Local Feature Articles

Tisha B’Av and the Refusal to Accept Destruction as Normal

By Natalie Emerson

The deepest question of Tisha B’Av may not be simply, “What happened to Jerusalem?” It may be: What kind of people can dwell securely in the presence of G-d?

The Ninth of Av remembers the destruction of the First and Second Temples, the devastation of Jerusalem, exile from the Land, and later calamities associated with the long history of Jewish suffering. Yet Tisha B’Av does more than preserve the memory of catastrophe. It refuses to accept catastrophe as the proper order of things.

That refusal is rooted in the opening chapters of Genesis. The world spoken into existence by G-d was repeatedly called good and, finally, “very good.” Within that vision, destruction and death cannot be treated as the proper or final order of creation. They stand against a world originally marked by life, fruitfulness, harmony, and divine blessing.

Jerusalem’s destruction is not accepted as normal merely because it happened long ago. The Temple’s absence is not treated as insignificant because generations have learned to live without it. The mourning itself declares that something is wrong. Ruin may become familiar, but familiarity does not make it good.

The grief of Tisha B’Av therefore contains hope. One mourns because the loss is real, but also because destruction does not possess the final authority to define reality. Jerusalem’s ruins are remembered against the goodness of creation and the prophetic promises of return, restoration, and comfort.

This raises an enduring question: Can divine judgment coexist with divine faithfulness?

The Hebrew Scriptures answer yes. Judgment is not the opposite of faithfulness when justice and lovingkindness coexist within the character of G-d. Micah’s instruction—to do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with G-d—does not place these virtues in opposition. Justice without kindness can become merciless; kindness without justice can become moral indifference. In the biblical vision, the two belong together.

Jerusalem’s destruction can therefore be understood as judgment without concluding that G-d abandoned Israel. Exile did not cancel election. Discipline did not annul covenant. The prophets repeatedly move from accusation to promise, from desolation to return, and from judgment to consolation.

The same G-d who permitted scattering also promised gathering.

The vision of the nations presented in Deuteronomy 32 deepens this understanding. Israel is not described merely as one people among many, produced by ordinary historical forces. Throughout the Torah, Israel’s identity arises from G-d’s calling, covenant, and deliverance. Deuteronomy describes Jacob as the LORD’s portion and allotted inheritance.

That identity does not begin with political sovereignty, military strength, or cultural achievement. It begins with the will and calling of G-d.

Foreign empires could therefore conquer Jerusalem without revoking Israel’s identity. Babylon could destroy the First Temple. Rome could destroy the Second. Neither could erase the word by which Israel had been constituted as a people.

Jewish memory, Torah study, prayer, family life, and communal practice all became means of preservation through centuries of exile. Yet the covenant did not originate in human persistence. Israel endured because Israel first belonged to G-d.

This framework also gives profound significance to the modern return of Jewish people to the Land.

Care is necessary when interpreting political events through Scripture. No modern government is beyond moral examination, and no political action becomes righteous merely because it is carried out by a Jewish state. Yet the return of the Jewish people to their ancestral homeland after centuries of dispersion cannot be easily separated from the biblical pattern of gathering. At the very least, it resonates with an ancient identity that was never extinguished.

Yom HaShoah Commemoration Calls Community to Remember—and to Speak

 By Natalie Emerson

In a city where history is not merely preserved but actively told, the Yom HaShoah Community Commemoration on Sunday, April 12, at the Nancy & David Wolf Holocaust & Humanity Center offered a solemn and necessary charge: remembrance must be honest enough to include not only the crimes of perpetrators, but the silence of those who stood by.

Marking Yom HaShoah, the evening honored the six million Jews murdered in the Holocaust while preserving the voices of those who endured. Through testimony, music, and ritual, the program reflected the day’s dual meaning—catastrophe and courage—while anchoring memory in the present generation.

The commemoration opened with an introduction by second-generation descendant Steve Coppel, who framed the significance of the Yom HaShoah siren and the enduring message of “Zog Nit Kein’mol,” the partisan anthem performed by students of Rockwern Academy under the direction of Rachel Westheimer, with pianist Claire Lee. The song, rooted in resistance, set a tone that would carry throughout the evening: memory is not passive—it is defiant.

Welcome remarks from Jackie Congedo, CEO of the Center, emphasized the institution’s mission to connect Holocaust remembrance with contemporary responsibility. That theme was reinforced in the invocation delivered by Rabbi Sammy Kanter of the Mayerson Jewish Community Center, who grounded the evening in both reverence and moral awareness.

Music continued to play a central role. The Mason High School Chamber Orchestra, under the direction of Stephanie Jones, performed the theme from Schindler’s List, offering a restrained and deeply affecting interlude that bridged historical narrative with emotional resonance. Later, pianist Claire Lee returned with “Baym Geto Toyerl (At the Ghetto’s Gate),” further underscoring the cultural and spiritual memory carried through song.

At the heart of the evening was the candlelighting ceremony, where memory was visibly passed from one generation to the next. Readers and candlelighters represented second-, third-, and fourth-generation descendants alongside Holocaust survivors themselves. Among them were survivor participants, including Pasha Sukhareva, Raisa Pustinsky, Zahava Rendler, and Sofia Kobylyansky, whose presence transformed remembrance into living testimony. Younger voices—such as fourth-generation reader Jacob Brafman and third-generation participants including Emily Werbel and the Herman family—demonstrated that the responsibility to remember is not diminishing, but being carried forward.

This generational continuity was one of the evening’s most powerful elements. It was not simply stated; it was seen. Survivors lit candles alongside descendants who will carry their stories into the future, forming a visual and communal bridge between past and present.

The program did not shy away from difficult truths. In addition to recounting the atrocities committed by Nazi Germany, it addressed the broader moral failures that allowed those crimes to unfold. The silence of ordinary Germans—neighbors who watched persecution escalate without resistance—was acknowledged alongside the inaction of many Americans during the same period. As awareness of Jewish suffering grew in the United States, public pressure for intervention remained limited.

That failure was made concrete in references to events such as the MS St. Louis Incident, when more than 900 Jewish refugees were denied entry and forced back toward Europe. While such decisions were made at the governmental level, the absence of widespread public outcry remains a sobering reminder that silence, even when rooted in caution or uncertainty, carries consequences.