Whoever mourns for Jerusalem will merit to see its rejoicing; and all who do not mourn for Jerusalem will not see its rejoicing.

Ta’anit 30b

כל המתאבל על ירושלים זוכה ורואה בשמחתה ושאינו מתאבל על ירושלים אינו רואה בשמחתה

תענית ל:

What does it mean to mourn?  It’s a question I ask myself when I am trying to understand the meaning and connection that Jewish traditions, history and practices have in my life.  Why are we mourning Jerusalem?  What’s the point?  When one “mourns” on Tisha b’Av, how does that look?  Feel?  Should I be crying on the outside? Inside?  Should we all be too upset to eat, talk or go on with regular activities?  Are you sad?  What are you sad about?

For each one of us, the answer will be different.  Some of us will mourn the loss of the Beit Hamikdash, a building that was host to Hashem’s presence; others are mourning the loss of community that went along with having everyone together in Yerushalayim.  Some are mourning the lack of closeness they feel to Israel or to Hashem because of the state of destruction we are in.  The fact that we all are mourning something different on Tisha b’Av shows the rich and unique impact the Beit Hamikdash and Yerushalayim have in our lives.

Mourning is about connecting to a lost relationship, whether to an object or human being.  We experience the loss of something or someone no longer physically in our lives.  Jewish tradition tells us that when we mourn the loss of a loved one, we are not obligated in any mitzvot, because the pain is so terrible and one cannot think or be involved with anything else.  But the loss of a loved one connotes that there was a relationship, someone who was loved.  In order to mourn on Tisha b’Av we need to connect to our loved one: the Beit Hamikdash and Yerushalayim.  Many of us have been privileged to experience/ get a glimpse of what it means to have a relationship with and rejoice in Eretz Yisrael.  Others mourn the lack of relationship.  They understand the greatness that once existed and that exists today and they mourn the inability to connect to something amazing.   Yes, we recognize our loss of relationship and connection, but how do we internalize the personal level of devastation which led to the tradition of not being obligated in mitzvot? 

Unfortunately, almost two years ago I watched my community mourn the loss of one of our loved ones.  Gilad Schwartz z”l a student, friend, and community member of the Orthodox community at the University of Maryland, passed away less than a week before beginning his sophomore year on campus.  Students were totally devastated, and we worked hard to find a way to commemorate him; a meaningful way to show respect and admiration for the incredible person Gilad was.

Each week at University of Maryland we have a wonderful program called Pizza Parsha, where anywhere from 50-100 students come together to learn Parsha and eat pizza with friends.   Gilad was a regular at this program; it provided him the opportunity to take a break from classes, get something to eat, and discuss the parsha and whatever was on his mind with friends.  When it was time for his shloshim, a month after his death, we decided to dedicate that week’s Pizza Parsha in his memory.  We prepared in the traditional way, by having a dvar Torah and preparing sources in order to pay tribute to the wonderful person he was and the impact he had on our community. But there was actual mourning that took place at the program that evening when we as individuals and as a community reflected on the relationship we had with Gilad and his unique approach to Judaism.  Some people connected to Gilad through learning, not just by reading the parsha but by learning a piece of Torah we chose from the Rambam that reflected the way he approached life.  Gilad’s close friends connected to him by speaking and sharing personal stories and inspiration from his life.  Lastly, there were those that connected to him through song.  Gilad was a musician, so his friends closed the program by singing a song they wrote in order to show their connection and to mourn in a way that expressed the depths of their relationship with Gilad.

When we try and connect to Yerushalayim and the loss of the Beit Hamikdash today, we all need to connect to our relationship with Yerushalayim in order to really mourn something so significant.  We may mourn the loss of: the closeness to spirituality, the feeling of being at the crossroads of the world, being invited by total strangers for Shabbat and feeling at home, or the loss of real shwarma.  When we each contemplate our relationship to Israel and the thought of that being taken away, then we can really connect, but we need that song, picture, story or Torah to inspire and connect us to the relationship we are trying to recapture.

This loss of experiences may be indicative of what the phrase teaches – that one who mourns will be able to rejoice.  However, I think it could also be read backwards: one who once rejoiced is one who will be able to truly mourn.  If you never connected or rejoiced, it will be hard for you to mourn.

The Beit Hamikdash and Yerushalayim in its perfected state were something that was prematurely taken from the Jewish people, just as Gilad was taken from our community.  We should feel the devastation of not being able to rejoice in the true presence of Hashem in a city that is in its full glory.  Hopefully, through our efforts to find our connection and to mourn individually in our own way and as a community, we will be able to rejoice and connect to true simcha….. Mehara Hashem Elokeinu, od yishama b’arei Yehuda u’vechuzot Yerushalayim, kol sasson v’kol simcha…