zionist and Enlightenment arguments against observing a full day of mourning equally uncompelling. His approach to Tisha B'Av is, I think, similar to the one that I articulated last year.

Those of us who continue to observe Tisha B'Av as a full day of mourning may relate most easily to the human suffering described in Eicha (Lamentations) and the kinot (liturgical laments). This is the basis for the way in which Orthoprax relates to Tisha B'Av as an observant atheist, as well as the (obviously distinct) way in which Rachel Barenblatt relates to it as a Reform Jew. It is also central to the way in which I related to the fast two years ago. Viewing Tisha B'Av through this prism can be constructive if it encourages us to help alleviate suffering, as Rachel suggests here, here, and here, and as Mishkaneer suggests here. It also has its drawbacks, however, as it ignores the more particular aspects of the holiday.

Another way to approach Tisha B'Av is to focus on the call for repentence that is so intimately linked to the threat of destruction and promise of redemption in prophetic writings. Dr. Mendel Hirsch, son of Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch, viewed the moral imperative stressed by the prophets as the most important aspect of Tisha B'Av. Dovbear discusses his teachings here and here. (It is surely relevant that S. R. Hirsch devoted his career to combatting the challenges posed by the Enlightenment.) Josh Yuter takes a similar approach in this d'var torah.

DH proposed a more existential approach to Tisha B'Av last year, in a post that stressed the sense of helplessness that we so often feel in the face of history. He related this idea to his feelings about the Gaza pullout, but I think it has even greater resonance this year, with the latest series of foreboding developments in the Middle East.

Liturgy

The traditional Tisha B'Av liturgy is frought with difficulties for the modern Jew. The most obvious problem is that the kinnot are very difficult for the average synagogue-goer to understand, even if he or she is generally familiar with Jewish liturgy. They are written in medieval Hebrew that is often quite different from both modern Hebrew and the Hebrew of most Jewish prayers, and they are so replete with biblical and midrashic references that some can be baffling even in translation. Another issue is bringing the liturgy up to date. Most traditional communties recite kinnot for the Crusades, the Inquisition, and various pogroms in addition to the destruction of the two temples, but some are reluctant to add lamentations for Holocaust and other recent tragedies. Finally, parts of the nachem prayer recited in the afternoon amidah seem inappropriate now that Jerusalem is under Jewish sovereignty.

Menachem Butler provides an excerpt from Rav Soloveichik's writings in which the rabbi discusses his opposition to introducing new kinnot. Leaving aside his actual argument (to which), I tend to think that it is more important for liturgy to mean something to the worshipper than to be artistically or even spiritually refined. However, finding appropriate kinnot for the Holocaust is not so easy. We chose an English poem this year, which I may write about later.

Yehonatan Chipman has posted some versions of the nachem prayer that account for the current political situation. This post by Rabbi Gil Student discusses the positions of some prominant Orthodox rabbis on making such changes. (Note that most of the rabbis cited seem to subscribe to my position #2.)

Personal Reflections

The ways in which individuals relate to Tisha B'Av emotionally can be very different. This poem by Chaim Nahman Bialik describes the poet's encounter with an abandoned beyt midrash (house of study) in the language of Lamentations and Isaiah. (Adderabbi discusses the poem here.) We J-Bloggers tend to be a bit more prosaic, literally and figuratively. Estelle Feldman shares her thoughts on the destruction of the two Temples after visiting the site the Twin Towers. Naomi Chana describes a moment in Rome in which she became seriously pissed at Titus. Fleurdelis28 writes of the difficulty of seeing other people's points of view and relates the Jewish exile to Les Miserables. Soferet began to truly mourn after receiving a blessing from a British rabbi. Barefoot Jewess laments the destruction of her homes and the distance she feels from her community.

Is all this really relevant to Tisha B'Av? I'm not sure. I still feel that the ancient paradigm is broken, so I tend to seek meaning in random, disparate places. Each of these posts seemed as moving or thought-provoking at one point or another. I hope that others find something in them as well.

Toward Tisha B'Av

The rabbinic system, according to the esteemed professor Shaye Cohen, is one that perpetually declares itself inadequate. Built into our prayers, laws, and customs, is a pervasive theme of mourning for Jerusalem, and of prayer for a future time, when Jerusalem will be reinhabited, the Temple rebuilt, and the Jewish people forever free of suffering and oppression.

