There was a young lady who came to Eretz Yisrael a few years ago to learn in seminary. She was very excited because this would be her first time in the holy land. All of her friends had been here a number of times, so you can imagine the tremendous anticipation she was experiencing. Everyone gave her advice. Make sure to see this, make sure to eat there. This family has airconditioning, that family sings the sweetest Shabbos zemiros. One friend made her a little book with important phone numbers, directions to major landmarks (restaurants), and even a section on special tefillas and segulas.

All of this was exciting, but it paled in comparison to seeing the Kosel! Imagine, all the stories she had heard since childhood, she was about to become a part of them! The special mystical aura that surrounds you when you first see the Har Habayis from the distance, how her tears would flow when she tore kriah for the churban beis hamikdash.

However, the tears didn't really flow until she came to speak to me. You see, she went to the Kosel the first time and felt - nothing. Curiosity, to be sure. She wanted to look at everything, count the rows of stones, imagine how the plaza would look if they ever dug up the half of the wall that was still underground. She watched the women at the wall, those with the weatherbeaten faces and tearstained tehillim, pouring their hearts out so easily to HaKadosh Boruch Hu. And she? There must be something wrong with her neshama. Why didn't she feel that magical mystical feeling enveloping her with an aura of holiness?

This is not an unusual occurance. It happens to Jews all over the world all the time. The shul goes silent for shemona esrei and you think of the phone calls you have to make after davening. You don't really feel like you went out of mitzrayim at the Pesach seder and you don't tremble when you hear the shofar on Rosh Hashana. Your thoughts are more mundane -- will the baal tokea make any mistakes? Will we finish earlier than last year?

The Dubna Maggid explains this phenomonon as you would expect, with a mashal. There was a poor man who was trying to find a way to feed his family. As he was walking down the street he passed the home of a wealthy man. Through the window, he noticed the man was sitting at a table. In front of him was a shiny silver bell sitting on a velvet pillow. The man picked up the silver bell and rang it. Suddenly, a well dressed waiter appeared carrying a plate of fish. The poor man stared in wonder! Everytime the rich man rang the bell, the butler brought out another course. Imagine! A bell that can produce food like magic!

The poor man took what little money he had and purchased a silver bell with a velvet cushion, identical to the wealthy man's. When he arrived home he called his family together. "Our troubles are over" he announced to his family. "This bell will produce all the food we will ever need". The family sat around the table and the poor man raised the bell with a flourish and gave it a little ring. As you can imagine, nothing happened. A little abashed, he rang the bell a second time. Still nothing. No matter how hard he rang, no butler carrying plates of food appeared.

Furious, he ran off to the shop where he had purchased his bell. "This bell is broken" he yelled at the confused shopkeper. "Go ahead, try it yourself". The shopkeeper shook the bell. He couldn't understand theproblemitworked fine. The poor man said that when he rang it, no one appeared with food. The storekeeper laughed and explained that the rich mans bell wasn't magic. "You need to hire a waiter and a cook and give them money for the food first. The bell is just the signal to serve that which has been prepared."

So too, explains the Dubna Maggid, the same is true by us. We think we can walk in on Rosh Hashana without any preperation and listen to the shofar, then we are surprised when it doesn't work like magic on our souls. We approach the kosel without any preperation and imagine that a ray of light wil shine on us and we will be transported to a different spiritual reality. In truth however, we need to prepare ourselves if we want an experience to be meaningful.

Which brings us to Tisha B'Av. Every year on Tisha B'Av we are suposed to sit on the floor and mourn the destruction of the Bais HaMikdash. There was a time when that came naturally for many Jews. Most peoploe are familiar with the afmous story of Napolean Bonaparte when he was in Eretz Yisroel at the end of the eighteenth century. He saw a group of congregation weeping from the bottom of the hearts. When he asked why they were crying, he was informed that they were mourning the destruction of their temple. Napolean, taken aback, insisted that he had not ordered the destruction of any temples. "No, no, they are crying for the destruction of their temple in Jerusalem almost two thousand years ago". Napolean responded "if they can still mourn a destruction after all this time, then thery will surely see it rebuilt".

