Tears of a mother

The Shabbat before the fast of Tisha b’Av is known as Shabbat Chazon, literally the Sabbath of Vision. While ostensibly this somewhat mysterious
appellation comes from the opening words of the haftarah “A Vision of Isaiah,” a number of Chassidic figures speak of this Shabbat as one associated with prophetic vision: that before approaching a day of deepest grief, we need to borrow the penetrating eyes of our prophets to
give us a perspective that elevates us from despair and devastation to hope and redemption.

One of the most searing images that Jewish tradition associates with exile and hope for the future is that of our matriarch Rachel. Speaking to generations of Jews who would see the destruction of Jerusalem, the prophet Jeremiah shared a vision of our ancient ancestress:

“A voice is heard on high mourning and great weeping, Rachel weeping for her children and refusing to be comforted, because they are no more.” (Jer. 31:14)

Get The Jewish Chronicle Weekly Edition by email and never miss our top stories Free Sign Up

The image of the wife of our father Jacob, who after years of infertility dies in childbirth, is transformed in the words of the prophet to the eternal mother who cannot stop crying over her missing children.

Rashi, quoting a midrash, explains Jacob’s choice to bury Rachel on the side of the road rather than bringing her to be buried in the family tomb in the cave of Machpelah as rooted in this same image:

“When Nebuzaradan exiles them (the Israelites), and they pass by there, Rachel will emerge from her grave and weep and beg mercy for them, as it is said: ‘A voice is heard on high, … Rachel is weeping for her children] …’”

How heartbreaking and strangely comforting! In imagining our ancestors, shackled and defeated, being led off into exile, passing by the humble tomb of Rachel, taking strength in the words that God says to Rachel:

“Restrain your voice from weeping and your eyes from tears, for your work will be rewarded,” declares Hashem. “They will return from the land of the enemy. So there is hope for your descendants,” declares Hashem. “Your children will return to their borders.”

In our liturgy over Tisha b’Av, when we mourn the destruction of the Temple and the other tragedies of Jewish history, the paytanim (liturgical poets) return again and again to this arresting image, of a mother whose love is so fierce that it elicits a promise from God that her children
will, one day, be redeemed and return.

For the last 300 days, this powerful image has merged for me with that of a contemporary mother Rachel: an old, cherished friend named Rachel Goldberg. Rachel and her husband, Jon Polin, were beloved congregants of mine in Virginia before making aliyah. To the horror of all who know and love them, their son Hersh was kidnapped to Gaza this past Simchat Torah, and since then, their life has been consumed with advocating for his return all over the world, to whomever will listen to his story.

As we approach this Tisha b’Av, so many of our ultimate mother Rachel’s children continue to languish in horrible captivity in “the land of the enemy.” So many of our mother Rachel’s children “are no more,” heroes fallen in battle against murderous terrorists. So many of our mother Rachel’s children find themselves exiled from their homes in the north of Israel because of the rockets of Hezbollah. So many of our mother Rachel’s children struggle with the terror of the threats hurled at the Jewish people from Iran and across the world. This Tisha b’Av, our voices need to harmonize with Rachel Goldberg and Mother Rachel, not allowing our cries to God to be silenced until we merit to see the prophecy fulfilled: “and the children will return to their borders.” PJC

Rabbi Daniel Yolkut is the rabbi of Congregation Poale Zedeck. This column is a service of the Vaad Harabonim of Greater Pittsburgh.