Spanish Inqusition On Tisha B'Av

Some 100 years before the expulsion of Jews from the countries under Spanish rule, Spanish Jewry was divided into two major segments: those who remained loyal to Judaism despite all the persecutions to which they were subject, and some 250,000 "New-Christians" who had embraced the dominant faith at least publicly.

But even these lived a life of isolation and fear. They were cut off from those of their Jewish brethren who had remained Jews. They were likewise afraid to maintain contact with each other lest they be suspected of harboring an attachment to their Jewish past.

Neither were they absorbed among the "Old Christians," who continued to hate them and to spy on them day and night, in order to hand them over to the church for judgment over the sin of relapsing from their new faith.

Those Jews were called "marranos" by the Old Christians. The word "marranos" means pigs. That is to say, that they were regarded as growing fat from the labor of others, and as people from whom others could derive no benefit other than through their death, when their flesh could be eaten.

The Jews who had remained Jews publicly, were faced only with the threat of expulsion, whereas the Marranos were faced by the penalty of being burned alive publicly for the sin of disloyalty to Christianity.

The marranos were constantly spied upon. At times the accusations against them were truthful. At other times, their enemies fabricated lying accusations against them in order to acquire their wealth and possessions.

Eighteen years before the expulsion, Torquemada, the most brutal among the Catholic priests, set up the Inquisition; a special tribunal to impose penalties upon those discovered to have been disloyal to the Church.

Ostensibly, the activities of the Inquisition were related to all Christians. In reality, it was the "heresy" of the Marranos which was the major concern of the Inquisition.

Upwards of 30,000 of the marranos were condemned to death by the Inquisition and they were burned alive. Other tens of thousands were condemned to physical torture more horrible than death. Most of these sanctified the Name of G-d in death.

The repeated confessions of the tortured that they had remained loyal to the Torah and Judaism, infuriated the inquisitors and their agents, and caused them to persecute the Marranos ever more relentlessly.

The repeated confessions also provided the inquisitors with further arguments in their efforts to prevail upon King Ferdinand to issue an expulsion edict against all the remaining Jews. For "as long as Jews would continue to live in Spain, they would continue to influence their brothers, the 'New Christians' to adhere to the faith of their fathers."

Writes Don Yitzchak Abarbanel in his commentary to Jeremiah: "When the King of Spain decreed expulsion against all the Jews in his kingdom, the date of expulsion was set at the end of three months from the day when the decree was proclaimed. It turned out that the day set for the departure of the Jews from Spain was the ninth of Av ['Tisha B'Av']. But the king did not know the character of the day when he issued his edict. It was as if he had been led from Above to fix this time."

The exiles went forth on the road in groups. Groups of various sizes preceded the great departure on the ninth of Av, and left during the three week period between the 17th of Tammuz and the ninth of Av. And although these days are days of mourning and weeping over the destruction of the Sanctuary and the land of Israel, and music is forbidden during these days, nevertheless the Sages of the generation issued permission to the exiles to march to the music of orchestras.

The musicians were to march at the head of the exiles and were to play on instruments in order to strengthen the spirit of the people, and to infuse in them hope and trust in G-d.

They uttered thanksgiving and thanks to their Creator over having withstood the test and not having submitted to conversion, and over their having achieved the merit of sanctifying G-d's Name by their departure from Spain.

It also was the aim of the Rabbis in permitting the playing of instruments at the time, to teach the people that we never weep over departure from exile; that we weep only over our departure from Jerusalem.

Reprinted from: The Book of Our Heritage by Rabbi Eliyahu Kitov, published by Feldheim Publishers

Napoleon On Tisha B'Av

There was a period in Napoleon Bonaparte's life when he was very interested in Jews, and in all things Jewish. Many stories are told of how the French Emperor attempted to infiltrate among them and learn their "secret." A favorite ruse was to dress in simple clothes and leave the confines of the palace. Walking the streets of France as a common citizen, Napoleon could thus take the public's pulse without drawing attention to himself. Quite often, he visited the Jewish sector.

