{Summary by Channie Koplowitz Stein}
Medrash Rabbah on Eichah points out that everything associated with the tragedy of Tisha B’Av is in a double measure. The verses state that Jerusalem sinned in double measure, that she received punishment from Hashem in double measure, and that Hashem will in the future console her in double measure.
Rav Reiss asks several questions on this Medrash. First, what does it mean to sin in double measure rather than in the number of sins, and then how can a just God punish doubly for those sins. If we are to properly mourn the destruction of our Temple, it behooves us to study the nature of our sins as a means of rectifying them and leading to the rebuilding of our Temple.
The Gemarrah in different sections offers different reasons for the destruction. The best known reasons are that the first Beit Hamikdosh was destroyed because Bnei Yisroel transgressed the three cardinal sins while the second Beit Hamikdosh was destroyed because of unwarranted hatred of one for the other. Yet the Gemarrah cites Hashem’s words to the prophet Yirmiuyahu that having left the Torah was the reason for the destruction.
Finally, the Gemarrah in Shabbos cites multiple reasons that Yerushalayim was destroyed, among them desecration of the Shabbos, Torah learning becoming marginalized, the people no longer being humble, they belittling the sages, and other transgressions. However, Rav Schlessenger rightfully points out in Areset Sefateynu that just as the Gemarrah mentions different sins, it is also referring to different aspects of the destruction, destruction of the land, of the first and subsequently second Temples, and finally the destruction of Jerusalem. Only by studying the sins cited and discovering a core element will be find a focus for ourselves and our attempt to rectify the basis for the losses.
We are told that any generation in which the Beit Hamikdosh was not rebuilt it is as if the Beit Hamikdosh was actually destroyed in that generation. Rav Moshe Schwab in Maarchei Lev tries to understand this saying. After all, he reasons, there is a difference between unrealized potential, that of the potential for having the Temple rebuilt, and destruction after the Temple had been built but was subsequently destroyed. Those who have potential must work to realize that potential, but those who have witnessed the destruction have the added challenge of finding out what flaw caused them to fall after reaching such heights. We can continue to build bricks of the Beit Hamikdosh through our mitzvah observance, but unless we shore up the foundation, the walls will not last. Rav Schwab offers the analogy of trying to save one’s money by putting it into a pocket with a hole at the bottom.
We are each a world unto ourselves with a mini Beit Hamikdosh with us, continues Rabbi Schwab. We each have the potential to rebuild the Beit Hamikdosh within ourselves. But we must make sure that our foundation is secure. When we say the Shema, for example, we must not only be aware to perfect the technical recitation so that each letter is distinct, but we must also “accept the yoke of heaven” which the recitation is meant to achieve. And in Yerushalayim proper, whose very name means the fear and awe of God, removing that element from our actions, even if the action itself is positive, removes a major component of our performance. Losing that passion for our connection to Hashem is in itself a transgression against Hashem, compounded if we allow it in Yerushalayim, the City of Fear of Hashem.
Most important, perhaps, is Rabbi Friefeld’s explanation of an individual’s performance of a mitzvah toward his fellow man. When one gives tzedakah, for example, does one smile at the recipient, making him feel whole and good, or does one give as he is obliged to do, but give grudgingly. The former is giving to the whole person while the latter is giving only to the need. Rabbi Friefeld explains that when dealing with our fellow man, we must cast a broad view upon him, seeing him in totality as created in the image of God, not with a narrow vision that sees only the pauper now crossing our path. Yerushalayim was a place of magnanimity, where no one ever said, “This place is too narrow, there isn’t enough room for you;” there was always space for one more. A lack of respect for one another, a disregard for the totality of another human being created a rift in the fabric of our nation.
When this occurred in Yerushalayim itself, explains Rabbi Pinchas Roberts in Timeless Seasons, in the city of peace and unity, of Shalom and Shalaim, the same disregard became doubly significant. Therefore Hashem destroyed the city and dispersed us among the nations, creating a physical disunity where only a sociological or psychological one formerly existed.
