Shabbat
Shalom. As you may know, this past Tuesday was Tisha B’Av, the ninth day of the
Hebrew month Av, a fast day to commemorate the destructions of the First and
Second Temple, among other things. I didn’t fast. I rarely do. I wasn’t raised
with any observance or even knowledge, really, of the day, and even as I became
more observant as an adult and rabbi, the commemoration of the destruction of
the Temples just wasn’t really something that connected with me. Each year, I’d
consider the tragedies that have befallen our people and think about ways to
incorporate this observance into my spiritual practice. Many other horrors have
occurred on this date: medieval expulsions, the beginning of the liquidation of
the Warsaw Ghetto, and more, but ultimately, I find the liturgy and the
writings around it to be very Temple-centric, and that’s hard for me to
reconcile spiritually with the beauty of post-Temple Judaism. I would never
want to rebuild a Temple in Jerusalem for a host of reasons, political and
spiritual, so fasting to mourn its loss has always felt inauthentic.
But,
on the 9th of Av, 5772, I attended the wake of a close friend who died suddenly
at the age of 24. It was the first time I ever fasted on Tisha B’Av, and now
that’s the first thing I think of every year as the date approaches. This wake
gave me reason to mourn and feel deep loss on Tisha B’Av. I found that I simply
didn’t have any appetite, and out of authentic grief, I ended up completely
refraining from any food or water.
Our
Sages teach that the destructions of the First and Second Temples, said to have
both occurred on the 9th day of Av, befell our ancestors because of the
senseless hatred the Israelites showed toward one another. In the absence of
dutiful worship, care for one another, and observance of the many commandments
to care for the poor, the stranger, and the widow, they were doomed to Divine
punishment, carried out by the Babylonians and the Romans.
Our
people today suffer from another form of senseless hatred, against people
suffering from addiction. Proposals
to enact harsh measures against people suffering from addiction and withhold
life-saving measures during an overdose
mean society is turning its back on those who need our support. Someone
suffering with addiction needs attention as much as the Torah’s poor, stranger,
and widow. Perhaps if addicts were treated less like criminals and more like
people suffering a mental health condition, if there was less senseless hatred
and more compassion, if there was better public healthcare generally speaking,
my friend would still be alive today, and Tisha B’Av wouldn’t always just feel
like his yahrtzeit.
This
week’s Torah portion, Parshat VaEt'chanan, is always read on the Shabbat
following Tisha B’Av, and it begins with Moses telling a story that modern
commentator Avivah Gottlieb Zornberg finds very confusing. She discusses it in
at least two of her books, pointing out how odd it is that Moses begins this parashah
by telling the Congregation of Israel, as well as his readers, this tale of
pleading with God to revoke the decree banning him from the Holy Land, and how
God shuts down the conversation and upholds the ban. It’s a moment of extreme
vulnerability for Moses before the people, offered seemingly of his own
volition--considering this conversation between himself and God isn’t directly
recorded elsewhere in the Torah. Perhaps it is this unusual vulnerability, this
admission of the uselessness of prayers to undo consequences of tangible
actions, that links it to Tisha B’Av.
Prayers
are well and good, and important for the upkeep of our souls and spiritual
connections, but actions are what matter. No amount of begging could undo
Moses’s violent actions that led to his banishment from the Holy Land. Empty
prayers and meaningless sacrifices could not protect the fractured Israelite
community from the destruction of the Babylonians or the Romans. Prayers and
intentions alone cannot help an addict quit their substance of choice. Whereas
Moses had no other option but to concede defeat, the communities of exile made
a point to try to learn from the Divine punishments of the Babylonian and Roman
oppressions. They honored Tisha B’Av and fasted to commemorate this tragedy,
they taught justice and sought to overcome the senseless hatred that led to
their predecessors’ demise, they prayed fervently for redemption and created
new homelands for themselves. In doing so, they created beautiful, loving
Jewish communities all over the world.
We
too can take meaningful action to undermine the needless destruction of drug
addiction and the mistreatment of addicts. Join the National
Academies of Sciences, Engineering, and Medicine in advocating for improved
and universal access to treatment, especially naloxone, which blocks or
reverses the effects of opioids, as well as safe injection equipment to reduce
transmission of HIV and hepatitis C. Continue to protect the ACA
for its insistence that all plans cover mental health and substance abuse
disorders. Support Jewish initiatives
to help care for those in our own communities suffering from the disease of
addiction. And may we someday find a future where the pains caused by
addictions are recognized and reduced.
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