“I celebrate my birthday on Tisha B’Av. For me, it is a very special day,” the yungerman exclaimed passionately, and then added, “No, it’s not my real birthday, but rather the day of my spiritual birth—or perhaps rebirth.”
I heard this quote from a good friend of mine from Toronto. He told me that several years ago, he met a yungerman in Toronto, and that’s what the yungerman told him. When my friend asked him to explain how Tisha B’Av, the saddest day on the Jewish calendar, could be so special for him, the yungerman replied, “I wasn’t born frum. My family was proudly Jewish, but they were not observant. When I was a teenager, I went on a trip to Israel with eighty other teens. It was one of those trips sponsored by Jewish organizations so that young North American Jews would develop some sort of connection to Israel in the hopes of preventing them from assimilating and intermarrying.
“One of the places on the tour was the Kosel on the night of Tisha B’Av.”
Rebirth on Leil Tisha B’Av
“The night of Tisha B’Av at the Kosel is a real tourist attraction. People come from all over to see Jews sitting on the floor and mourning the Bais Hamikdosh,” the yungerman continued. “Later, we gathered together on a hill from where we could see the lights of the Old City in the distance. There we were, sitting on the grass, overlooking the Old City, and despite our ignorance about Judaism, we were all very moved. We knew that this day was a day of mourning for the Bais Hamikdosh, and sitting there overlooking the Old City, where it all happened, made us feel very connected.
“One of the staff members was an American-born, obviously religious guy, and he gave a speech that was a turning point in my life. That young man, that guide, is the person who uncovered and revealed the light of Yiddishkeit for me, davka then, on that darkest, bleakest day on the Jewish calendar. He spoke about Yerushalayim—how it looked when we had the Bais Hamikdosh. He explained how the Bais Hamikdosh was the place where Hashem’s Shechinah rested, and the magnitude of the tragedy that befell the Jewish people when it was destroyed. Even though all of us knew next to nothing about Judaism, his words had a profound impact.
“There was no question that I felt something wake up within me at that moment. I didn’t know what it was. Today, I would call it the pintele Yid, but then I just felt that a stone was removed from my heart, and I began to feel what it really meant to be a Jew.
“He didn’t just speak about the Bais Hamikdosh. He spoke about golus and how every bit of pain and suffering that we experience in our own lives is related to golus. He had gotten to know us on the trip and was therefore familiar with some of the details of our lives and the personal or familial difficulties we were going through. He conveyed the idea that the pain we were experiencing in our personal lives was all part of the golus, and when the yeshuah would come, our personal yeshuah would also come. That is why we long so deeply for Moshiach and the rebuilding of the Bais Hamikdosh.
“He also explained to us that Hashem Himself is in pain and feels our pain. For that reason, Tisha B’Av, despite being a very sad day, is also a day of deep connection to Hashem.”
The Keys That Opened a Locked Heart
“The climax of his speech, however, is what made the most powerful, lifelong impression on me. He related a heartrending story brought in the Gemara in Maseches Taanis about how a group of young Kohanim ran up to the roof of the Bais Hamikdosh while it was burning, and tongues of flames were leaping from the holy Bais Hamikdosh, rising to the heavens. With tremendous passion and pathos, he described those Kohanim standing on the burning roof, crying out, ‘Ribbono Shel Olam, we have not merited to be loyal treasurers for the Bais Hamikdosh, and we are therefore returning the keys to You!’ Those young Kohanim threw the keys up to the heavens as they died al kiddush Hashem. At that terrible moment, something that looked like a hand appeared to reach out, took the keys, and brought them up to Shomayim.
“Now, I came from a spiritual wasteland. I had never heard such powerful words and such spiritual ideas before. That story about the keys penetrated so deeply into my neshamah. In my mind’s eye, I could picture the Bais Hamikdosh burning, the Kohanim running up to the roof, and with their deep emunah in Hashem, they didn’t see the keys as useless now that the Bais Hamikdosh was destroyed, but rather as a pikadon, something that needed to be returned to Hashem, their Owner.
“I saw, I really saw, what emunah was on that night. I saw how even terrible occurrences are from Hashem, and that the bad is only temporary. Hashem had the keys, and He would give them back. I was deeply comforted by this. I realized that the connection of the Jew with Hashem is eternal and unbreakable. I understood the eternal nature of the Jewish people and how Hashem is with us in every situation, good and bad.”
The yungerman concluded, “More than thirty years have passed since that night, and I have, boruch Hashem, married and established a beautiful family of shomrei mitzvos. Still today, I long for the feeling of closeness to Hashem that I felt on that Tisha B’Av night when my life changed forever. The keys to the Bais Hamikdosh opened my locked heart, and I have never looked back.”
When I heard this story from my friend, I personally felt a deep feeling of nechamah. Unfortunately, we still do not have the Bais Hamikdosh. We sat on the floor this Tisha B’Av mourning the churban and hoping so much that Hashem would finally send the yeshuah, but we are still in golus. Nevertheless, we are comforted by the fact that Hashem has the keys and is just waiting for the right time to return them to us.
Recognizing Why We Are Crying
Shabbos Nachamu is a time to be comforted, even though we do not yet have the Bais Hamikdosh. Our comfort is that we know that Hashem is with us, together with us, and shares our difficulty—imo anochi b’tzarah. Our comfort is that just like the emunah of those young, heroic Kohanim never wavered, our emunah has not wavered. We know that Hashem has the keys and will return them to us.
Another friend explained the well-known Gemara in Makkos which describes how Rebbi Akiva and other Tannaim went to the Har Habayis, where they saw foxes running out from the place where the Kodesh Hakodoshim had been. Rebbi Akiva began to laugh.
The other Tannaim asked, “Akiva, why are you laughing?”
Rebbi Akiva gazed back at them and asked what appeared to be a bizarre question: “Why are you crying?”
“What kind of question is that?” my friend asked. “We know why they were crying! They saw the churban right before their eyes. They saw a fox leaving the Kodesh Hakodoshim! We all know the famous answer given by Rebbi Akiva: ‘I am laughing because just as the nevuah that says, ‘Foxes will walk there,’ has come to fruition, so will the nevuah that states that Hashem will rebuild the Bais Hamikdosh come true.’ From his answer, we can see why Rebbi Akiva asked that question,” my friend continued. “Perhaps Rebbi Akiva detected a bechiyah, a crying of yiush, of despair, in their voices. He saw a cry that showed that they despaired of the geulah. Yes, a person can cry, but the crying must be a cry of tikvah, of hope, of longing, of emunah!”
That is the nechamah we now have. Our cry is hopefully a cry of tikvah. We know that just as Hashem took away those keys, He will indeed give them back.
May it be very, very soon.
