#tisha b’av

[goldyke]

To any Jewish followers who are observing Tisha B’av,

If you are fasting I wish you a meaningful and safe fast. If you are observing in a way that does not involve fasting I wish you a meaningful day of observance.

The wish for safety comes amidst widespread heat waves. Please try to stay indoors in cool areas and remember, in cases of Pikuach Nefesh you may break your fast and drink some water!

[mossadspypigeon]

from Rawan Osman, Arab peace activist.

[maimonidesnutz]

[writtenfoxscreams]

Hope everyone who’s fasting has a safe and meaningful fast.

Please make sure to take of yourselvesss.

<3333

[todaysjewishholiday]

9 Menachem Av 5784 (12-13 August 2024)

Tisha b’Av is the deepest day of communal mourning in the Jewish year. Like Yom Kippur, it is observed by many Jews with a 25 hour fast. However, rather than personal penitence, the purpose of this fast is primarily collective remembrance. In the Babylonian exile, Jewish communal leaders were deeply aware of the danger of their children and grandchildren forgetting a land that they’d never seen and assimilating fully into the culture of the empire that had uprooted them. Establishing the Ninth of Av as a fast day was a way to remind generations of exiles that no matter how prosperous or settled they were, something crucial was missing.

The Talmud says that five catastrophes befell the Jewish people on the ninth of Av. The first was HaShem’s decree that the generation of adults who had left Egypt and mutinied in the wilderness would not enter the promised land. The second was the destruction of the Beit HaMikdash by the Babylonian army. The third was the destruction of the restored Mikdash by the Romans. The fourth was the capture of Beitar and with it the final end of the Bar Kokhba Revolt in the days of Rabbi Akiva. And the fifth was the Romans completely destroying Jerusalem after that revolt, and forbidding Jews from settling there. In the generations since the redaction of the Gemara several antisemitic governments have deliberately chosen the ninth of Av as the date for expulsions of Jews or attacks on the Jewish people, studying our traditions just enough to use them to increase our pain.

On Pesach we become one with our enslaved forebearers as they enter into freedom for the first time, and we rejoice in our liberation. On the ninth of Av we unify ourselves with our ancestors as they enter captivity again. We remind ourselves that grief and sorrow are as much a part of life as joy and celebration. Mourning is not shameful, not something we must hide or shrink away from. Our griefs, collective and personal, are something we have every right to and which we can enter together. We must allow ourselves our grief in order to have hope of being comforted.

[girlactionfigure]

On one of his travels across Europe, the great French leader, Napoleon Bonaparte led his troops through a small Jewish town. He passed by a synagogue where everyone was sitting on the floor crying and reading little books by the light of small candles.

Napoleon asked his aide, “What is this?” He was told that the Jewish people are mourning the destruction of the Temple (twice). “How long ago was that?” he inquired, “Two thousand years” was the answer.

Napoleon, astonished, was then quoted saying: “A nation that cries and fasts for over 2,000 years for their land and the Temple will surely be rewarded with both land and the Temple.”

Tisha B’Av, the 9th day of the Hebrew month of Av, is the saddest day on the Jewish calendar. On this day we fast, deprive ourselves and pray, as we mourn the destruction of the first and second temples, and many other calamities which befell our people throughout history on this date.

Our generation is blessed to live in these times, together in our ancestral homeland, in our own independent state; in our reunified capital Jerusalem.

“All who mourn [the destruction of] Jerusalem will merit to see it in its joy” (Ta’anit 30b)

The menorah on the Arch of Titus in Rome, depicting the destruction of Jerusalem and the exile of the Jewish people. Today, this menorah is the national symbol of the State of Israel. Photo: Amos Ben Gershom Source: @GPOIsrael

@HumansOfJudaism

[unbidden-yidden-deactivated20240]

Some of my other favorite Tisha b'Av music

[laineystein]

💦 Reminder if you’re fasting for Tisha B’Av - start increasing your water intake NOW.

[edenfenixblogs]

I have a new appreciation for Tisha B’Av this year. For reference, I am also reform and didn’t grow up paying much attention to it.

Despite how difficult these last 10 months have been, I’ve spoken before about how I hate being “the sad Jew.” Judaism is so joyous and I suppose some internalized antisemitism led me to believe that if I acknowledged the breadth of Jewish suffering throughout history, I’d become a stereotype. But aside from that, I never wanted (and still vehemently do not want) Judaism to be associated with tragedy and loss.

