These tragedies are echoed in the choice of Haftarot (prophetic readings) during the surrounding weeks: those before the 9th of Av carry harsh prophetic rebukes for the sins and failings that were the spiritual cause of the Temples' destruction; those that follow convey messages of comfort and consolation. This week’s Haftarah, the famous "Vision" of Isaiah, gives its name to the day: Shabbat Chazon, the "Shabbat of Vision." Traditionally, it is read as a powerful condemnation of a rebellious people.

Sometimes, this applies to us... and sometimes, we inflict this on others. As we all know, the central theme of Tisha B’Av is the remembrance of the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem, destroyed by the Romans in the year 70 – the Temple which, with its various rituals, was our ancient source of inspiration, spiritual growth, and vision.

In the past, reconnecting with the living Presence of the Almighty Eternal One could be as simple as ascending the mountain to the Temple in Jerusalem. There, one could behold the sacred procession of the Cohanim and Levites in all their splendor; breathe in the fragrance of the burning incense; listen attentively to the music; engage in deep spiritual conversations with the Cohanim before offering an animal as a sacrifice. That was all a “Jew of the time” needed to do to rekindle their Jewish heart. Let us remember that back then, we had no printed prayer books — the entire spiritual life revolved around the rituals of sacrifice, processions, the sounding of the shofar, and the chanting of the Songs of Ascent by the Levites, accompanied by their instruments.

Moreover, since the rebuilding of the Second Temple and the return of the exiles, under the great leadership of Ezra and Nehemiah, public Torah reading had been instituted on Mondays, Thursdays, Shabbatot, and festivals, with the aid of meturgemanim, translators. These scholars would translate the Torah into Aramaic so that everyone could understand the Divine messages and commandments.

But today, after the disappearance of these sacred structures, we are left to find our own way to fill the void. Of course, we still have the Torah, our teachers, our books, our commentaries, and the inspiring memories and visions of a Jewish future filled with renewed holiness and purity. But it’s hard. Very hard.

In a sense, we are like children who have been suddenly and tragically orphaned — forced to fight our own battles and mourn our losses at the same time.

And so, we fast on Tisha B’Av. Some walk barefoot. Others sit on low stools. We barely greet our neighbors. For two reasons: first, because this is how we mourn — these are the traditional signs of mourning observed after the death of a loved one; and second, because this is what halakha requires of us.

But there is also a deeper reason. Because we are stunned and completely overwhelmed by the fact that all this former glory and comfort is gone!

Is it surprising, then, that we have no appetite on Tisha B’Av?
That we sit on low stools?
That we lament and barely acknowledge one another (as in cemeteries)?
After all, we are alone, and in deep sorrow.

But Tisha B’Av is not only about our terrible loss. It is also about the cause of that loss. Our rabbis taught that the Temple was destroyed because of sin’at chinam — baseless hatred.

The Talmud sums it up well:
"The First Temple was destroyed due to three cardinal sins: idolatry, sexual immorality (giluy arayot), and bloodshed (shefichut damim). But the Midrash adds that the baseless hatred which led to the destruction of the Second Temple was even more severe than these three sins combined."

The biblical narrative describes how factions within our people hated each other, and how we were cruel to one another.

Let me be clear: for better or worse, I’m not going to talk about the internal Jewish quarrels of today, between the various “movements” of Judaism — whether religious or political. About how one group of Jews pours hatred on another group of Jews.

Instead, I want to speak on a personal level — about a quieter kind of “baseless hatred,” the kind of casual unkindness we sometimes show to our friends or neighbors, even when they are suffering.

“Impossible!” you may say. “Who today would strike someone who’s already down?”

But, dear readers, it happens all the time — actively or passively.

What is "failure to assist someone in distress"? It means we may harm those who are already suffering — whether verbally, emotionally, or physically. And if there is a reason, sadly, it’s often that we are gripped by some meanness. Or — and this is more commonly the case — we simply look away. We remain passive, individualistic, at times even cowardly. And when our neighbor is in pain, we do not help them.

The prophet Jeremiah, author of the scroll of Eicha (Lamentations), which we read on Tisha B’Av, made this point very clearly. He spoke on behalf of those of our people who sat in the ashes of ancient Jerusalem. As it says in Lamentations 1:12:

“Is it nothing to you, all you who pass by?
Look and see if there is any pain like my pain,
which was dealt to me,
which the Lord inflicted on me on the day of His fierce anger.”

In other words, the suffering ones cry out to us and say: “See me. Listen to me. Take my pain to heart. I need your help. And yet no one comforts me.”

The text continues:

“There is no one to comfort me, no one to revive my soul.”
Those who should have been there for me — friends, companions, those I counted on —
“are far from me” (Lamentations 1:16).

This brings to mind a poignant Eastern tale that carries a powerful life lesson, told simply:

Ahmed had just made a very successful business deal. He decided to throw a big party and asked his brother Youssouf to go invite all their friends. He told him, “Make sure to tell them the festive meal will be served tonight after the evening prayer.”

Youssouf ran through the town shouting, “Fire! Fire!”

“Why are you shouting ‘Fire’?” asked Ahmed. “There’s no fire!”

“I know that,” replied Youssouf. “Now you’ll see who your real friends are.”

A humbling reminder in our age of hundreds of “friends” on Facebook and other social media.

As the prophet Jeremiah laments in the scroll of Eicha, do we not sometimes feel guilty for such emotional abandonment of those around us? And isn’t this, too, a form of the baseless hatred our sages condemned?

I offer two prayers for this Tisha B’Av:

May the Eternal, Ribbono Shel Olam, inspire us this year — not only to find some healing for our own grief, but to be present for others in their pain and sorrow as well.

And may it be Heaven’s will that we never again experience such loss or suffering.