“For these things, I weep; my eyes stream with tears, for there is no one to comfort me, to restore my soul.” (Book of Eicha)

Israel’s challenges on Tisha B’Av 5784 are severe and complex. The costs we pay for living here are heavy and bloody. Yet the people living in Zion cling to the tradition of their forefathers and foremothers and to generations of pioneers who lived and died hoping to establish a model society here.

Secular and religious Jews attend the reading of the Book of Lamentation on 9B'Av in a 1,600-year-old synagogue in the Golan Heights. Photo by: Michael Gilad/Flash90

This year’s Tisha B’Av is steeped in the mourning and bloodshed of the Simchat Torah events on October 7th and the war that has followed. Alongside the tears and pain from this immense loss, “my eyes, my eyes stream with tears” also over the disruption of the unifying ‘Temple’ of today – our shared society – and the profound harm inflicted upon Judaism and the sanctity of Israel, particularly by those who see themselves as its defenders.

The destruction of a temple signifies a deep fissure at the heart of what unites a society. A temple is, after all, just a structure of wood and stone, even if they are hewn stones and acacia wood—but these are stones with a heart: the heart of God and the heart of man. A heart unites those around it, gathering their prayers, pain, dreams, longing, and fears.

The stones and wood were destroyed with the Temple's fall, yet the Jewish people managed to preserve Judaism as the center of their existence. "Just as the navel is set in the middle of the person," says the Midrash (Tanhuma, Kedoshim 10), "so is the Land of Israel the navel of the world... and Jerusalem is in the middle of the Land of Israel, and the Temple is in the middle of Jerusalem..." In the Midrash, the navel symbolizes the 'center' or 'middle' of the body and the place from which a baby draws all its life and identity while in the womb. Thus, the Jewish people continued to draw life from the memory of the Land and the Temple, even after being separated.

The hopeful expectation was that just as Judaism adapted after the destruction of the Temple, it would once again reacclimate upon the return to the Land of our forefathers. Just as Judaism became a religion that preserved tradition through longing and yearning for the Land of Israel even in exile, so too would it know how to maintain its morality, unity, and sense of responsibility upon the ingathering of exiles and the building of a national home.

Sadly, this evolution has not manifested, and it now threatens to shake our home’s very foundations.

One group that has failed to transition from exile to the Land of Israel is the Haredi (ultra-Orthodox) community. The Torah in their hands has not evolved into a "Torat Chaim" (a living Torah) that supports both physical and spiritual existence. Even the events of October 7th did not inspire ultra-Orthodox leadership or the ultra-Orthodox public to rise to the occasion, to declare, “Whoever is for the Lord, come to me!” and to understand that the book and the sword can coexist and that within the Torah itself lies the obligation to wield the sword in defense of Israel against an enemy that threatens it. We long to imagine an alternative reality where ultra-Orthodox leaders respond “Here I am” to the call of their brethren, offering their strength and support in the name of God. Although anyone who submits to halacha (Jewish law) should be the first to stand for a defensive war (Milchemet mitzvah”), the ultra-Orthodox turn their backs both to the call and to the Torah.

Even the hope we placed in modern Haredim—ultra-Orthodox brothers and sisters who showed a willingness to join the workforce and educate their children in the shared Israeli dream of building a diverse and respectful society—remains unfulfilled. “She, too, sighed and turned back” (book of Eicha). Do our ultra-Orthodox brothers not understand that continuing down this path and refusing to share in our joint burdens they are contributing to our downfall?

The cry that is being cried is not only that of the soldiers and captives and their families but also the cry of Judaism and the Torah. Do they not see that their actions alienate Jews from their Judaism? Do they not see that in their hands, the life of Torah appears as a life of indifference, exploitation, and detachment? How do acts of communal kindness, performed so beautifully by the Hareidi community, not translate into tangible support for the war effort?

A second group that has failed to embrace our new reality and the privilege of Jewish sovereignty lies among a small minority of the sons and daughters of Religious Zionism. Within a large, ideological, and moral community that successfully integrates Torah and state, there are also a few ‘rotten apples.’ More troubling, however, is that there is insufficient condemnation and distancing from some of the despicable actions we have witnessed. The incident this week, where settlers attacked Israeli Arab women from Rahat, and perhaps even pointed a gun at the temple of a three-year-old girl (if the stories are tragically confirmed), demands that we tear our garments not only for the destruction of the First and Second Temples, but also for the threat of the destruction of the third ‘Temple’ we are experiencing today in modern Israel. What are we teaching if the Torah is not synonymous with morality and if Torah-observant people are not associated with justice, kindness, and humility? For what purpose have we returned to our homeland and gained sovereignty? We want to be worthy of dwelling in the land of God, but our actions will determine whether the land will spit us out or embrace us warmly as a son returning home from the road.

Because of these matters, and perhaps for other reasons, some members of a third secular group within Israeli society are abandoning their Judaism and choosing a liberal-universal identity. A large majority of the secular and traditional public is deeply engaged in shaping its Jewish identity and reclaiming the tradition of Israel through personal, historical, familial, and cultural choices. But some within this group abstain from doing so. While certain parts of our society refuse to bear the burden of security and the economy, this group relinquishes its partnership in bearing the burden of tradition. Jewish sovereignty in the state of Israel provides us with a semblance and a public sphere of Jewish identity, but we are responsible for filling it with meaningful content. And he who refrains from doing so breaks the chains of generations with his own hands. He may adopt sovereignty unto himself, be he will be a long way from 'Jewish sovereignty;' from realizing the longing of generations and vision of Zionism.

Israel’s challenges on Tisha B’Av 5784 are severe and complex. The costs we pay for living here are heavy and bloody. Yet the people living in Zion cling to the tradition of their forefathers and foremothers and to generations of pioneers who lived and died hoping to establish a model society here. May we be worthy of all this and find comfort in rebuilding Jerusalem.