Tisha B'Av

Today is a very strange, sad day in Jerusalem. It's Tisha B'Av, the 9th day of the Hebrew month of Av. It was on this day in 70 CE when the Second Temple fell to the Romans and Am Yisrael, the people of Israel, found themselves in exile. What makes this chag unique is that today in 2008, there is an Eretz Yisrael: a homeland for the Jews. While the Temple no longer stands, the fact that Israel exists as a country makes Tisha B'Av a strange, somewhat confusing holiday. Why lament the loss of something when you have it again, in different form, today?

I had heard of Tisha B'Av before, but never given it much thought. I knew what it commemorated, but it never packed a punch. I gleaned no meaning or significance from this chag, seeing it as merely another time when the classic Jewish holiday mentality was repeated: "they tried to kill us, they failed, let's eat!"

Yet as I expected, experiencing this holiday in Jerusalem gave me a totally different perspective.

Last night, soon after sundown on Shabbat, the entire city came alive with a bizarre, ruthless energy. Hundreds of people made their way to the Kotel (Western Wall) to mourn and lament the loss of the Second Temple. We HUCsters attended a service on campus and made our way to the wall around 10pm to experience the unique feeling of being there on a seemingly sacred evening.

The women's section of the wall, Tisha B'Av

As we walked the streets of the old city, we found ourselves caught up in the rush of the crowd making their way to the Kotel. Surrounding us were people of all ages, wearing all different kinds of clothes, behaving in all different ways. Teenagers in trendy clothing laughed and joked and pushed each other; young men in black suits carried what looked like sleeping bags, cooking equipment, and folding tables. There were tiny babies being pushed around in strollers and old men and women walking slowly and carefully. Everyone had the same goal: Kotel or bust.

Now, keep in mind that before last night, the Kotel was not my favorite place in Jerusalem. My two visits since my arrival have left me frustrated and disappointed on a variety of levels. I had no intention of praying last night; I was there merely to observe.

Besides the masses of crowds, which I expected, there were some pretty disturbing sights. The women's side was absolutely packed; it was so tight, you couldn't get through. The men's side had an abundance of room for anyone with a Y-chromosome. There were tons of people all around, some of them looked incredibly depressed, crying and lamenting. There were Haredim looking focused and angry; women in wigs pushing baby strollers and avoiding eye contact. Teenagers were smoking cigarettes (!?!), gabbing on their cell phones, smacking each other around, and behaving, in my opinion, inappropriately.

There was no cohesiveness, no warmth, and no general feeling of communal suffering. Everyone was in their own world, or in their own group, or just not at all interested in making unity. It felt like someone had taken the state of Israel, in all its internal and external conflicts, and amplified it to the umpteenth degree.

I don't know exactly what it was, but being present and watching this scene made me suddenly and inexplicably angry. I felt rage in my fingertips. I wanted to get out of there immediately, and I was upset with myself for feeling that way.

I found Adam in our meeting spot far from the wall, embraced him, and started whispering in his ear how uncomfortable I was. No sooner had I wrapped my arms around him than an old religious man started screaming at us in Hebrew. I wasn't entirely sure what he was saying, but I could figure from his gestures that our embrace was offensive. And within two seconds, a female guard approached us and physically separated us from each other.

Well, that about did it. I got so angry, so pissed off, so enraged, I nearly exploded. I stormed out of that courtyard with tears in my eyes and vowed to Adam not to return for the rest of my time here.

Last night was a perfect example of exactly what which enrages me about Judaism's role in Israel. Last night made me feel like an outsider. Not welcome, not wanted. Not included, and not really "Jewish." Like a stranger in a strange land. What kind of Judaism is this? The Judaism that exists at that Wall is not an empathetic, welcoming, loving language of God. It is separated, divided, incomplete.

Back on Reform Judaism's turf this morning, I felt much more comfortable and secure learning about Tisha B'Av. We had a series of discussions, text study, and T'filah in place of normal Hebrew today. It was truly fascinating to learn about it from HUC's faculty. From my teachers I learned that Tisha B'Av represents something major in the collective Israeli consciousness. It represents every loss, every exile, every promise of peace slaughtered before our eyes. It is a huge, major holiday... and learning about it while outside the confines of the the Haredim, (which I learned today means God-fearing) it made much more sense.

Last night was tremendously disappointing, but today renewed my faith. To me, even that painful admission is a representation of Judaism. The challenge, the defeat, the return. It wasn't the first time, and it certainly won't be the last. Tisha B'Av has blown my mind, and I'm glad that I am here in Jerusalem to experience it.

-Jaclyn