A Consciousness of Destruction

History repeats itself. Just as Jerusalem and the First Temple were destroyed because no one wanted to believe Jeremiah’s prophecies of wrath, so did the Swords of Iron War erupt from the perception of force as the source of power. Preserving the consciousness of destruction is a redemptive act and is the first step toward the beginning of repair.

The Tishrei holiday period is filled with special, joyful days of self-examination, the crowning of G-d, atonement for sins and purity, sitting in the shadow of the Shekhinah, and joy in the Torah. However, this year, these days are irrevocably connected with the memory of the most terrible day the Jewish people have experienced since the Holocaust. This chilling encounter raises several questions, one of which concerns the consciousness of destruction and its role in the reality of Jewish independence and sovereignty.

A few weeks ago, we observed Tisha B’Av. The question that recurs every year is how we can lament the destruction of Jerusalem: “May the Lord our G-d comfort the mourners of Zion and the mourners of Jerusalem, and the city that is laid waste, scorned, and desolate.” Today, Jerusalem is a united city, the city square is bustling with life, and the words of the prophet Zechariah are being fulfilled in it: “Old men and old women will still sit in the streets of Jerusalem… and the streets of the city will be filled with boys and girls playing in its streets” (Zechariah 8:4-5). Why, in a reality of independence, security, and great prosperity that has not been equaled since the days of King Solomon, does Tisha B’Av remain a day of fasting and mourning?!

And then this year came along, a year so bloody and so full of tears and pain. The question faded in the smoke that rose above the Gaza Envelope communities on Simchat Torah; it was stained with the blood of those murdered and of the heroes killed in the war and drowned in the sea of ​​tears of the families of the kidnapped. This year, no one needed an explanation of what destruction is, what massacre is, what lawlessness is, and what existential fear is. To a large extent, the question this year is not about the days of fasting and remembrance of the destruction but rather about the days of joy, culminating in Simchat Torah. How can we celebrate this special period this year and fulfill the commandment, “And rejoice on your festivals”?

Heresy in the possibility of destruction

The devastating events we’ve experienced invite us to reexamine our attitude toward destruction and our awareness of it. Until a year ago, we did not fully understand the reality of riots, massacres, destruction, and devastation. Not only had this generation not tasted destruction, but it had denied the very possibility of it occurring. We had decided that “there will be no third exile.” Israel’s political, military, and economic elite also constantly assured us that the country was strong and stable, that the army was strong and invincible, and that the economy was well-established and solid. But, on Simchat Torah 5774, this confidence was shattered – and we joined the consciousness of all the generations that preceded us. For a few hours, there was one place in the world where Jewish blood was once again cheap. That terrible day, and the days that followed, gave this generation a taste of a reality devoid of independence and sovereignty.

The destruction we have experienced allows us to return to a simple reading of Torah and the Prophets. As part of the preparation for the entry of the people of Israel into the Land in the Book of Deuteronomy, there are severe warnings about what could happen to the people as a result of their sovereign and secure existence in the Land. One of the sections is set to be read on Tisha B’Av: “When you have begotten sons and grandsons, and you have multiplied in the land, and have corrupted yourselves, and have made a graven image, the likeness of anything, and have done evil in the eyes of the L-rd your G-d, to provoke Him to anger: I call heaven and earth to witness against you this day, that you shall surely perish from off the land, which you passed through Jordan to possess.” (Deuteronomy 4:25-26).

Moses warns the people: The first generation, the pioneers in the land, will motivate itself; the second generation, which is also establishing itself, will still remember the miracle of its resurrection and still has much work to do. The third and fourth generations already take things for granted and are liable to forget their destiny and goals and corrupt things.

In the Torah portion of Ekev, the Torah repeats and emphasizes these severe warnings: “Beware lest you forget the L-rd your G-d by not keeping His commandments, ordinances, and statutes that I am commanding you today. Lest you eat and be satisfied, and build goodly houses and dwell in them. And when your herds and flocks multiply, your silver and gold multiply, and all that you have increases. And your heart be lifted, and you forget the L-rd your G-d, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of slavery… and you say in your heart, My power and the might of my hand have accomplished this for me” (Deuteronomy 8).

