One summer I was visiting from Israel with a friend at Yale University. We attended the Orthodox minyan’s Tisha b’Av reading of Eicha, the Book of Lamentations, and of the Kinnot (dirges).
Accustomed to hearing Eicha in the out of doors, windswept dark of a Jerusalem evening on the balcony of the famous Windmill, the strong and ancient sepia walls of the Old City in full view, here in New Haven, as meaningful as the service was, let’s just say it didn’t quite feel the same as the Jerusalem inspiration of an Eicha by candlelight. I didn’t feel quite satisfied.
As I was walking downstairs at the Slifka Center, the center for Jewish life at Yale, something piqued my curiosity. Downstairs, in the dark, there were candles flickering and low voices of talking were heard.
I followed the shadows and whispers and found a group of students led by someone, I don’t know if he was a rabbi or not, though he probably was, talking over the depth of Eicha as well as the meaning of the Kinnot, the emotionally profound and melancholy dirges.
We were there sharing our thoughts for a while, and when it was over it was clear to me I had just sat and commemorated the destruction of the Temples in Jerusalem, along with other tragedies we as a people have suffered throughout our history, with a group of Reform students and possibly their Reform rabbi (since it was Tisha b’Av, a time of refraining from social interaction, none of us stuck around to shmoos and I never knew for sure).
Ever since then I have dreamed of organizing a special Tisha b’Av Eicha and Kinnot reading for all Jews, regardless of belief.
It really can work for everyone. There is no real halachic requirement to the Tisha b’Av service, such as there is for Torah reading and prayers, when a mechitza is absolutely essential.
I started thinking and dreaming, we should all, all of us Jews, read Eicha together a priori, not as a happenstance kind of thing, the way I ended up with that group, that night, at the Yale Hillel.
Let’s all meet somewhere out of doors or in some other neutral venue. Genders can sit separately, and for one day, one time, share in a Jewish ritual together.
And not just any ritual, but the ritual of remembering the destruction of the of the Holy Jerusalem Temples, in which our service of G-d was expressed at its fullest.
The First Temple of Jerusalem was destroyed for the triple violations of murder, idolatry and illicit relations. It was rebuilt and restored 70 years later. The Second Temple was destroyed because of baseless or senseless hatred, and it has been nearly 2,000 years and it still is not been rebuilt.
Clearly, G-d is telling us something.
Repairing the rupture in the relationship between us as a people and G-d is apparently a simpler affair than us repairing the ruptures between us, as a people.
The emblematic story of the destruction of the Second Temple has always been the infamous, humiliating incident between Kamtza and Bar Kamtza at a dinner party, where the one refused the pleading of the other to be invited to the party.
Aside from the incident’s message of a society fraught with petty squabbles and contentiousness, there is the epilogue to the story.
Rav Zecharia ben Avkulas is taken to task. He carries the burden of failed leadership by not preventing the bitter dispute between Kamtza and Bar Kamtza, which eventually led to the final nail in the coffin of the destruction of the Holy Temple of Jerusalem.
As a counterpoint to the Kamtza and Bar Kamtza story, I am putting this idea out there. Organizing events is not my strong suit, so I am inviting all of you from across the spectrum of religious observance, perhaps for one night, we as a community can put aside our differences and come together to mourn the destroyed Temple, manifesting “ahavat chinam” — causeless love — what Rav Kuk taught was the antidote to baseless hatred, for which he Second Temple was destroyed.
Copyright © 2013 by the Intermountain Jewish News
