Tisha b’Av Reflection

“What has past is no longer, for our holy Temple has been burned to the ground. But now, as God  looks forward to returning to us, and to return and build our holy Temple, the right thing for us is to not prevent the rebuilding of the holy Temple, God forbid. Instead we should make effort to see that it is built.

“Therefore, one should be very careful to rise at midnight to mourn the holy Temple’s destruction. Because perhaps in his first incarnation he was the cause of the Temple’s destruction. And even if not, perhaps he is now preventing the building of the holy Temple.

“Therefore, one should be very careful to rise at midnight to mourn greatly the holy Temple’s destruction. For God has guaranteed that anyone who mourns for Zion … will be given mochin, mind.” Likutey Moharan II, Lesson #67

The holy Temple, aka the Beit HaMikdash, was not just a building. When Rebbe Nachman zl says that perhaps one—you, me—was the cause of destruction or is interfering with the rebuilding effort, it implies:

Ozer, maybe you caused all those Jews to suffer in Babylon, in the Crusades, the Inquisition, Russian pogroms, Holocaust and Intifada. And maybe all the Exile’s misery, poverty and anxiety, of millions and millions of Jewish men, women and children, too, can be laid at your feet. (There are too many wars, revolutions, purges, Reigns of Terror, etc. of the world-at-large to list, none of which would have happened had there been a Beit HaMikdash.)

That’s an unbelievably heavy burden to bear. If a preaching-type would tell me that, I would run away or commit suicide. Who wouldn’t be crushed by the guilt?

But Rebbe Nachman zl doesn’t say it outright. And while he’s letting us know just how enormous the tragedy is, he’s telling us to not be overwhelmed, but to be strong and courageous and to face the challenge, because we can set things right, we can get to the root of the problem.

Waking at midnight, or at least stopping what we’re doing, in the middle of the darkness of life to mourn the destruction of the holy Temple is not just to go, “Boo-hoo those nasty terrorists are killing us,” or to whine that we don’t learn enough Talmud or Zohar.

The reward for mourning the Temple’s destruction is mochin, mind. The Beit HaMikdash wasn’t a symbol. It was a source of life-thinking. Its absence means that the world does not think clearly. It means that the world–including us–considers certain attitudes, beliefs and behaviors satisfactory when really–as we look anywhere around us–they most certainly are not. We have to mourn that we have lost our minds, individually and collectively.

Building the Beit HaMikdash, building a new and better world, requires the belief that you can contribute to that process. It requires your being sensitive enough to care about Jewish suffering and the world’s pain. It requires willingness to accept responsibility for your share of the world’s mess, and genuine willingness to change your attitudes, beliefs and behaviors.

The more Jewishly we think, the more anger, jealousy, violence, etc. become unwanted and untenable. Calm, camaraderie, helping and the like take their place. If we mourn losing our mind, we will be worthy of rejoicing when we regain it. May we live to see the building of the Beit HaMikdash, swiftly and soon. Amen.

© Copyright 2014 148west.com/O. Bergman

Maybe It is My Fault?

In Tunis, the capitol of Tunisia, the chief rabbi, Rabbi Yehoshua Bassin, had police power granted him by the local authorities. One Tisha b’Av, a well-to-do Jew opened his store. Rabbi Yehoshua sent some people to the merchant with orders to close the store. The Jew refused.

The messengers returned, reporting the refusal. Rabbi Yehoshua sent them again and again the Jew refused. “That happened two thousand years ago. It has nothing to do with me.” The messengers came back, relaying the Jew’s rationale. Rabbi Bessin, “We’ll take our time with this one.”

Fast forward to the morning of Purim eve, some seven months later. Rabbi Yehoshua sends some of his “gendarmes” to the rich Jew with a summons to appear before him. In addition, they also have instructions to take him by force, should he refuse. Sure enough, when they arrive and tell him that he is to immediately go to the rabbi’s home, he refuses. “What?! It’s Purim eve. There’s so much to do and prepare. I don’t have time.” When he refused to go willingly, they handcuffed him (or however they did it in Tunis of old), and dragged him to Rabbi Bassin’s.

Rabbi Bassin told the merchant to wait outside his office. The unhappy merchant waited and waited. The longer he waited, the unhappier and more impatient he became. Finally, as the afternoon shadows become more pronounced, he can’t stand it any more. He jumps up and burst into Rabbi Yehoshua’s office. “Rabbi! You called me to your office. What do you want? It’s getting late. It’s almost Purim and I have much to prepare!”

