Musings On Tisha B'Av. (Religious Content.)
Last night I went to my temple's service for Tisha B'Av. It was the first time I'd ever been to a service for that particular holiday.
Tisha B'Av (the 9th day of the Jewish month Av) has traditionally been a day of mourning for the Jewish people. It is said that on this date, many years apart, both of the Temples in Jerusalem, where the Jewish people offered their sacrifices, were destroyed and many Jews put to the sword in the process. Other catastrophes in Jewish history have also been said to have occurred on Tisha B'Av, such as the expulsion of Jews from Spain in 1492.
Reform Jews (like myself) used to not observe Tisha B'Av, in large part because Reform Judaism is an egalitarian movement and our liturgy does not contain prayers for the rebuilding of the Temple, nor (usually) for the arrival of Moshiach, the Messiah, who it is believed will be born on Tisha B'Av. However, the holiday is slowly making a comeback.
And by slowly, I mean sloooowly. As in, besides the rabbi, the cantor, and myself there were 12 people at the service last night. And only another gal and myself looked to be under 40 among the gathered congregants. Since it was a small service, we all sat on the bimah, the raised platform where the "ark" (really an alcove with sliding doors) which stores the Torahs is located and from which the rabbi speaks. So that was kind of cool; I've never been on the bimah in that temple.
I guess the thing that struck me most about the service was that it was so short, hardly any longer than our usual evening service. There was a little singing by the cantor but none of us really knew the words to the songs since the temple's copier wasn't working and the rabbi couldn't get them for us. Only the first few lines and the last few lines of Lamentations were read. Again, I don't know what other temples do for their services but it just seemed like there wasn't enough time for the power of the words to sink in.
I was disappointed, too, with the rabbi's sermon, which he delivered while sitting in the circle of chairs on the bimah with us. Basically, it was a recruitment pitch for ARZA, the Association of Reform Zionists of America. The rabbi talked about how much Israel needed our help and urged us all to join ARZA.
Although the rabbi couldn't get us the words to the songs, he did manage to print out from his computer enough copies of a handout he received via e-mail for all of us. This handout recommended that we all add up the amount of money it would cost us to eat for a day (Tisha B'Av is traditionally a day of fasting), including the price of dinner at a fancy restaurant with a bottle of wine and the price of dessert at an ice cream parlor, and send that amount to Israel to help with relief work.
Another thing the handout recommended that we all do was to buy (from Israel) or make ourselves a mizrach, or decorative plaque, and hang it on the eastern wall of our homes to show us which way to face when we pray. Honestly, I did what many Jews-by-birth have said they considered to be a fairly extensive study of Jewish practice and history when I converted, and I have never heard of this particular practice. So that seemed kind of odd.
I'd like to make one thing clear: I love the idea of Israel. I believe the Jewish people should have a homeland of their own, where we can all live, if we so wish, in peace. What I'm not so crazy about is the way Israel is governed. The Orthodox pretty much run the country and therefore, it's tough to be anything but Orthodox there.
Now the Orthodox, as a rule, believe that Jewishness is matrilineal. If your mother was ethnically Jewish, you are too, regardless of what religious beliefs you may hold. They consider this bond unbreakable. The Orthodox do not recognize as Jewish anyone born to an ethnically Jewish father and an ethnically non-Jewish mother, or any converts who become Jewish under the supervision of a non-Orthodox rabbi. Therefore, my children and I would not, in their eyes, be considered Jewish. And if we wanted to make aliyah (emigrate to Israel), we would not be allowed to do so--because although the Law of Return states that all Jews are automatically granted Israeli citizenship should they so wish, in actuality adequate proof of Jewishness must be submitted.
So although I want to be as in love with Israel as so many Jews are, I find that I cannot get over the fact that I will never be welcome there. How can you love someone who won't ever love you back? It takes a better person than I, that's for sure. I feel it's very similar to the situation I face with certain members of my mother's extended family: they have nothing but contempt for me, my lifestyle, and all I stand for, and don't mind telling me so to my face. So why should I care for them as one normally would for a family that loves and esteems one? I'm not going to beg them to love me, to acknowledge that I exist. My happiness cannot depend on their esteem of me.
We are taught that the rabbis of the Talmud believed the destruction of the Second Temple in 70 C.E. (Common Era: the Jewish way of saying A.D.) was caused in part by sinat chinam--the unwarranted hatred of Jews for other Jews. And on this Tisha B'Av, I can't help but think that maybe they were on to something there.