One summer evening Napoleon, dressed in his usual disguise, set out for the Jews' district. The weather was oppressively hot and sticky, and Napoleon anticipated seeing crowds of people chatting in doorways and in the street, hoping for a breath of fresh air. But oddly enough, it was quieter than usual. Even the courtyards and back alleys were empty.

"This is very strange," Napoleon thought to himself. "What on earth would prompt all my Jewish citizens to leave their homes at the same time? It must be," he concluded, "that today is a Jewish holiday. I'll go to their synagogue and check. No doubt that's where everyone has gone."

Napoleon rushed off in the direction of the synagogue. In his mind's eye he could already see the Jews in their great hall. They would be dressed in their Shabbat finery, swaying to and fro, their eyes glistening with fervor.

But what was this? Opening the synagogue door, Napoleon froze. Where were the festive celebrants, joyfully pronouncing their faith? Why, he could barely see, it was so dark inside! The only light came from a few flickering candles set on the floor. Instead of sitting at tables, the Jews were crouched on low stools or seated directly on the ground. Each person was holding a small book, chanting quietly to a sorrowful tune. The whole atmosphere was one of mourning, not jubilation. Sounds of lamentation filled the air.

Napoleon was completely baffled. Surely some sort of tragedy had befallen the Jewish community.

He approached a Jew sitting off in a corner. The man was barefoot, tears streaming from his eyes. "What happened?" Napoleon asked him. "Why are you all crying like that?"

The Jew looked up the stranger and gazed at him sadly. "We are mourning the destruction of our Holy Temple," he explained simply.

"The destruction of what?" The Emperor of France did not understand.

"We Jews used to have a Holy Temple," the man went on. "It was the place where G-d's Divine Presence dwelled, and we served Him in it. Three times a year we made special pilgrimages. But it was destroyed, and that is why we are in mourning."

Napoleon was confused. How could it be that he had not even heard of such a terrible event? Why, he hadn't even known that the Temple existed!

"And who had the audacity to destroy your Temple?" he wanted to know. "The Romans," the man replied. "The evil Romans brought this destruction down upon us."

"The Romans?!" Napoleon cried. "Do you mean to tell me that the Romans have invaded our land?"

"No, it wasn't here in France that this happened," the man explained patiently. "It was in the Land of Israel, in the holy city of Jerusalem."

"Jerusalem? Very interesting," Napoleon said thoughtfully. "I hadn't even heard the slightest rumor. When did this all occur?" Napoleon's curiosity was growing from minute to minute.

At that moment the Jew realized he was talking to a gentile, who had no idea what he was referring to. "The Temple was destroyed eighteen hundred years ago!" he told him. "This wasn't a recent event!"

"Eighteen hundred years ago?" Napoleon sputtered, not believing what he was hearing. "Are you saying that all these people are sitting here mourning an occurrence that not even their great-grandfathers witnessed?"

"Perhaps you don't understand," the Jew continued, "but we Jews see the destruction of the Temple as the beginning of all our woes. It was then that we were exiled from our land, and dispersed among the nations to be persecuted and humiliated. But we also believe," he stated with conviction, "that our Father in Heaven will one day redeem us. At that time He will rebuild the Holy Temple, gather all the Jews from exile and bring us back to our land."

"What a strange people," Napoleon thought to himself as he walked home. No other nation was quite like them; indeed, the Jews were truly unique. After consulting with his advisors Napoleon decided to invite the Chief Rabbi to the palace, and ask him to solve the mystery.

For many hours Napoleon sat and listened as the Rabbi outlined the Jews' bitter history. As legend has it, at the end of their discussion Napoleon rose to his feet and declared, "At first I thought the Jews were peculiar, clinging to their antiquated ways and ancient sorrows. But I now see that you are an eternal people, having outlived even the greatest of empires and civilizations. Surely you will continue to exist long after I and my republic have disappeared from the face of the earth. In the end, you will return to your land and rebuild your Holy Temple. I don't know when it will happen: this year, next year, ten years from now or even two hundred. But it will happen one day, of that I have no doubt."

R' Boruch The Wagon Driver

In general, the study hall of Rabbi Boruch was a joyous place. During the Nine Days before Tisha B'Av, however, the atmosphere was rather somber, as if a dark cloud hovered above.

