This past Monday night was the eve of Tisha B'Av, the ninth day of the Jewish month of Av, a day of mourning that commemorates the destruction of both Holy Temples. Since I was twelve years old I've, I have observed the day, fasting for 25 hours, listening to the lugubrious chanting of "Aicha," the prophet's harrowing description of the ruin not only of buildings, but of a people.
Some years I've been able to connect more deeply with the tragedy in the prophet's words. Some years, less so. This past Monday, having just returned from Europe less than a week ago, where we visited Auschiwtiz and Tereizin, where almost everywhere you go you are confronted with the painful reality that Europe is a vast Jewish graveyard--this year, it was all too easy to relate to the heartbreaking verses.