This Tuesday, Klal Yisroel will engage in the shortest fast day of the year. Yet, it can be the most life-changing day as well if we listen carefully to its message. Let us begin with the paradox of the tenth day of the month of Teves.
Rav Yonasan David, rosh yeshiva of Yeshivas Pachad Yitzchok in Yerushalayim (Sefer Me’iras Einayim, Vaad 53), points out several aspects of Asarah B’Teves that single out this taanis from all the others. First of all, as is well known, the Abudraham (quoted by the Bais Yosef 550) writes that, unlike all other fast days, if it fell on Shabbos, it would not be delayed and we would have to fast on Shabbos. Secondly, all the other fast days that commemorate the churban Bais Hamikdosh fall during the summer, when the power of the sun, which represents our enemies, is strong. Only Asarah B’Teves falls during the winter, far from the power of the sun. Furthermore, the winter months, beginning with Sukkos, are generally associated with happy times, ending with Chanukah, which is indeed the final time to offer bikkurim (Bikkurim 1:6). Suddenly, in the midst of all the Yomim Tovim, the jarringly sad day of Asarah B’Teves makes its tragic appearance.
Even stranger, the days of Teves begin joyously, still permeated and even consummated by Chanukah, and shockingly turn sorrowfully into the grieving of Asarah B’Teves. It certainly seems as if we had been elevated by the taste of redemption, only to be suddenly plunged into the darkness of destruction. As Chazal (see Chagigah 6a, Likkutei Rashi) dramatically put it, it’s like falling from a high tower into a very deep pit. Why did Hashem, who controls all, bring us to these heights, only to shatter our mood and emotions with what seem to be negative events and black marks on our calendars?
The answer, says Rav David, is to remember that life is full of tests. There are tests of poverty and tests of wealth. As Shlomo Hamelech says, “Give me neither poverty nor wealth, but allot me my daily bread” (Mishlei 30:8-9). To wish to live without tests is a wish for death itself. The Medrash (Tanchuma, Pinchos 10) teaches that just as everyone has his own singular face, so is each human being unique. Every one of us has our own specific purpose and goal to fulfill, and the passing of each test brings us closer to the fulfillment of that cosmic destiny.
However, to accomplish this properly, we must live in some darkness as well. It is sometimes hard to decipher events and things that are incomprehensible at the time. But there is something that we must know. Every one of us was once shown the entire panorama of our lives in a way that explained every step and event. We once understood, but it was in the womb, and then we all forgot (see Iyov 29:2-3 and Niddah 30b). So what was the purpose of that early revelation itself if we were all struck by the malach and then everything went dark?
The answer is that the preview of our lives that we all watched carefully left an impression. It did not go to waste. Those moments imprinted themselves upon our holy souls and resonate regularly when we encounter possibilities for greatness. We feel instinctively that “this is something I must do,” and if we have the courage, stamina and wisdom to follow our internal better inclinations, we rise to the occasion of our destiny.
The world may call these feelings the subconscious, but Rav David suggests that it should be called the “superconscious.” These intimations of something we should be doing are the replay of the “game plan” the Creator has embedded into our souls. Yes, we have seen it before, but not on any screen, large or small. This pattern was built into creation itself when Hashem created light with which “a person could see from one end of the world to the other” (Chagigah 12a). This is similar to the candle the child sees in the womb when he is shown his potential and inner greatness. We are then thrust into darkness, often fraught with difficulty as well, so that we can fulfill our grand purpose through free will. The rule of life is that before the darkness, we always see the light. We are shown the broad possibilities and then the danger zones and pitfalls, but the decisions will always be our very own, not those of anyone else.