The tzadik himself had disappeared; no one knew where he was. Rumor had it that Rabbi Boruch had disguised himself as a beggar and was wandering from town to town, the better to experience the exile of the Divine Presence.

In the village square stood a wagon driver next to his horses. To all outward appearances he looked like any other wagon driver, but it was really Rabbi Boruch in a new disguise. It didn't take long until a Polish nobleman asked to engage his services.

The tzadik made a quick calculation: If everything went well, he would make it back to town on the day before Tisha B'Av. He agreed to take the nobleman to his destination, and the two set off.

Now, the horses that Rabbi Boruch had procured were not exactly in their prime; the poor specimens could barely pull the wagon and stopped every few feet to rest. The most tranquil of passengers would have found it irritating; how much more so did the Polish nobleman, who was in a hurry to reach his destination. The tzadik was subjected to a steady stream of curses and insults. But he remained silent, feeling acutely the pain and affront to the Divine Presence in exile.

The journey would take several days, and each evening the two travelers sought refuge in an inn. The nobleman obtained the finest accommodations, while Rabbi Boruch slept in the barn with his horses. The tzadik made sure to don his tefilin and pray several hours before the nobleman woke up. Only afterwards would he rouse him to resume their travels.

One morning, however, when Rabbi Boruch knocked on the nobleman's door he received no answer. The nobleman, he soon realized, was in a drunken stupor, having spent the night before carousing with some local peasants. With great difficulty the tzadik managed to haul him over to the wagon and dump him in. Throughout it all, the nobleman remained unconscious.

The next stage of the journey took them through a dense forest. The horses plodded along at their usual sluggish pace, keeping time with the nobleman's loud snores. Rabbi Boruch was lost in thought.

Suddenly, a terrible pain ripped through the tzadik's head. When he woke up he found himself tied to a tree, with the Polish nobleman in similar circumstances. The horses and wagon were gone, but Rabbi Boruch noticed that his prayer book, talit and tefilin had been tossed aside. Immediately he thanked G-d for having saved his life.

Moving his arms and legs the tzadik was able to gradually loosen his bonds. The first thing he did was to pick up his prayer book, talit and tefilin and kiss them. Next he turned his attention to the Polish nobleman, who was still unconscious but appeared to be breathing.

Rabbi Boruch found a stream and splashed some water on the man's face. Nonetheless, it took a few hours until his eyelids fluttered. "What happened?" the nobleman stammered. "Why am I lying on the ground?"

The tzadik told him what had happened, but as soon as he heard the word "robbers" he began to scream. "My money! My money!" Rabbi Boruch tried to calm him down and told him that he should be grateful for being alive, but the nobleman remained extremely agitated and kept looking at the tzadik with barely concealed suspicion.

With no other choice the two set out on foot. After wandering for several days they came upon an encampment of hunters, some of whom were the nobleman's friends. Out of earshot of the wagon driver, the nobleman told them that he suspected his companion of having stolen his money. His suspicion was based on the simple fact that the driver was the only person who had known of its existence.

One hunter suggested that they shoot him immediately, but the oldest member of the party demurred. "Let's tie him to a tree," he proposed. "If he's guilty, he will die. If not, then G-d help him." The tzadik was immediately seized and bound.

Night fell, and Rabbi Boruch's tears flowed freely as he prayed the evening service. From the depths of his heart he implored G-d to save him, his voice echoing back in the eerie silence.

The sound of approaching footsteps suddenly cut off his words. It was the old hunter who had returned, the very one who had objected to killing him. "I wanted to see how you were," he said. "I never thought you were guilty in the first place. The real robbers have just been apprehended and have admitted to everything. It seems that when our foolish friend got drunk the other night, he boasted to everyone about all the money he was carrying."

It was the night of Tisha B'Av when Rabbi Boruch arrived back at the study hall, where his disciples were waiting for him expectantly. And everyone noticed that the tzadik's reading of the Book of Lamentations was especially emotional that year.

The Destruction Of The Temple

The emperor Napoleon once passed by a synagogue and heard the people within weeping bitterly. Upon inquiring what was the reason for this sadness, he was told that today was Tisha B'Av and the Jews were mourning the destruction of their Holy Temple. Napoleon replied, "A people that mourns so faithfully over their loss will surely see their Temple rebuilt."

