This Wednesday evening, we begin the observance of Tisha B'Av, the fast of the 9th of Av. According to our tradition, both Temples in Jerusalem were destroyed on Tisha B'Av. In addition, other tragic events took place on this day resulting in the designation of this day as a day of mourning for the entire Jewish people.

One of the difficulties involved in Tisha B'Av is the fact that for many of us, sacrifices and Temple ritual is not only far removed but also disagreeable. We look at the shift from sacrifice to prayer and from the performance of rituals which would satisfy us vicariously to those which we perform ourselves as being positive developments in our history. We think of sacrificing animals as barbaric and at the focus of attention on one specific place as limiting.

Thus, with this background, how can we possibly cry for the destruction of the Temples and recite the kinot, the dirges, which lament the loss of a sacrificial system we can't appreciate?

Let me share with you two thoughts on this. First of all, it does not take a very deep reading of the book of Eicha, Lamentations, to see that what is described relative to the destruction of the first Temple is not only an issue of a religious crisis but a great personal tragedy as well. The description of the agony and the suffering should cause us to focus on the tragedy of homelessness, of exile, of losing one's roots.

As a people, we have experienced exile and expulsion so often. Tisha B'Av should remind us of our experiences and those of others throughout the world and encourage us to act to address the issues of homelessness, of those who are refugees, of the pain and suffering that comes from separation.

But, we need to confront the religious issue as well.

This past Shabbat, I spoke about a place that I love to visit in Massachusetts called Quabbin Reservoir. Quabbin is a beautiful spot with lovely forests, animal life and truly beautiful vistas.

But Quabbin also represents something else to those who know its story. Quabbin Reservoir was formed in the late 1930's to provide water to Boston and its suburbs. It was formed by building dams and flooding the Swift River Valley, home to four towns: Greenwich, Enfield, Dana and Prescott.

The citizens of these towns were forced to give up their homes, to exhume the bodies in their cemeteries, to move their businesses and begin a new life on the shores of Quabbin. There was resentment at the time but in general there was a resignation to the need for progress. Exhibits at the Reservoir and in a nearby museum document life in the four towns and capture a time that once was.

Every time I go to Quabbin, I think about it terms of Jewish life and Tisha B'Av in particular. This past Monday, when I visited Quabbin with our six year old son, Avi, I thought about how the generations come and go and how the numbers of people who vividly remember life in those four towns is decreasing. Insuring that those towns are remembered is now largely the responsibility of those who only heard the stories.

For those who never saw the towns, all that is there for them to see is the beauty of progress which the Reservoir represents.

Progress is necessary. We need, I believe, to move beyond sacrifice. We need to let the past go. We need to focus on our own religious lives.

But, somewhere inside of us lies a small kernel of what was back at the time of the Temples. We may not understand it. We may not feel that we should mourn for it. We may like where we are now. But, it is a part of us.

So, once a year, we sit on the ground, acting as mourners, and reminisce with sadness and with tears about something that we don't really understand. We imagine what it must have been like to feel that God was behind a curtain, between two cherubim, right there in front of us. We imagine what it must have been like to watch the smoke rise from a sacrifice to appease God, to thank God, to beg forgiveness from God, to celebrate a past miracle. We imagine what it must have been like to have our senses assaulted with the smells, sounds and sights of such ritual. And then we cry because it is no more.

There are many opportunities in Jewish life to remember sacrifices. The Musaf service, sprinkling salt on the Hallah, the service of the High Priest on Yom Kippur. But Tisha B'Av, more than any other moment, urges us to reach into our past and hold it in our hands for one moment and feel that, with all our growth and all of progress, we are poorer for something we had and let slip away.

If for no other reason than to hold tighter to that which is dear to us, Tisha B'Av is a day of importance for us all.

May your fast be meaningful and may we see redemption speedily and in our day.

Robert Dobrusin, Rabbi
Copyright © 1999, Robert Dobrusin.
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This message was originally posted on July 19, 1999.

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