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We are currently in the midst of a very solemn time in the Jewish calendar, the period known as the “3 weeks”, where various calamities have fallen upon our people and most notably the destruction of both of the holy Temples. The Temple wasn’t just a building; it was the tool by which G-dliness could be perceived in the world. We aren’t just mourning the loss of a spectacular building comprised of special materials and concise measurements, of the most architecturally-impressive construction ever to exist. But we are mourning the absence of peace and clarity, a world bereft of spirituality and meaning; a world in which we have even made ourselves comfortable living in, despite it being merely a place of refuge in exile.

Chazal inform us that the causes of the destruction of the first Temple was because of the 3 cardinal sins: murder, adultery and idol worship and the second Temple was destroyed because of baseless hatred. Are we still guilty of these sins today? Most of us can testify that we are not guilty of the 3 cardinal sins, but baseless hatred is still an unfortunate daily occurrence today. The Talmud tells us that “A generation in which the Temple is not built is considered to be one in which it was destroyed”(Yerushalmi, Yoma 1:10) – this means if we still don’t see the Temple today, we are no less to blame than for when the Temple was originally destroyed because we still haven’t rectified the cause! This is what we are supposed to reflect upon during this time period; we have a mere 3 weeks a year to focus ourselves upon what we are really supposed to be doing in this world. We have the chance to mourn for what was lost and to hope for what will be, to put our involvements with our exilic world and daily routine aside – and to just remember that we are part of a nation.

It isn’t a coincidence that now during the 3-weeks there is ongoing riots amongst “charedi”-looking extremists.  To call them “charedi” is an insult to the Torah world – anyone who throws rocks, riots and causes damage is certainly not charedi, and definitely not religious. How are our more secular brothers and sisters going to view this? I am saddened and ashamed at the dreadful Chillul Hashem, G-d forbid, that has transpired. The very police that protect our borders are being assaulted, the very streets that house us are being burnt – and all by individuals dressed in religious attire. Jerusalem Police Chief Cmdr. Aharon Franco, most probably a non-observant Jew, said “I have not found a single place in the Bible where it is written that these actions are permissible” – and how right he is! Is it any wonder we don’t have a Temple? Do we deserve it, really? How merciful Hashem is that He has even given us this Land that’s still going strong, and despite a large secular population still retains strong Jewish values – and after events like this, I do wonder how. Such is the strength of our people, of Torah and of the Land! We as religious Jews have an absolute responsibility and obligation to reverse this desecration, and to condemn it explicitly and openly. These groups do not represent Torah and are behaving contrary to Torah – and we need to make this known.

Let us not only mourn the state of the world today, but we need to stand up and repair. We do not mourn hopelessly, but the flicker of light which still exists inside ourselves allows us to hope and yearn for what will be, for what has to be. When Yaakov thought he lost his son Yosef, he was inconsolable for years, which isn’t normal because the way of the world is to forget and move on after some time. And the reason he didn’t was because, unknown to him, Yosef was still actually alive. So too with us, the Temple hasn’t disappeared forever, and thus we are unable to forget. The very reason we still mourn is a sign that we can’t move on because the Temple is still alive, we will get it back. And that’s why our mourning isn’t from sadness, but from hope.

We could live our lives filled to the brim with Torah, personal growth, chessed (kindness), maasim tovim (good deeds), perfecting our middot (character traits). We could even be involved in tremendous community work bringing loads of Jews back to their roots. We could be building up our community, starting up new kosher restaurants and cafes. Building new shuls and mikvas.

But even with these incredible mitzvot, we are lacking something so fundamental to us as a nation; our return to Eretz Yisrael. We need our own personal growth in Torah and we need to bring back assimilated Jews, but all this is working with a very small perspective. The larger picture can sometimes get lost. We lose sight that there’s also a national perspective to our existence as Jews. We are a Nation, we are Am Yisrael. Just like Hashem has a plan for our own individual development and purpose in our lives, so too does He have a plan for Am Yisrael. When in chutz la’aretz (outside Israel), our vision is limited to ourselves and our community around us. It’s only when we arrive in Eretz Yisrael that we realise (ironically) that we are in exile, that we don’t have a Beis Hamikdash, that Hashem’s presence is hidden from the world… but at the same time we see redemption has started, we are being gathered in from the four corners of the world to finally rebuild our Homeland after 2000 years of exile. What a whole new perspective to our Torah!

