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I Am With Him in Distress

          The laws of aveilut (mourning) become ever more lenient with increasing distance from the event which is mourned.  On the day of the burial the laws are extremely stringent, and thereafter there are lesser laws which apply to the next seven days, the thirty-day period, etc.  During the "three weeks" (between the 17th of Tammuz and Tish'a be-Av) the opposite is the case: more stringencies are added as time goes on. Moreover, after Tish'a be-Av we cease to mourn and on the tenth - when the main part of the destruction actually took place - only certain of the laws are still practiced.

          Tish'a be-Av is called a mo'ed (festival) and therefore we do not recite Tachanun on that day.  This connection between mourning and mo'ed also finds expression in other areas.  Mourning lasts seven days, as do the festivals.  Also, that a mourner is forbidden to engage in work is learned from the parallel between festivals and mourning.  This connection seems far-fetched - after all, the significance of mourning appears to stand in stark contrast to that of the festivals. Indeed, each of the three pilgrim festivals serves to cancel the remaining period of an individual's mourning because of the inherent conflict between them, and hence it is difficult to understand why Chazal saw fit to draw a parallel between them (we will not enter into a discussion here of whether the source for the requirement of the first day of mourning is biblical or rabbinic.)

"Rabbi Levi said: A mourner should see himself for the first three days as though a sword is lying between his two thighs; from the third until the seventh day - as though it is lying opposite him in the corner; and from then on - as though it passes in front of him in the market." (Mo'ed Katan 27b)

          The image of a sword obviously holds a negative symbolism for man, but it also has a positive corollary: special Divine attention is paid to the mourner.  Hashgacha peratit (Divine guidance of the individual) is clearly something to be happy about - although in this instance it had negative results. Likewise, part of the idea which finds expression in the festivals is that of God's involvement in our world.  Each festival reflects a different aspect of this revelation (in the same way that each individual person represents a revelation of a sort).

          From this perspective, even mourning reflects God's involvement in the sense that the "keys of life" were not given over to angels but rather retained by God Himself.  The midrash recounts the story of Rabbi Akiva laughing when he saw a fox roaming about among the ruins of the Temple Mount.  To him, this fox was living proof of God's intervention, and by the same token he knew that God would again be involved in the future re-establishment of the Temple.  Still, we desire a different form of supervision than that which was manifest in this era of history.  In Tachanun we recite David's prayer and wish "to fall by God's hand" - without any concealment - and not to fall by "natural means."  On Tish'a be-Av this prayer is inappropriate, because Tish'a be-Av is an expression of the hiddenness of God's involvement in the world.  Without His providence no human hand would have had the power to conquer the Temple, but on the other hand it was indirectly through an emissary, that His design was fulfilled at that time.

          We find many instances which demonstrate that tum'a (spiritual impurity) causes one to be distanced from God (for example, someone who is tamei is forbidden to enter the Temple precincts, etc.).  The converse is also true: Distance from God causes tum'a.  It is for this reason that the person who burns the inner sin-offerings becomes tamei, even though tum'a is not explicitly mentioned in this context.  Unfortunately, there is no room for elaboration here.)  Rav Soloveitchik (in his "Shi'urim Le-zekher Aba Mori," part II) explains that the significance of mourning is a distancing from God.  We may, therefore, extend this equation in an associative fashion: Mourning is parallel and comparable to tum'a.  According to certain of the Rishonim, the principle of mourning is to be learned from the obligation of a kohen to become tamei for his relatives.  This becomes clear in light of the above, for the two concepts are connected.  The prohibition of a kohen becoming tamei is based on the prohibition of distancing himself from the Temple.  When he is in mourning he is by definition distanced from the Temple, and this permits his exposure to tum'a.

          If we accept this comparison then it becomes easier to understand certain prohibitions associated with mourning.  We may at first find it strange that a mourner is not permitted to wash himself.  Why is the withholding of this specific pleasure heavier to bear than that of other pleasures and why is washing defined as an activity which causes one joy? Yom Kippur, too, with its ban on leather shoes and washing, presents this difficulty, but there the basis for the prohibition is the need for inui (self-affliction), while here the laws of mourning seem to include no such requirement.  One must therefore look elsewhere for the rationale underlying a mourner's prohibitions.

