The Flavors of Tisha B'Av

Every year Tisha B’Av comes in a different flavor, like a melting dish of ice cream in the middle of summer. Only there’s no ice cream on a fast day. Only a hint of flavor.

Some years Tisha B’Av comes in the flavor of history. We retell the past events ceremoniously yet without pity. Without pits. Without tea. No pain, no comfort. Just storytelling.

Some years Tisha B’Av comes in the flavor of ideology. With great passion we debate its observance, not certain of what to do with it. Yet often, very certain. It’s a day to celebrate the dawning of rabbinic Judaism, the end of temple sacrifice. It’s a day to remember those who have hated us, pursued us, persecuted us. Whether we choose to fast or not, the flavor is strong.

Some years Tisha B’Av comes in the flavor of intellectual curiosity. With emotional distance we discuss Jewish power, Jewish exile, Jewish identity. But we stand apart from swallowing it all.

This year, Tisha B’Av comes in the flavor of pain. The pain prevents me from thinking straight. It moves us to irrational thoughts and deeds. The pain is overwhelming. The only way to taste Tisha B’Av this year is to feel the pain: my own pain, the pain of those around me, the pain of victims and the pain of the perpetrators. The pain of the innocent and the guilty. This year, Tisha B’Av tastes bitter.  Taste the bitterness and, like biting the horseradish, let the tears come.