Looking beyond ourselves

We have Mandela Day on Saturday, 18 July, and Tisha B’Av from sundown on 22 July, and I wonder why they are so close together and whether there is some universal message in this. 

I know many of you may think this is hocus pocus, but it got me thinking that both these days are reminders about memory and its ability to shift something within us. 

On Mandela Day, we remember the birthday of the icon who helped lead us into democracy. His legacy is reconciliation, service, and justice. On this day, there is a global call to action encouraging individuals, communities, and organisations to honour Nelson Mandela by spending 67 minutes being of service to others. That number symbolises the years he dedicated to fighting for justice and human rights. 

Then, a few days later, we Jews are called on to fast for 24 hours to mark the destruction of both temples in Jerusalem and the many other tragedies that have shaped our history. Many of those tragedies have somehow been at around this time in the Jewish year, which has become a time of mourning for what we have lost. 

I am not suggesting the two days are the same. They aren’t. Tisha B’Av is a Jewish fast day of mourning, prayer, restraint, and self-examination. Mandela Day is a civic day of action inspired by a South African leader who changed this country and the world. One is rooted in ancient Jewish loss; the other in our modern South African story. But both days seem to ask a similar question: what is the point of remembering if it doesn’t change how we live? 

That is a question we should take seriously in South Africa because, frankly, we are very good at commemorating. We have days, speeches, slogans, events, and social media posts. We know how to say the right things about apartheid, freedom, reconciliation, and inequality. But how often does that become anything meaningful? How often do we allow those words to make us uncomfortable enough to do something differently? 

Tisha B’Av is uncomfortable by design. It doesn’t let us rush past the ruins. We read Eicha, we mourn, we fast, and we remember catastrophe after catastrophe that befell our people. But it isn’t only about what happened to us. The rabbis’ teaching that the Second Temple was destroyed because of sinat chinam (baseless hatred) forces us to look at ourselves. That is never easy. It asks where we have allowed division, contempt, gossip, resentment, or indifference to become normal in our homes, shuls, organisations, and community. 

Mandela Day should make us just as uncomfortable. It’s easy to admire Mandela, to quote him, and even to give 67 minutes once a year and feel we have done our bit. But Mandela’s legacy surely demands more. When he said, “It is in your hands to create a better world for all who live in it”, he wasn’t offering a feel-good line. He was placing responsibility where it belongs ‒ with each of us. 

That is why the timing of these two days struck me. Both connect memory with responsibility. On Tisha B’Av, we reflect on catastrophe to inspire ethical behaviour, communal responsibility, and the repair of divisions. On Mandela Day, remembrance of a great leader should be coupled with action. Both tell us the past is not there for us to admire, mourn, or package neatly. It is there to demand something of us. 

Mandela also said, “It is easy to break down and destroy. The heroes are those who make peace and build.” I love that line because it is so practical. In this country, we know how easy it is to break down. We see it in politics, service delivery, the way people speak to and about one another, and the cynicism that has become almost second nature. We also see it in Jewish communal life when disagreement turns into hostility and we forget that being right is not the same as building peace. 

Of course, both days have become broader than their original focus. Tisha B’Av remains deeply and specifically Jewish. It is our fast, our mourning, our history, and our warning. But its lessons about baseless hatred and communal breakdown travel far beyond the ancient world. Mandela Day remains rooted in the life of a South African liberation leader, but it has become a call to all of us to stop waiting for someone else to fix what is broken. 

The differences matter too. Tisha B’Av turns us inward. It asks us to sit with loss, examine ourselves, and ask how hatred destroys. Mandela Day turns us outward. It asks us to serve, help, reconcile, and build. Both are about personal responsibility. Perhaps the power of having them so close together is that each corrects the other. Introspection without action can become self-indulgent. Action without introspection can become performance. 

For South African Jews, this pairing should hit home. We know what it means to remember. We carry Jerusalem, exile, antisemitism, the Holocaust, Israel, 7 October, and the fear of what happens when hatred is allowed to grow. At the same time, we live in a country still battling apartheid’s consequences, poverty, racism, corruption and broken systems. We cannot afford memory that makes us smaller. Our Jewish memory should make us more alert, compassionate, and determined to build the society we keep saying we want. 

So, what do we do? I don’t think there is one answer. Some of us will fast, go to shul, read Eicha, or learn about sinat chinam. Some will give 67 minutes, support a feeding scheme, visit someone lonely, help a school, mentor a child, or contribute to a project beyond the comfort of our own circle. Some may simply need to pick up the phone, make peace, apologise properly, or stop sharing things that inflame hatred. 

What I do believe is that neither day should leave us exactly as it found us. Tisha B’Av shouldn’t be only about mourning what was destroyed, and Mandela Day shouldn’t be only about a photograph of what we did for 67 minutes. Both should push us towards introspection, reconciliation, and service. They remind us that remembering is not passive. It is demanding. It asks us to consciously change something within ourselves, our lives, and in others. 

Let’s make these days count! 

Shabbat Shalom! 

Peta Krost 

Editor