This is a true story. It happened with a chosson on the day of his chasunah. This chosson, whom we will call Eliezer, lived in Eretz Yisroel. Eliezer decided that the optimum place to daven Mincha on the auspicious day of his chasunah was at the Kosel Hamaarovi, the last remnant of the makom haMikdosh.
While davening Shemoneh Esrei, Eliezer began to cry, tears streaming from his eyes. He was crying, literally bawling his eyes out. He seemed almost devastated.
Standing to the side was another Yid, whom we will call Avi. Avi couldn’t take his eyes off of Eliezer. “Oh my!” he thought to himself. “What is going on here? I know that the yom hachupah is a very solemn, auspicious day, and I can understand how chassanim daven with great kavanah and even shed some tears, but this chosson is at a different level. I wonder if there is a tzarah in the family or some other difficulty.”
When Eliezer finished davening and was walking away, Avi couldn’t help himself. He walked over and, after wishing the chosson mazel tov on his upcoming wedding, asked, “Tell me, is everything all right? Can I help you with something? Maybe you need funds for something. I saw that the way you were crying was totally out of the ordinary.”
Cheeks reddening in embarrassment, Eliezer answered, “To tell you the truth, I was standing here davening when the thought hit me: Later today, I will begin building my own bayis. I will be starting a new home, while Hashem still does not have a home after all these years. How can I go into my sparkling, brand-new apartment when Hashem’s home is still in ruins? I davened so much for Hashem’s home to also be built.”
We Hoped…But He Is Still Not Here
This story came to mind as I was thinking about this Shabbos, Shabbos Nachamu, the Shabbos of comfort. I was wondering: What is there really to take comfort in? Hashem’s house is still not built. We are still in golus. We sat on the floor on Tisha B’Av, we mourned the churban during the Nine Days, we davened, and we hoped…and He has still not come.
What exactly is the nature of the nechomah?
Let me try to explain by citing the well-known Gemara in Makkos when Rabi Akiva and other Tanna’im went to the Har Habayis, where they saw foxes running out from the place where the Kodesh Hakodoshim had been. They were crying, and Rabi Akiva began to laugh.
The other Tanna’im asked, “Akiva, why are you laughing?”
Rabi Akiva gazed back at them and asked what appeared to be a bizarre question. He asked them, “Why are you crying?”
What kind of question is that? 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 Rabi Akiva: “I am laughing because just as the nevuah that says, ‘Foxes will walk there,’ has come to fruition, so too, the nevuah that states that Hashem will rebuild the Bais Hamikdosh will also come true.”
Cries of Despair or Cries of Hope?
From his answer, we can see why Rabi Akiva asked that question. Perhaps Rabi Akiva detected a crying of yi’ush, of despair, in their voices. He heard a cry that showed that they had given up hope for the geulah. Yes, a person can cry, but the crying must be a cry of tikvah, of hope, of longing, of emunah.
The chosson, Eliezer, was crying a cry of tikvah, of longing, of emunah. It was a painful cry, but it was also a hopeful one. Tikvah means that there is still a connection. It means, “I still feel connected. Yes, I feel that something is missing and it hurts, but it only hurts so much because I know that it is within reach, yet I still haven’t gotten there.”
When there is a cry of yi’ush, of despair, it is a resigned cry. Farfalen—there is nothing we can do about it. Perhaps that is what Rabi Akiva was asking: Why are you crying in a way that shows that you have almost given up and despaired of the yeshuah?
Our nechomah is the fact that we still feel connected.
On Tisha B’Av, we said the very moving, emotional Kinnah written by Rav Yehuda Halevi titled “Tzion Halo Sishali.” In his deep and poetic emotion, Rav Yehuda Halevi writes, “Yinam lenafshi holech arum veyacheif alei chorvos shemamah asher hayah divirayich—My soul would be pleased walking unclothed and barefoot among the desolate ruins where the Kodesh Hakodoshim once stood.”
What was Rav Yehuda Halevi asking for? To walk on the desolate ruins where the Bais Hamikdosh once stood. Why would that be sweet for him? It is tragic, not sweet.
The answer is that he was still connected to the Mikdosh. He had such ga’aguim, such longing, for the Mikdosh, that even walking barefoot on the ruins would connect him to those who had walked barefoot on that very same mountain in the times of the Bais Hamikdosh. It was the ultimate tikvah, the hope, longing and knowledge that yes, it will happen. Rav Yehuda Halevi was still connected. Deeply connected.
Our Hope Is Our Nechomah
This brings to mind a story I once saw in the sefer HaRav M’Ponovezh about the Ponovezher Rov, Rav Yosef Shlomo Kahaneman. The story, which took place in 1947 just after the Holocaust, served as a source of much-needed comfort and perspective.
The recitation of Kinnos in the recently founded Ponovezh Yeshiva in Bnei Brak had just ended. The Ponovezher Rov was surrounded by talmidim, many of them orphans who had somehow survived the war and had come to learn at the yeshiva. The Rov himself had lost his wife and all his children, except for his oldest son. The air in the room was thick. There was a terribly depressing atmosphere in the bais medrash, as the tragedy of Tisha B’Av coupled with the many personal horror stories of survival were foremost on everyone’s minds.
The Rov, still crouched on the floor, began to speak. “The last Kinnah of Eli Tzion, which is recited in such mournful tones, contains a message. The Kinnah begins with the words, ‘Wail, O Tzion, like one undergoing the pangs of birth.’ How can we compare the crying for the complete destruction of the Bais Hamikdosh to one undergoing birth pangs, which, as painful as they may be, result in new life?”
He continued: “The author of the Kinnah is teaching us a profound lesson. When we recite Kinnos of mourning on Tisha B’Av, it is not a mourning of despair, of giving up hope. On the contrary, we believe that the churban is really the preparation for the coming of Moshiach. Yes, it is a cry of pain, but it is rooted in the firmest belief that the outcome will be life—the outcome will be the final redemption! The more painful our travails, the closer we are to Moshiach.”
Yes, our nechomah is our hope, our tikvah, our longing that still exists within us after all these years.
That is the depth of the meaning of the words of Chazal, who say, “Whoever mourns Yerushalayim will merit to see its comfort.” The fact that we are mourning with tikvah, with hope, not with yi’ush, is the key to the nechomah.
A gutten Shabbos Nachamu!