The rabbi looked at him, “What are you in such a rush to prepare for? What’s the big to-do?”

The merchant was shocked. “What’s the big to-do? It’s Purim! The great miracle that God made for us through Mordechai and Esther, to save us from Haman!”

“That concerns you?” asked Rabbi Yehoshua. “That happened two thousand years ago, like Tisha b’Av. What has it got to do with you?” Rabbi Bassin continued. “Remember what King David says (Psalms 137:5), ‘If I forget you, Jerusalem, may yemini (literally, my right hand) be forgotten.’ If one forgets about the destruction of Jerusalem, he cannot properly recall the holiday of ish Yemini (Esther 2:5, a reference to Mordechai).”

The moral of the story (one of them, anyway) is that we cannot divorce any episode of Jewish history from our personal experience. One can’t be a “good time” Jew or a “fair-weather” Jew. The loss of the Beit HaMikdash (holy Temple), how, why and by whom it was destroyed, and the responsibility we bear for it has to be thought about it and taken to heart.

There’s a common mistake made by many, that Rebbe Nachman of Breslov’s teachings are always warm and fuzzy. The Rebbe zl is demanding as well. In Likutey Moharan (Part II, Lesson #67), Rebbe Nachman tells us that God is waiting with anticipation to return to us and build the Beit HaMikdash. Instead of getting in the way, we should assist in its building and pray for it. Then the Rebbe poses a suggestion:

Perhaps in your first incarnation you were the cause for its destruction. Even if not, perhaps now you are the one preventing its being rebuilt. That’s tantamount to causing its destruction.

Rough words, painful. Challenging. Are you part of the problem, or contributing to the solution? Let’s think about this honestly on Tisha b’Av (and other times during the year). Let’s accept responsibility for our past failures and start today to work on rebuilding the Beit HaMikdash. After all, it’s not just God’s home. It’s our home, too.

 

© Copyright 2013 O. Bergman/148West

Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door

In honor of The Nine Days, the first nine days of the month of Av, which culminate with Tisha b’Av (9th of Av), the anniversary of the destruction of the holy Temple in Jerusalem, let’s talk peace.

Rebbe Nachman says in Likutey Moharan II, Lesson #96: It is possible to whisper that a gun should not shoot.

If you read international news, national and maybe even the local news, you’re going to find many articles about people picking up guns, or stones, or knives. (And how many of us hurl poisoned words, sometimes with careful aim and sometimes carelessly?) The threat of violence is always lurking, seemingly everywhere. Every reported crime appears to inspire another. Aveirah goreret aveirah, one sin drags along another (Avot 4:2).

Rebbe Nachman once pointed out that many primitive ancient practices, such as child-sacrifice, have disappeared, but the misguided error of war and bloodshed still remain. He spoke disparagingly of inventors who develop weapons of mass destruction. “What geniuses they are, that they can figure out how to kill thousands of people at once! Is there anything more foolish than to kill people for nothing!” (Tzaddik #546).

Rebbe Nachman subtly reminds us, the children whose “voice is the voice of Yaakov” (Genesis 27:22), that even our whispers are strong enough to silence the guns of the world (“Esav’s sword,” ibid. v.40), to put a stop to wars and bring an end to violence. But we have to pray. Letters to editors or senators, gun legislation, police presence and such are band-aids at best. A collective change of consciousness is needed. And it starts with your whisper.

Even if you’re so distracted by your personal pain that you cannot care enough about humanity’s pain; even if you’re so disheartened by the constant and consistently amazing descent of human behavior, still it is possible to manage a whispered prayer: “Dear God! Please. No more violence. No more lifting swords against one another. No more learning war. Help us to beat the swords into plowshares already.” “It’s getting dark, too dark to see. Put our guns in the ground. We can’t shoot them anymore.”

Start with your whisper. The river that flows from the Temple (Ezekiel 47) also begins as a mere trickle, but gets deeper and stronger as it goes, pushing away death and bringing life and healing wherever it flows—speedily, in our days. Amen.

© Copyright 2013 O. Bergman/148West

 

(Rebbe Nachman wasn’t a total pacifist. He was a realist. He taught that if there is a war, one must make the necessary preparations and not rely on miracles [The Aleph-Bet Book, Strife, A:5, 101].)