Reconstructing historical moments through liturgy and action is a strength of Judaism. Our year is filled with holidays and commemorations that transport us into the past and invite us to immerse ourselves once again in the millennia-old story of our people, reliving key moments in our history.

This week in particular—on Sunday, during the observance of the 9th of Av—we read the scroll of Eikha (Lamentations), a text by the prophet Jeremiah, associated with the destruction of the Temple. We mark this event with mourning rituals (throughout the Three Weeks starting from the 17th of Tammuz), recalling the calamities that befell our ancestors.

Although this retelling can be interpreted as a preventive measure to ensure we are not also victims of George Santayana’s famous saying—“Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it”—I believe the Jewish message can also be understood as a blessing rather than a curse.

It is both a lesson and a blessing to be able to relive life’s painful moments. This is illustrated by Moses’ behavior in this week’s parasha.

My father, Ḥayim Barouḥ z”l, a survivor of Auschwitz who embodied vibrant Judaism throughout his life, commented on this week’s parasha, VaEt’hanan (which, coincidentally, I read at my Bar Mitzvah since I was born on the 9th of Av). He used to say that throughout the parashiot of this final Book of the Torah—Devarim—we are continually encouraged to learn and relearn the mitzvot of the Torah.

The common name of this book—Deuteronomy (from Greek deutero-nomos, meaning “repetition of the law”)—and its Hebrew name, Devarim (“Words”), reflect this. It is also referred to as Mishneh Torah, meaning “the repetition of the Torah,” recounting (in part) what happened in the previous four Books. One could say that nearly every topic mentioned in the Torah is re-examined in Devarim, and each one becomes a call to action—to study the passages until we reach a deeper understanding.

But we must be careful—not reaching full understanding is not a failure. After all, who can truly claim to fully grasp it all?

To better explain this idea, my father portrayed Moses as the ultimate student—constantly questioning and seeking to understand the divine pedagogy. Quoting and expanding on a Midrash from Yalkut Shimoni(1), he listed the four times Moses, as a student of the Eternal, did not fully grasp God’s message and asked for clarification regarding the divine intent.

The first of these episodes takes place after God chooses Moses as the prophet of the people at the burning bush. Moses faithfully transmits God’s message to Pharaoh. However, the Midrash suggests that Moses is surprised by Pharaoh’s negative reaction. If God intended to liberate the people, why didn’t Pharaoh comply immediately? Moses thus questions God’s direction, seeking to fully understand His intentions.

The second case of questioning occurs when his sister Miriam is struck with leprosy.

The third is when God asks Moses to appoint Joshua as his successor.

In each instance, the result of Moses’ interaction with God does not align with his expectations. The Midrash has him return to God to seek further clarification about his prophecy.

Here, Moses clearly plays the role of the dedicated student, striving to understand a difficult lesson.

The fourth and final questioning of God happens in this week’s parasha.

I won’t go into detail on each of the four episodes; my goal is simply to highlight the pedagogical dynamic—showing that even the “greatest” engage in learning through wonder and questioning.

In the opening verse, Moses pleads with God and presents his request:
"Vaetchanan—I entreated the Lord at that time, saying, ‘O Lord God, You have begun to show Your servant Your greatness and Your mighty hand; for what god is there in heaven or on earth who can do according to Your works and according to Your might? Please, let me cross over and see the good land that is beyond the Jordan, that good hill country and the Lebanon.’" (Deuteronomy 3:23–25)

Questioning the divine decree that barred him from entering the land, Moses begs God to annul the decision and allow him to enter. His plea could be seen as an attempt to revoke a vow. Moses focuses intensely on trying to undo the divine oath that prevents his entry into the Land. In doing so, he seeks to understand the essence of the prohibition—something I later found echoed in the writings of the Shelah (Rabbi Isaiah Horowitz) in his work Shnei Luchot haBrit(2).

In his constant tendency to question, seek clarification, and search for meaning, Moses offers us a model of responsibility—an example that can inspire both scholars and students. His goal is to relearn his own prophetic insight, a tool of communication for which he was never fully “trained,” until he can fully comprehend its message.

In each situation mentioned, Moses is not challenging God’s message, but rather seeking to understand what he may have missed the first time.

The same is true for our calendar of festivals and observances. The historical message of each one is clear. But the reasons we continue to observe them are not always so—are they practical, traditional, or commanded by a mitzvah?

In particular, when it comes to Tisha B’Av, finding contemporary relevance, sadly, has not been difficult. Already during the time of the Second Temple, there were efforts to postpone or cancel the fast of Tisha B’Av. To ensure its relevance, the rabbis and sages historically designated this date as one on which many tragedies occurred.

This year again, as war rages in Israel and on its borders—on seven different fronts—and as fire rains down from the skies, alongside brutal terrorism, our commemoration of the 9th of Av finds a renewed (and painful) relevance.

However, our contemporary relevance is not the same as our historical observance. We do not commemorate out of weakness, but out of strength.

The pain of the destruction of two Temples in Jerusalem, two millennia ago, is deepened this year by the pain stemming from October 7th—massacres, hostage-taking, mutilations, the destruction of homes, factories, families, people, and property in Israel today. Socially, this is compounded by the lack of unity and the many internal political and societal conflicts.

And yet, the mournful melodies of Eikha and the Kinnot (dirges) will be sung not only in sorrow, but with a spirit of resilience—a spirit that knows the soul of Israel, inspired by our sacred texts, will prevail.

Each cycle of our socio-religious calendar calls us to refine and relearn our understanding of our holidays and observances—within our families and communities.

This process of re-learning is what ultimately leads us to fulfill the verse:
"And you who cleave to the Lord your God are all alive today." (Deuteronomy 4:4)

To cling to our identity through our history and rites is not passive observance, but an active commitment—not simply passing through the calendar, but connecting with it, relearning the meaning of our pivotal historical moments and drawing lessons from them.

This is how we strive toward the kind of understanding inspired by Moses and his lifelong quest.

Notes:

Yalkut Shimoni (compiled by Shimon) is a medieval anthology of interpretations covering the entire Bible. Due to its popularity, it is often referred to simply as "the Yalkut", though similar compilations exist.

Rabbi Isaiah Halevi Horowitz, known as the Shelah, is named after his seminal work Shnei Luchot haBrit (whose Hebrew acronym is SheLaH). Recognized early in the 17th century as a great gaon, he participated in the Council of the Four Lands (Vaad Arba Aratsot) and served as rabbi and head of prominent yeshivot in Dubno, Ostrow, Posen, Krakow, Vienna, and Frankfurt.