Each and every weekday, we live through the same pattern when we daven. The stages of our prayers, as arranged in the siddur, are upwardly mobile. As many of the early siddurim (Siddur HaShelah, Rav Yaakov Emden ,etc.) illustrate, it is as if we are traveling through the Bais Hamikdosh and ending up in the Kodesh Hakodoshim during Shemoneh Esrei (see Nefesh Hachaim, Shaar 2, Chapter 14, note). Then, suddenly, Chazal ordained that we should “fall down” — nefilas apayim — in Tachanun. We descend, as mentioned earlier, from the heights to the depths. Why? The Tachanun represents this world, where we often fall and fail. Yet, we always take that special light with us, which can guide us and save us from the often depraved vicissitudes of this world.
In the prelude to Chanukah, during and immediately after, we read and study the parshiyos of Yosef Hatzaddik. He, too, was sent on a dangerous mission, lived and survived many tests, and eventually reappeared as the virtual ruler of Egypt. For this reason, all of Klal Yisroel is called “the flock of Yosef” (Tehillim 80:2), for we all follow his pattern. We were given the light, as Yosef was, receiving the Torah from Yaakov Avinu that he had learned from Avrohom, Yitzchok and Sheim and Aiver. Then came the darkness and the return into blazing light with the fulfillment of his promise of malchus and spiritual success.
Indeed, Klal Yisroel, through the system of maaseh avos siman labonim, lives though the last mysterious years of Yaakov Avinu. On the one hand, these are considered the best years of his life, with the return of Yosef, surrounded by his children and grandchildren developing into the shevatim and seventy souls who are the nascence of Klal Yisroel. Yet, at the same time, Chazal describe this time as heralding the beginning of the bondage in Mitzrayim (Rashi, Bereishis 47:28). Although this seems self-contradictory, it represents the saga of our nation. The actual slavery didn’t begin until after Yaakov Avinu passed away, and even while any of the shevatim were alive, we were protected from the worst of the bondage. Yaakov Avinu’s taste of Gan Eden during his final seventeen years in Mitzrayim represented his revelation that despite the times of suffering ahead, the geulah would come amidst great miracles and wealth as Hashem had promised. The opening word and title of the last parsha in Bereishis is a harbinger of the entire future of Klal Yisroel, tremendous greatness, immense tragedy and the culmination in both spiritual and material triumph.
Now to understand Asarah B’Teves in its true context: This fast day comes just after the joy of Chanukah, at the end of the season of Yomim Tovim, to demonstrate to us that we are not falling into an endless abyss. One of Chabakuk’s final prophesies (3:13) is, “Mochatza rosh m’bais resha — You crushed the head of the house of wicked.” The Chiddushei Harim teaches that “rosh” here refers to Rosh Chodesh Teves, because although Teves ushered in the destruction of the Bais Hamikdosh, it carried with it the victorious power of Chanukah and its eternal light to illuminate the darkness ahead.
With these words, we can understand more deeply the famous lines of the Rambam (beginning of Hilchos Chanukah) praising the Chashmonaim for restoring the monarchy to Klal Yisroel for two centuries. The question that has been discussed for hundreds of years as well is that the Ramban points out that the Chashmonaim should not have been dually Kohanim and kings. For this reason, the song that we sang every day of Chanukah, Maoz Tzur, recounts not only the triumph of Chanukah, but also that of Pesach over Mitzrayim, the victory over Bavel, the downfall of Haman, and eventually the much-awaited yeshuah of Moshiach (see also Pachad Yitzchok, Chanukah, Maamar 11). The Chashmonaim knew that their royalty was only temporary, enough to get us through until the true monarchy. Hashem shows us before we are enveloped by darkness that “He set a keitz (limit) to the darkness” (Iyov 28:3), quoted extensively in the Medrashim on the first posuk of Mikeitz, in recognition of the fact that the saga of Yosef is that of Klal Yisroel, intense darkness followed and culminating in the ultimate light. Maoz Tzur ends with the final end of geulah, reminding us that although Asarah B’Teves must come, it arrives with the promise of much better days because we have suffered, prevailed spiritually, and will understand that all the pain was worth the glory of the geulah sheleimah bemeheirah beyomeinu.