Hashem sends us wake up calls through catastrophic events in the world, says Rav Reiss. But if we interpret them as pure happenstance, as nothing to do with us, Hashem brings those calamitous events closer so that we will wake up and do teshuvah.
Using this idea as our starting point, we can understand Rav Moshe Bick’s interpretation of the saying of our Sages that Moshiach will come only either when the entire generation is meritorious or when it is all guilty. We can certainly understand that Moshiach would come if the entire generation is meritorious, but how would it even be possible for the entire nation to be guilty when Hashem promised that the Torah would never be totally forgotten by His people? And then how would that bring about our redemption?
Rav Bick, the Chayei Moshe, explains: It is not so much that everyone in that generation would be wicked, but rather that everyone in that generation would realize he had sinned, and with that realization would come an admission of guilt and a return to Hashem. Unfortunately, we tend to go through life in an odyssey of obliviousness, focused on our physical needs rather than on our spiritual needs. We don’t even realize where we fall short. When the first Beit Hamikdosh was destroyed, our people recognized where they had failed and were able to do teshuvah. Therefore that exile lasted only seventy years, and we returned and rebuilt the Temple. But, says Rabbi Bick, the generation in which the second Temple was destroyed never recognized where they had gone astray. After all, they studied Torah, they gave tzedakah and performed other social mitzvoth. But they did not admit that they devalued and disrespected each other and therefore they did not repent.
Unfortunately, neither do we admit our shortcomings. If our generation can do an honest introspection, suggests Rabbi Chaim Kamil, recognize our shortcomings, can admit that indeed we are guilty, then we can begin the process of teshuvah that will bring about the rebuilding of our Temple. During the time of the Beit Hamikdosh, Hashem’s presence was palpable not only around us but also within us. Yet we distanced ourselves from Him on the one hand and then tried to find other, alien sources to give meaning to our lives, sinning on two different levels. Today, although His presence is still here, although less palpably, we usually choose to ignore it.
In our current state, says Rav Gamliel Rabinowitz in Tiv Hanechama, we are certainly unaware of Hashem’s pain at being distanced from us. Hashem shows us so much love and showers us with so many blessings, yet we think only of ourselves and what we still want, forgetting to offer sincere thanks for our many blessings even as we may mouth the words. Unlike us, King David felt that pain and wanted that constant connection with his personal God.
Perhaps we need to learn from the sea. As Rav Zeichyk reminds us, not only Man, but every atom in the universe seeks a connection with the Creator. Indeed, when Hashem split the waters to create the upper waters and the lower waters, the lower waters cried because they were so far from their Creator. Although the upper waters were closer to God’s presence, Hashem comforted the lower waters by demanding that the upper waters ask permission of the lower waters before they would sing praises to Hashem. This inanimate object felt the distance from Hashem, yet we do not.
Perhaps, as Rabbi Bamberger, the Mashgiach of the Ponovich Yeshiva writes, that is because we have no experience with the full light of God’s presence, much like someone in a cave who has never seen sunlight, only the light of a candle. However, if someone were to drill a hole in the wall of the cave and a sliver of sunlight would stream in, he would then yearn for more of that bright light and mourn his inability to access it. In a similar way, says Rav Bamberger, we too must drill a hole in our symbolic cave so that we can feel Hashem’s rays upon us. Then we will be able to mourn the destruction, for we will have a better understanding of what we have lost.
A verse in Eichah states, “All who pursued her have caught her in the narrow straits.” Rav Bamberger interprets this verse in a comforting way. “All who pursue God (rodfeha= rodfe Y-H) will reach God during the time known as the narrow straits, i.e., the ‘three weeks’.”
This is the time we must search for Hashem and feel His absence. Then may the time come soon that the last phrase, that Hashem will comfort us in double measure come to pass.