It is part of our history and informs our present, sure.

But in order for you to understand why Jewish trauma and tragic histories are so deeply affecting, you must first understand how beautiful it is to be Jewish.

Despite all our people have endured and continue to endure, we remain Jews. Not because it is easy. Not because we like “playing the victim” or “weaponizing our trauma” as many antisemites seem to think (this is wildly racist btw, and people wouldn’t stand for this kind of rhetoric about any other group without challenging it).

No, we remain Jews because we love being Jews.

The love of each other and of our world. The feeling of interconnectedness. The almost tangible feeling of history and nature and culture. It is like a warm blanket. It comforts and envelopes it all.

Tisha B’Av is the Jewish day of disasters.

It marks the anniversary of the destruction of our first temple in 586BCE.

It marks the day 656 years later that our rebuilt temple was destroyed in a calamity that sent us into a diaspora that continues to this day.

In the modern era, the First Crusade began on this day

On this day, in disparate years, Jews were expelled from England, France, and Spain, and Germany entered WWI.

It is even the day that The Holocaust began. Literally. Heinrich Himmler received approval for his plan—“The Final Solution”—which explicitly stated its goal of killing all Jews, everywhere and exterminating us like vermin.

The following year, Jews were evacuated from the Warsaw Ghetto to Treblinka.

This day marks an unimaginably painful series of tragedies for my people. And we remember exactly when and where they happened, because my ancestors and yours wrote them down as they occurred—either to record our pain contemporaneously or to celebrate their victories over us.

But in these tragedies, there is also celebration.

In Fiddler on the Roof, Tevye paraphrases an actual Jewish mitzvah: Be happy.

Not in terms of toxic positivity. But to find happiness. Because it is often buried beneath the rubble. But it is there:

“Life has a way of confusing us. / Blessing and bruising us.

…G-d would like us to be joyful / even when our hearts lie / panting on the floor. / How much more can we be joyful / when there’s really something to be joyful for?

…May all your futures be pleasant ones / not like our present ones.

…To us / and our good fortune. / Be happy. / Be healthy. / Long life. / And if our good fortune never comes / here’s to whatever comes.”

This is not just a song in some musical. This is an encapsulation of Jewish thought and the Jewish relationship between joy and sorrow.

I think that, in some ways, no holiday calls on us as a people to embrace this concept more than Tisha B’Av.

When our first temple fell, we rebuilt it—because we loved being Jews so much.

When our second temple fell and we entered diaspora, we brought our culture with us and kept our communities close and developed a modern system of rabbis in order to maintain a community scattered across the world—because we loved being Jewish so much.

When we were expelled repeatedly throughout European history, we found new countries. Some of these places had synagogues already, and we found our people by the familiar Hebrew and mezuzahs on the doors, or we built new communities in which we could thrive for however long we were allowed to exist there—because we loved being Jewish so much.

And during the crusades and the Holocaust and all the other tragedies designed specifically to eradicate us from the earth, we survived and defiantly insisted upon retaining our culture and faith—because we loved being Jewish so much.

In every instance and in every generation, it would have been easier to have stopped being Jewish. It would have been easier to assimilate for our own safety. But we didn’t, because we value each other too much. We value our history to much. We value the Jewish view of the world and humanity too much to even entertain the idea of not being Jewish anymore.

How beautiful is that?

All we have left of our second temple is a remnant of a wall that another building sits atop. And yet, still, we go there to pray. Sometimes we cry over what was lost.

How beautiful is that?

To me, it is indescribably beautiful that the cultural memory of our joy and contentment in that place is so strong that—even now—standing on the outside of its ruins fills us with pride.

Someone recently asked my why we bothered remaining Jewish when so many people have made it so difficult for us and we have no hell to punish us for not being Jewish. At the time, I couldn’t articulate it. But now I think I have at least some of the words I need to convey an answer:

Judaism has never forced anything of us. It is a religion and culture of mutual consent. It asks things of us, but it does not punish us for the things we cannot or are unwilling to do.

Judaism is gentle to us, and it asks us to be gentle to each other.

Judaism carries in it not simply some words in scrolls that we are forced to say—but also the voices of my ancestors and the recipes of the food they ate and the memories of the things they’ve survived and accomplished.

