OPINION: Crying Alone or Together: Transforming Our Tisha B’Av

As we reflect on the past year, it has been a time of stark contrasts. On one hand, we have faced unprecedented antisemitism across the world, a harrowing reminder of that most persistent hatred, the ever-mutating virus, in Rabbi Jonathan Sacks’ words. On the other hand, we have witnessed and been privileged to contribute to a profound reawakening among Jews worldwide, from Los Angeles to the Far East, our brothers and sisters all seeking to reconnect with their heritage and actively engage in their communities and with the Jewish People as a whole.

This duality echoes a somewhat tragic historical precedent, in which antisemitism and adversity often catalyse Jewish unity and solidarity. The decrees of Haman, legislating an empire-wide pogrom against the Jews, for example, as dark as they were, spurred the Jewish people to come together with renewed strength and purpose, collective prayer, and unity.

On Tisha Be’Av, we recite the haunting laments of the prophet Jeremiah, as written in his scroll of Eicha (the Book of Lamentations). Jeremiah spent years of his life warning the nation of the First Temple’s impending destruction. In Eicha, he uses timeless poetic language to describe Jerusalem sitting alone at night, weeping. Rabbi Meir Simcha of Dvinsk (1843-1926), a towering rabbinic leader of the 20th century, explained in his commentary on Eicha that this imagery, of weeping alone at night, signifies a cry of utter despair and loneliness. The night is when we are all asleep. As Jerusalem wept at night, no one offered her comfort or solace.

During the JLE’s recent trip to Israel, I experienced a profound sense of unity as I spoke to a diverse array of Israelis, from Charedi rabbis and scholars to the heads of kibbutzim. We met injured soldiers at the Tel Hashomer hospital in Tel Aviv, which has been at the forefront of treating soldiers evacuated from Gaza. These soldiers all radiated immense courage and humility: they had suffered the loss of limbs and paralysis. We met the President of Israel, Isaac Herzog, and we spoke to, and drew inspiration from, the parents and siblings of hostages.

All these encounters highlighted the diverse and resilient fabric of Israeli society, united in their strength and determination despite the great challenges and adversity they face. The bravery and perseverance of these individuals, from the soldiers’ remarkable courage to the unwavering support of the families and community leaders, serve as a powerful testament to the unbreakable spirit of the Jewish people.

Despite differing viewpoints, backgrounds, and lives, there was a palpable sense of togetherness, a recognition of our shared identity. These people all carried an affinity and care about each other and the country’s current situation.

Rabbi Moshe Chayyim David Luzzatto (the “Ramchal”, 1707-1746), one of the greatest Italian Kabbalists and scholars, wrote about another type of crying. Not the individualistic, night-time cry of despair that Jeremiah described Jerusalem to have, but a cry of care for others, a collective cry of empathy and concern.

In his classic manual on ethics, Rabbi Luzzatto explained that “the truly pious do not seek self-directed rewards but strive to care for the Creator and the Jewish people.” We must help others and be deeply concerned about the welfare of our fellow Jews. Otherwise, as the Ramchal warns, we risk becoming like the verse describes: “I looked, and there was none to help; and I was astonished that there was no one to uphold” (Yeshaya, 63:5).

We must follow Israel’s current-day example and transform the isolated, lonely weeping of Jerusalem of old, of Tisha Be’Av night, that Rabbi Meir Simcha of Dvinsk described, into a collective cry of care and concern for our nation that the Ramchal wrote about.

How do we achieve this transformation? How do we cry and care not just about our own individual situations, crying in the night, but worry and do good for others too?

Rabbi Meir Simcha of Dvinsk himself, an exemplar of Jewish unity, provides a model. He was known to support the settlement of the Land of Israel and to encourage all Jews, regardless of their affiliations. He found positive aspects in every group and stood as a neutral figure who could appreciate the good in every sector. This was particularly impressive as he lived between the wars, at a time in Jewish history when different Jewish movements and currents were particularly strong. Everyone claimed him as their own: Agudath Yisrael, the Chasidim, and the Zionist movements. He would often say that he was able to stay above party politics and recognise the good in all groups because he would find the positive aspects in each of them.

We must follow his example by crying, worrying, caring, and standing united, recognising the good in all Jewish people. We do not necessarily need to change which community we are part of, but we must see the good in other communities. Let us transform our individualistic sorrow, our night-time crying, into a collective force of unity and hope, not just a cry by ourselves over destruction, but a constructive cry, requesting our future unity and peace.

Let us have a meaningful fast and a cry of togetherness.

Rabbi Morgan is chief executive of JLE, the Jewish Learning Exchange