History – particularly Jewish history – does not exist in a vacuum; it is neither random nor capricious. The Sages teach that no event – certainly no major episode in Jewish history, and certainly not regarding Israel – occurs by happenstance. They illustrate this by rearranging the letters of mikreh, accidental, to form the words rak me’Hashem, strictly from God.
Unquestionably, one of the epochal dates in Jewish history is the upcoming Tisha (9th) B’Av.
Beginning with the episode of the spies, the meraglim – wherein the nation faltered in its initial mission to conquer Israel – the day would be indelibly marked as one of continuous tragedy.
The destruction of both Temples would be linked to this ignominious “9/11” (Av is the 11th month in the Hebrew calendar), as were the final blow against Israel’s independence inflicted by the Romans at Betar, the expulsion of Jews from England in 1290, and the start of the Inquisition.
The rabbis wax poetic in assigning a litany of reasons that Jerusalem was leveled and the Temple destroyed. The Talmud in Shabbat quotes numerous sages: Abaye said: Jerusalem was destroyed only because people desecrated the Shabbat in it; Rabbi Abahu said it was linked to our deficiency in prayer; Rav Hamnuna said it resulted from the neglect of proper education for the children; Ulla said Jerusalem was destroyed only because people had no shame before each other; Rabbi Hanina said it occurred because people did not rebuke one another; Rabbi Yehuda said it happened because Torah scholars were disparaged.
Still other sources say that we judged others too harshly, failed to give them the benefit of the doubt, or failed to properly bless the study of Torah.
Perhaps the most famous indictment comes from Yoma, which cites the cardinal sins of adultery, immorality, and murder as responsible for the First Temple’s demise, while blaming sin’at hinam – baseless hatred – for the Second Temple’s destruction.
The little things
I want to suggest that while all of the above “big” reasons for these global catastrophes express the need to mend our ways and require us to make major changes in our behavior, there are other, seemingly “little,” things that we can more easily do to evoke God’s mercy and engender a reversal of the misfortune.
Susie and I recently returned from an extended tour of the Far East. Almost from the moment we arrived, we recognized subtle, yet powerful practices that positively affect those societies; practices that, alas, are rare – if not conspicuously absent – in our own country.
In Singapore, for example, laws are strictly adhered to. Drivers respect road signs, waiting patiently to move until the light turns green, and signal at all turns; they rarely, if ever, honk their horns. Certainly, you will never, ever see a motorized vehicle on a sidewalk, endangering the life and limb of pedestrians.
The streets are spotless; no one discards litter at will. In fact, there are no wastebaskets on the sidewalks; people will carry their trash for hours before finally discarding it at home. Spitting is punishable by law, and gum is neither sold in the country nor allowed to be brought in by tourists, lest it lead to dirtying the pavement.
In Japan, there is a concerted effort to respect the other person’s space. There is no eating on the streets, nor are there public displays of affection, such as hugging or kissing. Clothes, too, are modest; no outlandish or overly revealing clothes are worn in public.
There, the sounds of silence prevail: No one speaks in elevators; no one talks above a whisper in buses or on trains. Phones are on silent mode in all public places.
Tipping at restaurants in Japan and Korea is not only unnecessary; it can be considered an insult to the waiter, as it relegates him or her to the status of a servant rather than an employee carrying out his or her task diligently and in a dignified manner. In fact, a waitress may even chase after a customer, assuming the money was inadvertently left behind on the table by mistake.
Similarly, taxi drivers expect no added recompense for their services.
In Thailand, passersby will not ignore you; they will smile and bow their heads to anyone they see, placing their hands together to offer their blessings. Often, they will say “Kop kun,” thank you, even if you did nothing special for them.
All of this left a deep impression on me. How often are we, here in Israel, besieged by noise pollution? The honking cars, the screaming of parents at their children down the block, the yelling across a crowded restaurant or music concert to a friend. Do I really need to hear the guy next to me on the sherut mini-bus discussing the latest results from his urologist, or the teenager detailing her latest crush? Are people so hard of hearing that all their phone conversations must be on speaker mode? Does every inane TikTok video need to be shared?
And why must I deftly dodge electric bikes and motorcycles as I walk down the sidewalk, not daring to look at the scenery lest I be bowled over by a careless, crazed biker?
‘Kavod’ and ‘tzniut’
We have two Hebrew words that address all these situations: kavod and tzniut.
Kavod is the honor we must show to others, in the assumption that they want the same amount of consideration that we want for ourselves.
It is the honor that we give to the law when we abide by its rules, because all of us will want the law to protect us if and when it becomes necessary.
It is the honor we show to our city, because it reflects on all those who live there.
It is the honor we show our neighbors when we protect their property, as we hope they would do for us.
Tzniut has become associated with modest clothing, but it is much, much more than that.
Tzniut is respecting others’ space and maintaining peace and serenity – rather than engaging in cacophony and commotion – in open spaces.
Tzniut is the act of humbling ourselves by not believing that we are somehow better than others and so we can do whatever we like in their presence.
Every time we let the other person in the conversation finish his or her idea – without bursting in on them every few seconds – we signal that they have value, too, and that their point of view must be heard, even if ours must wait a bit.
These are the so-called little things that add up to a lot, the tiny “pieces of white” that erase the black habits that can darken our society.
If we want – really want – to rebuild the Beit Hamikdash (Sanctuary), then we must begin in our own dalet amot, our own small spaces, in the stores, the synagogues, and on the streets. It starts with us.
The writer is director of the Jewish Outreach Center of Ra’anana. rabbistewart@gmail.com
Source:
www.jpost.com