Judaism is a gift that connects the present to our past with a strength like a steel beam. I make matzo on Pesach, and I recall not only the slaves doing so as they flee Egypt—I also feel my mother and grandmother and their mothers and grandmothers inside me. I feel all of our arms and hands moving together in a motion passed down through time. I feel comfort in the knowledge that my foremothers hands moved in the same way mine do. I feel comfort knowing that they felt the dough in the same way, feeling for how soft or dry or wet or tacky the dough feels. I feel comfort imagining they also had trouble getting it flat enough and getting pasty bland dough stuck on their hands. And I feel a sense of humorous peace that, just as with me now, the alien sensations became familiar with the passing years, until they learned to live in my blood and my bones. And one day—G-d willing—my child will feel me in their bones too. They will feel me guiding them through a Jewish life, because it lives inside me. Not because I expect them to be Jewish “or else.” But because being Jewish, despite its many traumas, is a gift.

I am sad on this day which marks the anniversary of so many of our worst tragedies. But, Baruch HaShem, I am joyous too. Because we are still here. We survived those tragedies. Not all of us. Not enough of us. But the whole of us and our culture and our identity. We all remain alive and experiencing Jewishness together. How much easier it must have been when we were all able to be in one place together. How beautiful it is that we are able to do so now even as scattered as we are. How beautiful it is that our ancestors understood the gift they were giving us by refusing to assimilate and for understanding that Judaism would not only endure but mature with age.

Judaism is a story that we are all still writing together. And how beautiful it is that we are still here writing it. What a gift. What a mitzvah. What an honor.

Let us mourn those who are no longer with us, and let us mourn the communities and places and stories we have lost.

Then let us celebrate what remains.

May those who are fasting have a meaningful fast. And to all my fellow Jews, I love you. Thank you for maintaining this beautiful legacy with me. I’m grateful for you. And for the lives of those lost to disaster, I know their memories are blessings. They bless us each day. And for that I am grateful.

i'm a reform jew and i'm more religious now than i've ever been. I never grew up marking Tisha B'Av and probably didn't even know what it was. I can't remember if I fasted last year or not, but I'm going to fast this year. I am also going to refrain from cannabis for the day which I usually struggle with but I think if I'm doing it for am yisrael and hashem i will be able to.

[spacelazarwolf]

Is kikemoid gender-affirming enough for you? <3

something something te/rf-nazi venn diagram.

[snarky-art]

Why did you become an anti-Semite?

I’m anti Zionists committing genocide, not anti Jewish. The conflation of the 2 is gross and disgusting.

And I don’t support the killing of others Semitic groups that aren’t Jewish, which is more than I can say for the state of Israel

Hope this helps💕

[anonymousdandelion]

The fact that people are still reblogging this today is a special sort of affliction.

..anyway, tzom kal. Wishing everyone fasting a meaningful one.

Hydration reminder for those who will be fasting for Tisha B'Av tonight and tomorrow!

Start drinking water now, and don't stop until sunset. :)

[ephemeral-winter]

oh no i’m not religious i just wanted to sit on the floor in the dark and sing sad songs about the death and destruction of our people with you

[avoidingdestiny]

Desperately need a haircut and I can’t get one because I forgot the Three Weeks starts tomorrow.

[girlactionfigure]

What Happened on the Ninth of Av?

On Tisha B’Av, five national calamities occurred:

During the time of Moses, Jews in the desert accepted the slanderous report of the 10 Spies, and the decree was issued forbidding them from entering the Land of Israel.

The First Temple was destroyed by the Babylonians, led by Nebuchadnezzar. 100,000 Jews were slaughtered and millions more exiled.

The Second Temple was destroyed by the Romans, led by Titus. Some two million Jews died, and another one million were exiled.

The Bar Kochba revolt was crushed by Roman Emperor Hadrian. The city of Betar – the Jews’ last stand against the Romans – was captured and liquidated. Over 100,000 Jews were slaughtered.

The Temple area and its surroundings were plowed under by the Roman general Turnus Rufus. Jerusalem was rebuilt as a pagan city – renamed Aelia Capitolina – and access was forbidden to Jews.

Other grave misfortunes throughout Jewish history occurred on the Ninth of Av, including:

The Spanish Inquisition culminated with the expulsion of Jews from Spain on Tisha B’Av in 1492.

World War One broke out on the eve of Tisha B’Av in 1914 when Germany declared war on Russia. German resentment from the war set the stage for the Holocaust.

On the eve of Tisha B’Av 1942, the mass deportation began of Jews from the Warsaw Ghetto, en route to Treblinka.