Tisha B’Av: How to mourn after returning home

We are living through an extraordinarily complex moment in Jewish history. The past three years have brought a mixture of triumph and tragedy, miracles and heartbreak. Nine months ago we celebrated the release of hostages and allowed ourselves a measure of hope. Since then, we have ridden the emotional swings of a war whose end remains frustratingly out of sight. 

And now we approach Tisha B’Av and confront its perennial challenge: How do we mourn authentically? 

Mourning Tisha B’Av in the era of the State of Israel is deeply complex. Genuine mourning must be internal rather than performative. Reciting kinot and observing the rituals of the day aren’t enough unless they awaken a deeper sense of loss. 

Yet we’re living through one of the most remarkable periods in Jewish history. Even amid war, uncertainty, and sacrifice, we have witnessed extraordinary renewal. We have returned to our land, rebuilt Jewish sovereignty, and watched generations of dreams come to life. 

In the Amidah we recite Nachem, which describes Jerusalem as “desolate, in ruins, bereft of her children, with her head covered in shame”. 

At first glance, that description hardly reflects Jerusalem today. Her head is no longer covered in shame but crowned by a flourishing skyline. She is no longer bereft of her children. Jerusalem’s real estate market reminds us that Jews are returning to the city in remarkable numbers. 

While some authorities have proposed modifying the wording of Nachem, most maintain that the traditional text should remain unchanged. Whatever one’s position in that halachic debate, it raises a broader question: How do we mourn Yerushalayim while witnessing such extraordinary renewal? 

One natural response is to allow 7 October and the painful years that have followed to shape our experience of Tisha B’Av. Those horrific hours and the months of war, loss, anxiety, and sacrifice have transformed Jewish life. For many of us, they provide the most immediate gateway into the emotions of Tisha B’Av. 

Yet to focus solely on 7 October feels too narrow. As devastating as those events have been, they cannot exhaust the meaning of Tisha B’Av. Doing so risks reducing thousands of years of Jewish history to the pain of a single generation. Tisha B’Av asks us to mourn not only our latest tragedy but the deeper fractures of Jewish history. 

One answer is to make Tisha B’Av a day to revisit Jewish history. It’s a day to retrace its arc, reflect on our mission, and contemplate the price we have paid for representing Hashem in this world. Tisha B’Av asks us not merely to mourn isolated tragedies but to absorb the sweep of Jewish history and the suffering that has accompanied our covenant. 

It was never meant to unfold this way. History was meant to reach its destination in the year 2448. We were redeemed from Egypt, sustained by open miracles in the desert, and brought to the threshold of Eretz Yisrael. We were meant to enter the land, build a Beit HaMikdash, and create a society that would reveal Hashem’s presence to the world. Instead, through failures and betrayals, history was diverted from its intended course. We were exiled from our land and forced to pursue our mission from foreign shores. 

That long exile exacted a terrible price. We endured persecution, discrimination, expulsions, and massacres. We were driven from Christian Europe and humiliated throughout much of the Muslim world. Again and again we built communities, only to watch them collapse in violence and hatred. 

It’s tempting to view those centuries as nothing more than a painful parenthesis in Jewish history, especially now that we have returned to our homeland. Yet to do so would diminish the generations who lived through that long tunnel of history. Tisha B’Av asks us to step out of our own moment of Jewish renewal and identify with the struggles, sacrifices, and hopes of those who carried the Jewish story through its darkest chapters. 

It asks us to admire the extraordinary courage and quiet defiance with which they endured the impossible conditions of galut (exile). They refused to disappear into the woodwork of history. Against overwhelming odds, they built communities, preserved Torah, and safeguarded our identity. 

We owe those generations one day each year to step into their world. To see Jewish history through their eyes, to appreciate the courage with which they preserved our people, and to recognise that without their resilience we might not be here today. Tisha B’Av is our annual encounter with the generations that carried the Jewish story when it seemed it might come to an end. 

Yet if we are honestly retracing the long arc of Jewish history, we cannot stop with the suffering. We must also recognise the extraordinary moment in which we have been privileged to live. 

The Talmud describes Rabbi Akiva walking through Jerusalem’s ruins after the destruction of the Beit HaMikdash. His colleagues wept over the devastation. Rabbi Akiva shared their grief, yet he smiled. He understood that Jewish history unfolds differently from the history of every other nation. The disproportionate destruction Rome inflicted upon the Jewish people, compared with the fate of other nations, fulfilled the prophecies of Churban but also convinced him that Jewish history wouldn’t follow the normal course of history. If our destruction had been so disproportionate, our redemption would be equally disproportionate. If the first half of the story had unfolded, so too would the second. 

Rabbi Akiva is speaking to us and giving us permission to smile, even on Tisha B’Av. That smile doesn’t erase the centuries of suffering or diminish the trail of tears. It should never distract from mourning. Yet, if Tisha B’Av is a day to retrace the odyssey of Jewish history, we must reflect not only on destruction but also upon our astonishing restoration. Honest mourning requires us to remember both. 

Rabbi Akiva smiled because he believed redemption would come. We smile because we have begun to witness it. 

And finally, Tisha B’Av carries a unique resonance precisely because we’re living through an era of Jewish renewal. For the first time in 2 000 years, we sense that history is once again moving towards its intended destination. We’ve been privileged not merely to witness the unfolding process of redemption but to participate in it. 

Yet redemption remains unfinished. Every day we pray that our eyes should behold Hashem’s return to Zion. Will we merit to witness that moment in our own lifetime or will it occur after our eyes close? We stand closer than any generation in centuries, yet so much of what we yearn for still lies beyond our reach. Precisely because we have come so far, we feel even more acutely how much is still missing. That, too, is part of the sadness of Tisha B’Av. 

• Moshe Taragin is a rabbi and educator at Yeshivat Har Etzion (Gush) in Israel. His latest book, Reclaiming Redemption, Vol. II: Faith, Identity, Peoplehood, and the Storms of War, is available at mtaraginbooks.com.