          In their treatment of mourning, Chazal wished to emphasize the element of tum'a.  They therefore instituted a mourning period of seven days, composed of two levels - up to and including the third day, and from the fourth day onwards - just as we find in the laws pertaining to purification through the ashes of the para aduma (red heifer).  In addition, Chazal stipulated that certain of the customs observed by the person who is tamei also be observed by the mourner, and they prohibited those actions which resemble the procedure by which someone who is tamei becomes tahor (ritually pure).  The basic process of ritual purity includes the washing of one's body and clothes, and thus both are prohibited to the mourner. (Our intention here is to explain why these specific activities are chosen as representative of "joy;" we are obviously not denying the fact that these prohibitions also aid a person in the mourning process.)  The prohibition of studying Torah makes sense as well.  Someone who is tamei is also prohibited from studying Torah, according to a law legislated by Ezra, because involvement in Torah study reflects closeness to God - as we learn from the mishna in Pirkei Avot (3:6).  In order to avoid a situation whereby a mourner would be altogether unable to study Torah, he is permitted to study those sections which reflect Divine distancing and punishment.  Shaving is also one of the steps involved in purification, as we find in the case of the Levites and the metzora (someone suffering from tzara'at, a physical manifestation of certain spiritual disorders usually translated as leprosy).  In addition we find that a metzora must let his hair grow and must keep his head completely covered (only the former is incumbent upon the mourner nowadays).  Sexual relations are also prohibited to those falling under certain categories of impurity.

          Other prohibitions, too, are connected to tum'a, if only indirectly.  A person who is tamei must overturn his bed and sit on the floor in order not to cause his bed to become tamei under the category of "tum'at midras," a situation which is both serious in its own right and technically difficult to reverse.  (The prohibition of wearing leather shoes is also connected to this issue.)  A person who is tamei is also divided to some extent from the community (for instance, the metzora has to sit alone outside the camp of Israel), because tum'a causes distancing or separation.  Furthermore, someone who is tamei is also not permitted to greet others (the prohibition of work is also connected to this, but for the mourner the issue of work obviously also includes the problem of his attention being diverted from his mourning.)

          Hence, the prohibitions which apply on Tish'a be-Av can be divided into two categories.  The first group consists of all those laws which pertain to a day of affliction and trouble, like any fast day, while the second category includes those prohibitions which pertain to mourning and reflect distance from God, and are hence connected with tum'a.  Since mourning is associated with distance from God, it is clear that when we speak of removal of the Shekhina (God's presence) from the Temple, we are required to mourn.

          However, this mourning is different from "regular" mourning.  In the case of regular mourning the person is subjected to a certain event, and as he comes to terms with that event he learns to live with it and it disturbs him less. The mourning over the Temple, on the other hand, is an expression of the removal of the Shekhina.  This removal increased gradually as the time of the destruction grew nearer.  The Shekhina mourns, as it were, her exile, and Bnei Yisrael mourn together with her.  Therefore the degree of mourning grows with the approach of this day each year, because what we mourn is the removal of the Shekhina rather than the destruction of what was, after all, merely an edifice of wood and stone.  For this reason the beginning of the punishment was worse than its culmination, and we fast on the ninth of Av (rather than on the tenth, when most of the physical destruction took place).  The beginning of the punishment involved a total removal of the Shekhina, and the burning of the Temple did not add any qualitative dimension to our mourning.

          We may note here that, generally speaking, any manifestation of kedusha - holiness - brought about by a person starts off with great force and then becomes gradually weaker.  God, who is able to direct reality towards a certain end, can create the opposite - a holiness which becomes increasingly stronger.  (This is the difference between Shabbat and the pilgrim festivals and between Shmitta and Yovel [the Sabbatical and Jubilee years], but there is no room for elaboration here.)  The physical parallel can be found in the area of speech.  As man shouts his voice becomes weaker and weaker, whereas God's voice "grows steadily stronger," as we learn in the Torah's description of the Sinai experience. In the same way, mourning which originates in man becomes less stringent as we move away from the day of tragedy whereas our mourning which reflects that of the Shekhina culminates at its peak, on the day of tragedy itself.

          As mentioned above, the revelation of God's strict justice has both a positive and a negative aspect.  The positive aspect of Tish'a be-Av lies in our hope that on this date we will in future be redeemed, and this positive motif finds expression in our celebration of the holiday which falls on the "seventh day of Tish'a be-Av" - i.e. the fifteen of Av (Tu be-Av).  This day - the counterpart of Yom Kippur, the revelation of God's mercy - concludes the seven-day period ("festival") beginning with Tish'a be-Av.  Tu be-Av reveals the positive aspect hidden in Tish'a be-Av, allowing us a glimpse of the seed of redemption which that tragic day holds, the seed whose existence is made possible by the fact of God's involvement in the world and in history. This same revelation is what allows for destruction and mourning as well as for redemption and joy.

(Originally appeared in Daf Kesher 142 Av 5748, vol. II, pp. 92-94.  Translated by Kaeren Fish.)

 

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