Tisha B'Av (the 9th day of the Jewish month Av) has traditionally been a day of mourning for the Jewish people. It is said that on this date, many years apart, both of the Temples in Jerusalem, where the Jewish people offered their sacrifices, were destroyed and many Jews put to the sword in the process. Other catastrophes in Jewish history have also been said to have occurred on Tisha B'Av, such as the expulsion of Jews from Spain in 1492.
Reform Jews (like myself) used to not observe Tisha B'Av, in large part because Reform Judaism is an egalitarian movement and our liturgy does not contain prayers for the rebuilding of the Temple, nor (usually) for the arrival of Moshiach, the Messiah, who it is believed will be born on Tisha B'Av. However, the holiday is slowly making a comeback.
And by slowly, I mean sloooowly. As in, besides the rabbi, the cantor, and myself there were 12 people at the service last night. And only another gal and myself looked to be under 40 among the gathered congregants. Since it was a small service, we all sat on the bimah, the raised platform where the "ark" (really an alcove with sliding doors) which stores the Torahs is located and from which the rabbi speaks. So that was kind of cool; I've never been on the bimah in that temple.
I guess the thing that struck me most about the service was that it was so short, hardly any longer than our usual evening service. There was a little singing by the cantor but none of us really knew the words to the songs since the temple's copier wasn't working and the rabbi couldn't get them for us. Only the first few lines and the last few lines of Lamentations were read. Again, I don't know what other temples do for their services but it just seemed like there wasn't enough time for the power of the words to sink in.
I was disappointed, too, with the rabbi's sermon, which he delivered while sitting in the circle of chairs on the bimah with us. Basically, it was a recruitment pitch for ARZA, the Association of Reform Zionists of America. The rabbi talked about how much Israel needed our help and urged us all to join ARZA.
Although the rabbi couldn't get us the words to the songs, he did manage to print out from his computer enough copies of a handout he received via e-mail for all of us. This handout recommended that we all add up the amount of money it would cost us to eat for a day (Tisha B'Av is traditionally a day of fasting), including the price of dinner at a fancy restaurant with a bottle of wine and the price of dessert at an ice cream parlor, and send that amount to Israel to help with relief work.
Another thing the handout recommended that we all do was to buy (from Israel) or make ourselves a mizrach, or decorative plaque, and hang it on the eastern wall of our homes to show us which way to face when we pray. Honestly, I did what many Jews-by-birth have said they considered to be a fairly extensive study of Jewish practice and history when I converted, and I have never heard of this particular practice. So that seemed kind of odd.
I'd like to make one thing clear: I love the idea of Israel. I believe the Jewish people should have a homeland of their own, where we can all live, if we so wish, in peace. What I'm not so crazy about is the way Israel is governed. The Orthodox pretty much run the country and therefore, it's tough to be anything but Orthodox there.
Now the Orthodox, as a rule, believe that Jewishness is matrilineal. If your mother was ethnically Jewish, you are too, regardless of what religious beliefs you may hold. They consider this bond unbreakable. The Orthodox do not recognize as Jewish anyone born to an ethnically Jewish father and an ethnically non-Jewish mother, or any converts who become Jewish under the supervision of a non-Orthodox rabbi. Therefore, my children and I would not, in their eyes, be considered Jewish. And if we wanted to make aliyah (emigrate to Israel), we would not be allowed to do so--because although the Law of Return states that all Jews are automatically granted Israeli citizenship should they so wish, in actuality adequate proof of Jewishness must be submitted.
So although I want to be as in love with Israel as so many Jews are, I find that I cannot get over the fact that I will never be welcome there. How can you love someone who won't ever love you back? It takes a better person than I, that's for sure. I feel it's very similar to the situation I face with certain members of my mother's extended family: they have nothing but contempt for me, my lifestyle, and all I stand for, and don't mind telling me so to my face. So why should I care for them as one normally would for a family that loves and esteems one? I'm not going to beg them to love me, to acknowledge that I exist. My happiness cannot depend on their esteem of me.
We are taught that the rabbis of the Talmud believed the destruction of the Second Temple in 70 C.E. (Common Era: the Jewish way of saying A.D.) was caused in part by sinat chinam--the unwarranted hatred of Jews for other Jews. And on this Tisha B'Av, I can't help but think that maybe they were on to something there.