I write this column on Thursday morning, July 23rd. It happens to be Tisha B’Av, the Ninth of Av, the day on the Hebrew calendar when Jews commemorate the destruction of the two Temples in Jerusalem in ancient times: the First Temple in 586 BCE by the Babylonians under King Nebuchadnezzar, and the Second Temple in 70 CE by the Romans.
It is a day of fasting, mourning, and deep contemplation. We gather to chant the biblical book of Eicha (Lamentations) in its haunting melody, giving voice to grief, devastation, and the profound sense of a world turned upside down. While Eicha mourns the destruction of Jerusalem, its poetry speaks across the centuries to anyone who has experienced loss, despair, or the painful work of rebuilding after catastrophe.
For centuries, Jews observed Tisha B’Av by mourning the destruction of the Temples and praying for the coming of the Messiah and the rebuilding of Jerusalem.
Reform Judaism approaches the day differently. We do not pray for the rebuilding of the Temple or for the restoration of the ancient sacrificial system. Rather, we believe in the possibility of a Messianic Age, a future shaped not by one individual but by people working in partnership with God to bring justice, compassion, and peace into the world.
Because of that theology, many Reform congregations largely set Tisha B’Av aside for much of the twentieth century, seeing it as a relic of a distant past. Yet in recent decades, many Reform Jews have rediscovered the enduring wisdom of this day. Tisha B’Av reminds us that Jewish memory is never merely about the past. It calls us to face the losses of our own day with honesty, humility, and moral courage.
In our own lifetime we have witnessed unimaginable devastation: the Holocaust (Shoah), the brutality of the Hamas terrorist attacks of October 7, 2023, the ongoing war in Israel and the Middle East, and the painful rise of antisemitism that has left so many Jews feeling anxious and vulnerable. Tisha B’Av gives us sacred space not to look away from that pain, but to sit with it honestly.
I do not usually devote this space to simply sharing someone else’s work. But every so often I come across something that expresses an idea more thoughtfully than I could on my own. This week is one of those moments.
I invite you to listen to a remarkable conversation featuring my friend, classmate, and colleague, Rabbi Michael Marmur, Professor of Jewish Theology at Hebrew Union College in Jerusalem and one of the Reform Movement’s leading thinkers, together with Rabbi Josh Weinberg (Vice
President of the Union for Reform Judaism for Israel and Reform Zionism and Executive Director of ARZA) and Orly Erez-Likhovski (Executive Director of the Israel Religious Action Center).
As Orly explains, Rabbi Marmur continues to fast on Tisha B’Av because he takes Jewish tradition seriously and refuses “to surrender mourning and lamentation to religious literalists or extremists.” Fasting, he says, is not merely an intellectual exercise. It engages the whole body, reminding us of hunger, vulnerability, and the suffering that can otherwise remain abstract.
Their conversation asks difficult questions that feel especially urgent this year. If our tradition teaches that the Second Temple was destroyed because of sinat chinam, baseless hatred, what does that teaching demand of us today? How do we oppose religious extremism, racism, violence, and policies that violate our deepest values without allowing hatred itself to consume us?
Perhaps the most striking moment comes at the end of the conversation. Asked to offer a message of hope, Rabbi Marmur declines to provide easy reassurance. Instead, he says that hope is not always available. Responsibility and agency are.
I have found myself returning to those words again and again.
If this reflection resonates with you, I invite you to continue engaging in the conversation by listening to this thoughtful discussion:
Tisha B’Av does not have the final word in the Jewish calendar. Beginning this Shabbat, we enter the Sheva D’Nechemta, the Seven Haftarot of Consolation. For the next seven weeks, the words of the prophets lead us away from despair and toward hope, preparing us to gather for Selichot and, ultimately, to enter the High Holy Days with hearts open to repentance, renewal, and possibility.
Our tradition teaches that consolation is not the denial of pain. It is what becomes possible after we have had the courage to face it honestly. May this season give each of us the strength to mourn what has been lost, the wisdom to choose compassion over hatred, and the resolve to do our part to bring more justice, compassion, and peace into our world.
Shabbat Shalom!
Rabbi Sharon L. Sobel