And yet, we know, how many places can we go today where people can still weep and mourn? Too often people are focusing on their own discomfort; it's hard to sit on the floor. They switch positions, stand, try a pillow, perhaps a small stool -- an ever increasing array of sitting implements to withstand the one morning on the floor. The times I have had to go to a house of Shiva, I never saw the mourners contorting themselves into different positions. But that's because they were in mourning. If we were truly in aveilas on Tisha B'Av, we probably wouldn't be focusing on the discomfort of sitting on the floor.

As the Dubno Maggid tells us, we need to prepare for an event if we want to make it meaningful. That's the reason perhaps why the laws of mourning that we observe are backwards. When a person is buried, we have the week of shiva, the time of most intense mourning. This is followed by the sheloshim, the first month when the restrictions lessen. We thyen observe the year of mourning, with less restrictions. Finally after a whole year we are able to return to a normal life.

So one would expect to find the aveilus beginning in its' most intense form on the afternoon of the tenth of Av, when the Bais Hamikdash was totally destroyed, and gradually becoming more leiniant as the weeks go by. Instead however, the aveilas begins weeks before and becomes more intense until the afternoon of the ninth of Av when it begins lightening up. When the destruction of the Bais Hamikdash is complete on the tenth of Av, the aveilas ends completely. This seems to be the reverse of what should be happening.

Perhaps one reason for this is that unfortunately the churban is not a reality to us. If we didn't have a period of preperation to understand the tragedy, it's significance might pass us by unnoticed. So it is important that we not merely observe the laws of mourning that have been instituted, but that we also work to understand what this time means to us.

This is particularly difficult for children. The natural resilience that allows them to cope with serious tragedy, often innurs them to unpleasant things that surround them. One needs to personalize the churban if the event is to have meaning for ourselves and our families.

Many people study the gemera in Gittin dealing with the story of Kamtza and Bar kamtza, but how many people study the gemeras about the Bais HaMikdash? Rather than focusing on how we lost it, we should struggle to undertstand what it meant for us. Chaggai HaNavi at the beginning of his sefer exhorts the Jewish People not to delay the rebuilding of the Bais HaMikdash."Haven't you noticed", he says "that you plant and don't harvest as much as you used to? Because the produce is in the zchus of the bikkurim, that can no longer be brought. Your meat doesn't taste the same, because it gets its' taste from the korbanos. Wine doesn't have the same effect, because there are no nesachim. Your clothes don't keep you warm, because clothing only derive their power from the bigdei kehuna. And all the money you make disappears as if you put it in a purse with a whole in it, because all bracaha comes from the Bais HaMikdash. Think about what you're doing!"

The Chazal tell us that if the goyim would understand what the Bais Hamikdash means to the world, they would rush to help us build it. We need to spend this time studying what the Bais Hamikdash was and what it meant. Aside from the many gemeras and midrashim that tell the story, there are today some fine books in Hebrew and English that make it all more accesible for us. Books with pictures of the Bais Hamikdash are a good choice for younger children.

Let us take the minhagim seriously. We should remember to say al naharos bavel before the birkas hamazon. Let's avoid the search for a siyum during the nine days in order to eat meat which is prevelant in some communities. We should remember to differentiate between hygeine and "a general feeling of cleanliness". Remember, there never used to be air conditioning, so we shouldn't need to abuse the bathing rules.

Spend time going through the kinos. Today there are translations and commentaries readily available. If you have trouble with a whole morning of kinos, look for a service where they develop the ideas in the kinos. Many people find that fewer kinos said with understanding and feling is a more meaningful experience than saying many that they don't understand. And by all means find a cushion or availas chair that you can manage to sit in without having to get up and pace around every fifteen minutes.

We can make the three weeks andTisha B'Av into a powerful emotional experience with some preperation. And if we can truly appreciate what we are mourning, perhaps we won't have to mourn anymore. May this be the last Tisha B'Av for our people.

Source: http://www.rabbiorlofsky.com

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