The destruction of both Temples took place on the ninth of Av. After the exiles returned from the first Babylonian exile the returnees rebuilt the Temple. When it had stood 300 years, cracks were discovered in the building and Herod undertook the mammoth task of rebuilding it.

Herod, an Edomite - a non-Jew - who had been a slave to the Hasmonian royals, was an implacable foe of the Torah Sages who opposed him. He had risen to the position of king only after having ruthlessly decimated the Hasmonian dynasty, including his own wife, Mariamne. Why did a man so steeped in evil and violence decide to rebuild and beautify the Holy Temple?

The particular target of Herod's bloody excesses were the great Torah Sages. Herod persecuted them to the point that there remained alive only one, Bava ben Buta, and he had been blinded by order of the king. One day, Herod disguised himself and appeared before the great Sage. Wanting to provoke the rabbi to curse him, he began: "Herod is nothing but a wicked slave!"

Bava ben Buta only replied, "What am I to do about it?"

As the disguised stranger escalated his anti-Herod rhetoric, the Sage rejoined with many passages from the Torah which forbid slandering a king. He refused to allow himself to be drawn into the conversation against the tyrant. When he could stand it no more, Herod blurted out, "I am Herod! But had I known that the Torah Sages were so cautious in their speech and actions, I never would have killed them. What can I do to atone for my sins?"

Bava ben Buta replied, "When you killed the Torah Sages you extinguished the light of the world. Now, restore the light by rebuilding the Holy Temple, for it, too, illumines the world."

Herod feared the reaction of the Roman emperor, by whose grace he reigned. Bava ben Buta suggested that a messenger be sent to Rome with a request to begin construction. By the time the messenger would return, the construction could be completed. Herod agreed and work began.

The building Herod constructed was described by our Sages thus: "Whoever has not seen the building of Herod, never saw a beautiful structure in his life." The Second Temple stood for a total of 420 years before the destruction - 90 of which were after Herod's beautification and enlargement.

The Temple, after Herod's completion, was built of gigantic stones, some of which were faced with blue-green marble, which resembled the waves of the sea. Almost all of the doors were faced with gold, and inside thousands of candles flickered. Near the doorway stood a large golden grapevine, and pilgrims who wished to present a gift to the Temple could purchase a leaf, a grape or a whole bunch of golden grapes which they would hang on this lovely golden vine. These donations were used to finance the running of the Temple.

Jews, who came to Jerusalem three times each year, were treated to a marvelous scene, which they no doubt reflected upon throughout the rest of the year. The Levites stood on the fifteen steps leading from one courtyard to the next and sang King David's psalms - the fifteen "Songs of the Steps" to the haunting music of harps, violins, cymbals, flutes and other instruments with which we are unfamiliar.

The siege and ultimate destruction of Jerusalem by the Romans was long and bloody. Millions were slaughtered or perished from lack of food and water. The Jewish defenders of the holy city, divided in their opposition to the conquerors, displayed both great heroism and tremendous folly in their vain attempt to defeat the Roman legions and their allies. But, it was G-d's decree that the Jews be exiled from the land. When the Temple stood in ruins and flames licked the walls, the "flower of the priesthood," the young kohanim threw the keys to the Temple gates towards the heavens, acknowledging, "We have not been trusty guardians of your Temple, and so we are relinquishing the keys to You." A heavenly "hand" was seen reaching out to receive the keys.

And so, the ninth of Av once again casts its shadow over our calendar. We mourn for the destruction of the Holy Temples. But while we fast and remember the destruction, we also anticipate the building of the Third Holy Temple, for our tradition teaches that our redeemer, Moshiach, is born on the very day of the destruction. From within the rumble and ashes of the Holy Temple we receive the assurance that we will be redeemed.

The Rebbe has told us that very soon we will joyfully witness the Third Holy Temple rebuilt, and we will once again be privileged to witness its incomparable holiness and beauty.