Today, we live in a time when the model of the Jewish future on which the rabbinic paradigm is based has been shattered. History has presented us with a paradox: a national homeland with Jerusalem as its capital, but no return to Temple worship and no end of suffering in sight. What are the implications of this situation for modern Judaism? Must we abandon the rabbinic myth, or can it be effectively reinterpreted? I raised similar questions around this time last year. Below is a summary of some of the approaches that I and others suggested then, and the reasons why I find them all ultimately unsatisfactory.

1. The establishment of the State of Israel was a mistake, and has nothing to do with ancient Jewish dream, which will be fulfilled in the future by supernatural, rather than human, means. This is the predominant anti-Zionist Orthodox approach. It is not very popular nowadays, and probably has no adherents among readers of this blog. Therefore, instead of taking the time and energy to dispute it rationally, I will simply remind you all of an old joke about a man who put his faith in God.

2. The rebuilding of the physical Jerusalem is incomplete. According to this perspective, when we mourn Jerusalem, we are actually mourning the Temple, which, when rebuilt, will usher in the true messianic age, and with it, the fulfillment of our people's dreams. This is the predominant approach among Orthodox Zionists, for obvious reasons. It maintains the traditional myth virtually intact, only drawing its fulfillment out for a somewhat longer period than our ancestors might have imagined.

My primary objection to this approach is historical. The existence of the modern state of Israel provides us with an opportunity for re-examining the past in light of the present, and realizing that, while there are many advantages to national autonomy, autonomous periods in Israel's history have never been utopian. This was equally the case whether or not a temple stood in Jerusalem.

A second objection is the implication that the type of worship that took place in the Temple would be appropriate outside an ancient context. Animal sacrifice was very common at the time that the Israelites practiced it, but most modern Jews would, I think, agree that its replacement with prayer was a change for the better. Further, we may reasonably question whether centralized theocracy should be regarded as an ideal form of government (this book notwithstanding). Again, in the ancient world it may have seemed the only option. But times have changed.

3. The emphasis that we place on the physical city of Jerusalem in an error. Instead, we should focus on the ideas with which Jerusalem has traditionally been associated. My understanding is that the Jewish version of this idea originated in pre-Zionist times,* but it continues to have adherents. Rachel Barenblat's "Diaspora Grrl" is a particularly thoughtful contemporary articulation.

While Rachel does not advocate ignoring or abandoning the physical city of Jerusalem, her philosophy would logically seem to lead to that approach, which makes me uneasy. I was educated in a strongly Zionist tradition, and in spite of everything that has been going on in Israel lately, I still believe that the existence of a Jewish state is integral to the well-being of Jewry as a whole. For this reason, it seems to me that it would be worthwhile for the idea of a Jewish homeland to remain a part of Jewish mythology.

4. The Book of Lamentations and the kinot that we recite on Tisha B'Av focus primarily on human suffering. For Jews, the destruction of Jerusalem is paradigmatic of human cruelty and suffering, and that is what “mourning for Jerusalem” is really about. I made this suggestion last year, and I still think that there is something to it. Still, I've come to find it dissatisfying for the same reason that I find the previous approach dissatisfying: it undermines the significance of Jerusalem itself.

Perhaps what we really ought to be mourning is the lost dream of a simple, complete, glorious redemption, both physical and spiritual. We should mourn the fact that the physical Jerusalem has turned out to be so unlike the Jerusalem of Jewish dreams, and that the world after the creation of the Jewish state is so unlike the messianic age that we long envisioned. And we can ask ourselves what we can do in this imperfect world of ours to bring the Jerusalem of our people's dreams closer to reality, both in the physical city of Jerusalem and elsewhere.

*For some reason, I associate it with Martin Buber, but then it wouldn't be pre-Zionist. Maybe it was Mendelsson's idea? Maybe I'm really mixed up and should do some more reading...

Looking Back on Tisha B'Av

DH tells me that he decided to begin fasting on Tisha b'Av when he first paid attention to the words of Eicha. It was not the laments over the loss of the Temple that moved him, but the descriptions of human suffering: people falling by the sword, dying of starvation during the siege, mothers eating their children. When I have cried on Tisha B'Av, it has not been for the Temple, either. It has always been for the same parts of Eicha, and for the kinot that we read in the morning, about the victims of the sack of Jerusalem, the Spanish Inquisition, the Crusades, the Holocaust . . . It is a lot to handle in a single day.

I wrote about this aspect of Tisha b'Av a while ago. But after reading the book of Eicha this year, after reciting the kinot (lamentation poems), and, of course, after reading a few thoughtful blog entries, I began to see things a little bit differently. Tisha B'Av is fundamentally about Jerusalem and the Temple. To turn it into a day of general reflection on human suffering -- or even on Jewish suffering -- is to neglect what was the heart of Tisha b'Av for millennia.

