A question recently was posted on the internet. It was nothing new nor exciting; it was a question that gets posted very frequently: why are the Israelis not currently building a new Temple?
The answer, written by a Jew, was certainly enlightening with regard to the attitude of most Israelis and most of the Jewish world:
Because there is currently a mosque at that location, and building the Temple would require demolishing the mosque. This would result in much of the Muslim world declaring jihad on us. Fortunately, the Israeli government is secular, not insane.
It is tempting to begin picking this answer apart—noting immediately that much of the Muslim world already has declared jihad on us; that is clearly not the issue. In fact, of course, the issue saturates the last sentence of the response.
Rav S.R. Hirsch writes of the Temple routinely as a place that unites the entire Jewish people. Today, however, a different answer to a similar question posted online likely articulates the view of a majority of Jews: “We have made so much progress over the millennia. The last thing we want is to return to a cult of animal sacrifice.”
Put aside for now the possibility of building a Temple without animal sacrifice. The fact is that as long as the majority of Jews does not feel the need to build the Temple, building it would serve to divide rather than to unite; it would immediately become a contentious political topic, triggering more of precisely the שנאת חינם that caused the last destruction.
And on Tisha B’Av, we must understand the situation in which we find ourselves, and appreciate how difficult it is to progress from here. Rabbi Shmuel Yaakov Weinberg once said that a day when the Temple is not rebuilt is a day when the Temple would have been destroyed, had it been standing. It would be too easy to blame such circumstances on the secular Jews who write the responses cited here; their writing reflects a common lack of humility, and a willingness to speak aggressively about things they do not understand. But it would be a terrible thing to blame the absence of the Temple on them, not least because it would make us feel utterly powerless on this Tisha B’Av. It is always far more empowering to discover that at least part of the problem lies within us—that means that we can do something about it.
So what have we, religious Jews who want to see the Temple rebuilt, done to create this situation? One answer is that we have allowed too many secular Jews to believe that the two different types of Jews are “secular” and “insane.”[1] How often do we talk to secular Jews? More importantly, how often do we talk to them in their language, rather than talking past them in ours?
In the musaf for the regalim, we say ומפני חטאינו גלינו מארצנו; Rav Chaim Pollock points out that we are saying חטאינו, not חטאי אבותינו. This is a salient reminder that it is within our power to bridge these gaps, and we are not doing it. But how do we find a common language with secular Jews? If someone does not believe in God, telling that person that God has commanded something will achieve nothing. We must find ways to couch our ideas in the language of philosophy. This could make good material for an entire book, but we could describe here how such a conversation might begin.
If one is truly an atheist, and believes that the world has no purpose, we could ask, for example, then how is anything good or bad? For example, a person murdered, bleeding out on a sidewalk, is just a different arrangement of the same molecules that comprised a beating heart and a working brain minutes earlier. What is to say that the new arrangement is any worse?
Depending on the response of the interlocutor, this conversation could branch out in many directions; but if one admits that objective good and bad exist, it may be worthwhile to press and ask why. If there is good and bad, what does that even mean? Does it imply a purpose to the universe?
Such conversations, conducted respectfully, with a willingness from both sides to learn from each other, would allow us and secular Jews to construct a common “language” in which we could actually communicate. They would probably not dive straight into learning Torah, but they would also likely find that we are not insane. Crucially, to get there, we would need to learn some of “their” concepts. We would need to express our ideas logically and philosophically; we would need to express our ideas as following from premises and from each other. In the process of learning how to express our views to their rigorous standards, we would also be learning from them—and there is much to learn. We must not forget that these are the people who built modern Israel as a powerhouse among nations, its economy and its army. Over time, if we can achieve greater unity, the way to the Temple will become clearer.
This absolutely will not be an easy journey. It will require patience, and it will require neutralizing a lot of poison that has built up. For one example of what we are up against, we can look to another question posted on the internet: “Is Judaism patriarchal?” A secular female Israeli judge responds: “Here is a photo of a Jewish court.” She posts a photo of a beis din; it is comprised entirely of men in black hats. “What do you think?” she writes. And then she adds another bit: “I’ll bet none of those men has a law degree. I do, but they would never consider having me on their court.”
On Tisha B’Av, we will read: פני ה’ חלקם[2]—“God’s face has divided them.” It should give us some comfort and hope to remember that this division, too, comes from God. פני כהנים לא נשאו וזקנים לא חננו[3]—“They showed no regard for the priests; no favor for the elders.”
Bridging these rifts is no easy task. But if we want a rebuilt Temple, then bridge them we must. A sober look at this task may provide us with the right doses of depression and optimism for Tisha B’Av.
[1] On their end, there is no excuse for exhibiting such aggressive ignorance; but dwelling on this does not help us.
[2] Eichah 4:16
[3] ibid.
hindy
Michal
intomeaning
Neil Wernick