The Bed Filled With Sadness

The town was buzzing with the great news of the impending visit of the tzadik (righteous person). Reb Yossele, the son of Reb Mordechai of Neshchitz, couldn't rest from the moment he heard that the tzadik Reb Yaakov Yitzchak, the famous "Seer" or "Chozeh" of Lublin would be passing through his town. He had heard many awesome reports about this holy man and he burned with the desire to meet him and glean some insight from him.

So intent was he to host the great tzadik that he commissioned a local carpenter to build a bed especially for the Chozeh. He undertook this extraordinary preparation because he had heard it said that when the "Seer" traveled and had to sleep in a strange bed, he would sometimes be heard to cry out, "It's prickly! It's prickly!" Wanting to avoid any possible discomfort for the tzadik, he decided to provide a brand-new bed for him, and thus eliminate any possible problem.

Reb Yossele was very exacting in his instructions to the carpenter. First of all, he was careful to choose a workman who was known to be a G-d-fearing man; second, he instructed the carpenter to immerse himself in the mikva before beginning his work, and to very carefully guard himself from impure thoughts while he was working.

For his part, the carpenter was not anxious to accept this complicated assignment. He was particularly unwilling since the work would have to commence during the first week of the month of Av, the intense mourning period for the Holy Temple. However, since his rebbe had made the request of him, he couldn't bring himself to refuse. He undertook the job in a depressed frame of mind, feeling spiritually unworthy of the task ahead. Despite his unwillingness, he worked well and completed his task successfully and in good time.

When the bed was finished, Reb Yossele placed it in a specially prepared room. He covered the bed with fresh, new bedclothes, and put next to it a small table, a lamp and a chair. Satisfied that his preparations would ensure the comfort of the Chozeh, he then closed and locked the door to guarantee that the bed would be untouched by anyone except the tzadik himself.

A few days later, when the Chozeh arrived in the town, Reb Yossele went out to meet him. His joy was complete when the tzadik accepted the invitation to be his guest. Reb Yossele happily escorted his honored guest into the newly appointed room. He proudly showed the Chozeh the bed, explaining that a G-d-fearing carpenter constructed it especially for the tzadik's use. Tired from his long journey, the tzadik lay down to rest.

After only a few moments had passed Reb Yossele heard the Chozeh exclaiming, "Prickly, help, it's prickly!"

Reb Yossele was astonished. What could these cries mean? He quickly went to the tzadik's room and not knowing what else to do, offered him the use of his own bed, hoping it would prove more comfortable. The Chozeh gladly accepted Reb Yossele's offer, and all was quiet. Reb Yossele, however, suffered a sleepless night wondering if the tzadik's rest would be disturbed by some spiritual unworthiness in his house. When morning came the Chozeh awoke refreshed and happy. He remarked to Reb Yossele, "Thank you so much, I had an excellent rest. Your hospitality has revived me!"

Reb Yossele was gratified by the tzadik's words, but still, he couldn't understand the Chozeh's initial reaction to the new bed, and he questioned him about it.

"Don't worry about it at all. The bed is perfect and kosher in every respect," the tzadik assured him. "The reason I couldn't sleep in it was because it had a certain smell of sadness about it since it was built during the Nine Days preceding Tisha B'Av. The carpenter, being a pious man, was mourning the destruction of the Holy Temple while he was building it, and the spiritual residue of his grief adhered to the bed."

A Mother In Heaven

Abraham, Isaac, Jacob and Moses all stood before G-d when they were told about the destruction of the First Holy Temple.

"Why have I been singled out from among all the people, that I have come to this shame and humiliation? Why have You exiled my children, and why have You delivered them into the hands of evil robbers, who killed them with all manner of horrible deaths? You have laid waste to the place where I brought my sons as a sacrifice."

G-d replied: "They sinned, transgressing the entire Torah and the message of the entire alef-bet."

Abraham then said: "Master of the World, who shall bear testimony against the Jews, that they have transgressed?"

"Let the Torah come and testify," said G-d.

The Torah came and wanted to bear witness. Abraham said to her: "My beloved daughter, are you not ashamed before my children? Remember the day that you were given; how G-d carried you to all of the nations, and none wanted to accept you, until my children came to Mt. Sinai and heard you. And today you want to offer testimony against them, during their troubles?"

