“Comfort Ye, Comfort Ye, My People”
I vividly recall chanting the first Haftarah of consolation at the URJ Eisner Camp in the Berkshires. It was on the Shabbat after Tish’a b’Av, the 9th of Av commemorating the destruction of the Temples in Jerusalem and other tragedies across the centuries. Nachamu, nachamu, ami, the translation of which is in the title above, is what Isaiah said. The desolation and ruin caused great despair among our People; what was to become of our religion? And if the Babylonians could do this to stone, what could they do to mortals? The same holds true with the Romans who destroyed the second Temple. But they were far more uncivilized, and we read about their barbarism in the afternoon service on Yom Kippur. Yes, what was to become of us?
Well, we’re here, and they’re not. What’s the greeting card say? “They came to kill us. We beat them. Let’s eat!” Only we never really “beat” them. A little, indeed a great deal, was to be no more and we were forced to change gears, as it were. We had a lot to mourn about T H E N, but from a Jewish point of view, N O T N O W.
Oh sure, you can bemoan our numbers and the dwindling this and that which even I “mourn” over a bit, but knowing that we Jews never despair; we Jews have hope; we Jews look to future even if we have to make changes; we Jews become phenomenally creative; we Jews are there to help others even if we are looked upon negatively; we Jews continue to give of ourselves financially and otherwise, then we owe it to ourselves to do what the rules of Kaddish tell us to do, namely, STAND UP and don’t sit on the low, metal stools of shiva!
We stand and not sit for Kaddish because we are commanded in so many words to face the future, the life we have, walk towards that tomorrow, and not dwell on what cannot be changed. There’s a tradition not to even enter a cemetery for thirty days after a death for there is a fear that we’ll always see that place in our mind’s eye and not the places that draw us near for laughter and joy and purpose.
Last year I wrote about a Delaware congregant who made the suggestion to make Tish’a b’Av a Yontif/Yom tov, a true holiday, and not a fast day, not a day of sadness. He would tell all (as he did in a sermon I asked him to deliver), “Without the destruction of the Temples, we wouldn’t have the synagogue, and look what the synagogue has given us?!”
Focus on what can be. Build on what we have but don’t think that’s the end-all and be-all. You will be comforted, my people, knowing that your ancestors, in all kinds of predicaments – health included, as we face today – didn’t dwell on a “Woe is me!” philosophy. They mourned, they rose, and then they walked.
(Speaking of sad, here are a few really, really bad riddles dealing with “sad” ((Perhaps your 4th grader will appreciate them, and then again…)): Why was the math book sad? Because it had so many problems. Why is Antarctica sad? Because it’s iceolated. My friend works at a soft drink factory but he’s very sad about it. His job is soda pressing. Sadly, I’ve lost 20% of my sight. Sigh. I lost my job as a stage designer. I wasn’t very happy but left without making a scene.)