In a sovereign, secure reality, in a time of economic and political prosperity, the greatest danger is to see strength as the source of power. The Torah emphasizes that when national power is becoming established, it is precisely then that the people must remember its true source, which is also the reason, the purpose, and the meaning of strength: “And you shall remember the Lord your God, for it is He who gives you the strength to do good.” We did not receive power for the sake of power but for a higher purpose, and the moment strength blinds the nation and makes it forget its purpose, the nation risks being denied that power. From a civic perspective, this principle is well-known too: a government that does not know how to limit its power will become corrupt, rot, and disintegrate. One of the fundamental principles of democracy is limiting power (or preventing the tyranny of the majority), and for good reason.

The value of freedom is being trampled on by force

Similar to the Torah, the prophecies of destruction are all directed towards a nation whose use of force in its social spheres has become completely distorted: the systems of government are corrupt – “your princes are rebellious and companions of thieves” (Isaiah 1:23), the religious systems are corrupt, the social relations between the poor and the rich are screaming oppression, and the value of freedom in whose name the Blessed One redeemed Israel from Egypt is trampled due to Jewish society in Jerusalem being a house of slaves.

Jeremiah fought with all his might to proclaim the words of God about the impending destruction because he believed that the prophecy of destruction had the power to shake the society of his generation and bring it to repentance. In a certain sense and somewhat ironically, the prophecies of destruction are the happiest of prophecies because they indicate that destruction has not yet occurred and that there is still a chance for correction. Unfortunately, however, Jeremiah’s prophecies were of no avail. Jerusalem was destroyed because people did not want to believe stories of destruction. A powerful human mechanism seeks to protect us from the thought that the worst could happen. This defense mechanism can be very sophisticated, certainly in the reality of a sovereign, strong, and prosperous state. In this way, a conspiracy gradually forms, firmly anchored in all the avenues of the imagined reality that a person and society create for themselves: “It will never happen!” “There is no retreat in the time of redemption!” “G-d does not destroy His house!” And if that is how it sounds in religious language, this is how it may sound in secular language: “The IDF is strong and invincible” and the like.

However, what a prophet cannot do, reality can. “Rabbi Abba bar Kahana said: The removal of a ring is greater than the forty-eight prophets and seven prophetesses who prophesied to Israel, all of whom did not bring about a change for the better, whereas the removal of a ring brought about a change for the better” (Bavli Megillah 14a). The ring’s removal from King Ahasuerus’s finger and its delivery to the wicked Haman marked the beginning of the destruction. This reality succeeded in shaking the nation and returning them to the right path. For a whole year, the Jews waited for the terrible massacre that was to strike them on the 13th of Adar, the day designated for generations as the Fast of Esther. They took it upon themselves to fast, and Esther, through her heroic act, succeeded in having the decree overturned. The great joy of Purim is in commemoration of the Jewish people’s ability to be active in their destiny and change it for the better. This was made possible precisely because the tangible danger of destruction led to the reversal of reality “until the Jews ruled over their haters.”

This is the enormous importance of being conscious of destruction. The destruction reminds us that our independent and sovereign reality on this earth has a destiny and that if, G-d forbid, we turn our backs on it – we will lose it. In this sense, preserving the consciousness of destruction is no act of exile. On the contrary! It is an act of redemption.

At the beginning of the war, we saw how our nation revealed powers of light and goodness in all avenues of life. This holiday season is indeed the most complex since the Holocaust, but it has the potential to be the period that recharges the nation – toward the task of correction that requires each and every one of us. The model of fundamental correction is learned from the founding ethos of the days of repentance: soul-searching and introspection, and in no way beating the chest of the opposing camp. It is precisely the challenging experience of actual destruction that may be the motivating factor for correction that ends in joy, brotherhood, love, peace, and companionship.

The writer is a pedagogical supervisor at Yesodot – The Center for Education, Torah, and Democracy