The Torah was too ashamed to bear witness.

G-d said, "Let the 22 letters of the alef-bet come forward."

The letters came forward, wishing to testify. The alef was first. But Abraham told her, "Remember the day when G-d gave the Torah and began with an alef - Anochi - I. None of the others nations wished to accept you except the Jews. And now you want to witness against them?"

The alef slinked back in shame. But the bet came forward. Abraham said to her, "My daughter, remember the Torah which begins with bet - b'reishit - In the beginning. No one but the Jews would accept her and you wish to bring testimony against them?"

When the other letters saw this, they all remained silent and none would come forward.

Then Abraham said to G-d, "In my hundredth year You gave me a son. When he was 37 years old You commanded me to bring him as a sacrifice and I bound him! Won't You remember this and have pity on my children?"

Then Isaac spoke to G-d, "When my father brought me, upon your command, as an offering, I willingly let myself be bound. I stretched out my neck to be slaughtered. Will you not have pity on my children for my sake?"

Jacob, too, spoke to G-d, saying, "For twenty years I worked for Laban so that I could leave him with my children and my wives. And when I left Laban I was met by my brother Esau who wished to kill my entire family. I risked my very life for them and bore much suffering because of them. Will You not have pity on them?"

Finally, Moses approached G-d. "Was I not a faithful shepherd over Israel for forty years, leading them in the desert? And when the time came for them to enter the Holy Land, You commanded that I die in the desert and not lead them there. Yet, I did not complain. You expect me to watch them go into exile?"

Then Moses called to Jeremiah the prophet, who stood together with him and the Patriarchs. "Come with me. I will take them out of exile."

When, by the rivers of Babylon, the people saw Moses together with Jeremiah, they rejoiced. "Look, Moses has risen from the grave to redeem us from our captors!"

But just then, a heavenly voice rang out, "It is a decree from Me and can be no other way."

Moses wept as he spoke to the people and said, "My beloved children, I cannot take you out for it has been decreed by the Master and only He can redeem you."

Then Rachel, our mother, came before G-d and said, "Your servant, Jacob, loved me dearly and worked for my father for seven years on my behalf. But my father wanted to trick him and give my older sister, Leah, to him instead. I heard of this and told Jacob. And I gave him a sign to that he would know which sister they were giving him.

"But I took pity on my sister and did not wish her to be humiliated. So I taught her the signs and even spoke for her so that Jacob would not recognize her voice. And I was not jealous.

"Master of the World! I am but flesh and blood and I was not jealous of my sister. You are merciful, G-d. Why are you 'jealous' that Israel served idols? And because of this, you have exiled my children and the enemy has killed all that they wanted."

Immediately G-d took pity on her and said, "Rachel, for your sake I will return your children to the land of Israel."

About this the Prophet Jeremiah says, "A voice is heard on high, lamentations and bitter weeping, Rachel weeps and it is said: 'Refrain your voice from weeping and your eyes from tears for there is reward for your labor... and there is hope for your end, and the sons shall return to their boundary.

A Tisha b'Av Prank

The Holy Ruzhiner (Chassidic master Rabbi Israel of Ruzhin, 1797-1851) rejected all feelings of sadness, even of bitterness.1 So his chassidim would engage in all sorts of practical jokes on the Ninth of Av (in order to mitigate the sadness of the day). They would throw burrs at each other. Then they conceived of the following prank: they opened a skylight in the roof of the study hall and dropped a snare; when someone walked into the study hall, they would yank on the rope so that the snare fastened itself around him, and pull him up to the roof.

It happened that the Ruzhiner himself walked in to the study hall. Those who were up on the roof could not see clearly who was coming in, so they pulled him up. To their dismay, they saw that they had pulled up their rebbe! As soon as they recognized who it was, they let him down.

Cried out the Ruzhiner: "Master of the Universe! If Your children are not properly observing Your 'festival,' take it away from them!"

Told by the sixth Lubavitcher Rebbe, Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak Schneerson, in the name of his great-grandfather, Rabbi Menachem Mendel of Lubavitch ("Tzemach Tzeddek," 1789-1866), a contemporary of the "Holy Ruzhiner."

Reprinted from Chabad.org