Our present situation is very different from that of past generations of Jews. They could dream of the resettlement of Jerusalem, which would, naturally, be accompanied by the rebuilding of the Temple and bring an end to all their suffering. Today, it is possible to listen to Eicha in a beautiful, rebuilt Jerusalem, full of Jews. At the same time, it is evident that our troubles have not come to an end. Traditional Jews have redirected their focus from the resettlement of Jerusalem to the rebuilding of the Temple, which, it is believed, will usher in the messianic age. But most of us -- even those who truly believe that the Temple will one day be rebuilt -- are not particularly energized by the idea. (I must admit, the very thought of the infighting that would ensue when we tried to reinstate the Temple service makes me shudder.)

This is not only an issue on Tisha B'Av. One of the central themes of the Jewish liturgy is our hope for the restoration of the sacrificial order, and our sadness at having to substitute mere words for cows and goats. Conservative, Reform, and Reconstructionist prayer books alter, downplay, or omit the portions of the liturgy that emphasize this theme, but the idea is too pervasive to be completely eradicated.

Out of Step Jew asks, "can we still cry for Jerusalem? And if that answer is no – then have we lost some of our Jewishness?" Perhaps. But I would rather think that this aspect of our "Jewishness" has simply changed in nature. If we are unable to pray for redemption in exactly the form that our ancestors envisioned it, what can we pray for instead? What should we mourn for on Tisha b'Av? And what is the role of Jerusalem in all this -- real, physical, contemporary Jerusalem?

Yuter On Tisha B'Av

This is worth reading.

Another Darfur Post

They heard how I was sighing, yet there was none to comfort me.
--Lamentations 1:21

ZSB posted a few words on the crisis in Darfur yesterday. A friend of his, who works for Concern, apparently told him that the best one can do to help, aside from donating money, is to "just keep talking about it." Well, my blog doesn't get much traffic, so I doubt it'll make any real difference, but I am certainly willing to do my part as far as that goes. I'm good at talking.

אין כל חדש תחת השמש -- There is nothing new under the sun. Human nature doesn't change. At least we can try not to repeat our mistakes. As a nation, we've ignored this sort of thing too many times. As individuals -- well, I can only speak for myself, but I know I've never put much effort into tikkun olam. It's time, isn't it?

To those who will be observing Tisha B'Av tonight and tomorrow, have an easy and meaningful fast.
As always, pray for the peace of Jerusalem, and the world.

Entering the Three Weeks

Once, I went to large suburban Conservative shul for Tisha B'Av. It was the least sad Tisha B'Av service I've ever attended, mostly because no one seemed to know exactly why they were there. This included the rabbi, who delivered a (mercifully short) sermon addressing the age-old question: Why should we mourn the destruction of the Temple?

Every year, I'm sure, many rabbis in many synagogues deliver sermons on this subject. The question is particularly troubling to leaders of progressive congregations who tend to think that the termination of animal sacrifice was a good thing. So they think about it, like good intellectuals, and they come up with answers like the one that this rabbi came up with: it's not the building itself that we're mourning, but the unity that it symbolized.

Now, I'm all for unity, and some of my closest friends are vegetarians. But I'll be frank: if that's the best answer you can come up with, you've either never read Eicha (Lamentations), or you've forgotten it.

Eicha is about the destruction of the Temple, yes. And it's about the loss of unity and national pride that the Jewish people suffered as a consequence. All this is very important, and we should think about it on Tisha B'Av. Most of all, though, Eicha is about the unspeakable suffering that human beings inflict on one another. That is why, no matter what you think of Jewish nationalism or animal sacrifice, you can't read Eicha without grieving.

I mention this now because we've just entered the Three Weeks, a period of mourning that begins with the fast of the 17th of Tammuz (this past Tuesday), and culminates in Tisha B'Av. It is during these weeks, in the year 586 B.C.E., that the transition from a long and painful siege to full-scale slaughter took place. These weeks are related to the destruction of the Temple, but they're not quite about it, so if we are going to focus on the human side of this historic tragedy, now is the time.

There is a lot to think about. Every day, war and terrorism claim more victims. There is a slow-motion genocide going on in Sudan. When we read Eicha this year, the words will resonate.

Isaiah (58:5-7) tells us that when we focus exclusively on fasting and mourning, we're missing the point. We're supposed to be feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, and freeing the oppressed. I'm not very good at remembering to do these things, but maybe if you all plug your pet tikkun olam projects in the comments, you'll embarrass me into taking action. God knows, the world is desperately in need of repair.