As Yom HaZikaron and Yom Haatzmaut approach, this idea is very profound. These two days bring a whole new meaning to Am Yisrael and to achdut (unity). On Yom HaZikaron we commemorate the incredible courage and messirut nefesh (self-sacrifice) by our soldiers who gave up their lives so we could return to Eretz Yisrael, our Homeland. And it’s not just the soldiers themselves who are heros, but their families too, who live knowing that their children will one day be fighting on our borders to protect our beloved land. From all over Israel do Jews come to Mt. Herzl where all the fallen soldiers are buried, free buses to and from, a ceremony and kaddish. What respect Am Yisrael have for their soliders, what value we have for life and for the need for our Land.

And the very next day we break into celebration and joy, where we thank Hashem for finally returning us to our Land, for the miracles He performed for us, for the start of redemption, for the chance to fulfil all the mitzvot we previously couldn’t do (shmitta, truma & maser, etc). We could only have a Yom Haatzmaut because of a Yom HaZikaron.

Through these two days do we begin to realise that there’s more to our avodat Hashem than our personal obligations, but we have national obligations too. We must always prepared to be musar nefesh, and to live amongst our people in unity. Only in Eretz Yisrael can we retain this perspective and witness and be part of Hashem’s nissim (miracles). May He soon bring us the complete and final redemption.

A terrorist attack was planned in Haifa where a stolen car had 100 kilograms of explosives set to go off in a parking lot which could have caused the whole lot to go up in flames. The bombs failed to go off. Northern Police Head Commander Shimon Koren “…acknowledged the element of luck was decisive in averting tragedy.” (Source: jpost.com)

The story of Purim is full of “coincidences”, actually small miracles which led to the complete survival of the Jewish people against all odds. The story of Purim actually took place over a few years, and had we not put it all together into one story we probably would see it merely as a random chain of events rather than Hashem’s hidden hand in saving us. And I believe Purim is a metaphor for life in general. Our life happens seemingly slowly, event after event, and only after we look back at 120 years can we see how actually these events were actually nothing more than from the hand of Hashem. Hashem is hidden in this world unless we attune ourselves in seeing everything from a spiritual perspective. And it couldn’t be any other way, or we would have no reason for existing. The whole challenge of our life is to recognise the G-dliness in everything, despite what appears contrary to it and despite what our yetzer hara tries to convince us as otherwise. Were Hashem to be revealed, we would have no true free choice, and we would be no different to animals who simply do what they were created to do and angels who have no choice to do anything else. So on Purim we not only recognise G-d being hidden, but we celebrate it, for that’s what gives us our challenge and our purpose as human beings, and we can rest assured that G-d is in our lives intervening whether we recognise it or not.  

I’ve noticed something lately. Nobody likes talking about G-d. It seems almost taboo, and euphemisms are even used to refer to Him as if it’s embarrassing to say it directly. Or looking at it more positively, maybe it’s just a very private thing. Rabbi Tatz says that really deep, spiritual things can’t be expressed, and trying to do so lowers them (unless they’re really part of you). If you’ve had a really inspiring moment and you try to explain it to someone, once it’s in words it’s been condensed and diluted and loses its effect on you. It’s just impossible to describe how your neshama feels, and trying to do so really doesn’t do it justice. (The opposite works too – when people have problems that are really taking over them, speaking about it helps because it dilutes the problem and lessens it by putting it into words). Incidentally, this is why Moshe couldn’t speak. Not because he had a disability, but because he was so spiritual there was nothing he could say. Here too, perhaps, G-d and our relationship to Him is very private. But I can’t get my head around it, should it be that way? I think, as with everything in Judaism, yes and no.

Our relationship with Hashem must be at least somewhat private, because firstly, it has to be that way – we couldn’t share our deep and most spiritual selves even if we tried. But, also how can we dare reveal our full selves? If our most deep and inner feelings are revealed, what do we really have left, what can we say is ours? And is that all there is to us, a few words?

Yet on the other hand, we’re not just individuals but we are a nation. We need to spread G-d, His Torah and His light. We can’t do that if everything is kept private. Talking about G-d brings Him into the room, brings Him onto our Shabbat table. And unless we remind ourselves we will forget. It’s so easy to get carried away even on Shabbat, talking and eating, and forgetting what we’re really doing this for. Shabbat can quite easily be spent, ironically, without even thinking about G-d.