The Chofetz Chaim tells a story of a businessman who suddenly
realized that he was getting on in years and hadn't started
learning yet. He decided to go to the beis midrash
instead of to his business but he neglected to tell his wife.
The businessman's wife found out that he had not arrived at
his business.
As the clock ticked relentlessly on with, as yet, no sign of
her husband, Mrs. Businessman began to panic. "Where could he
be?" she thought. She sent out search parties for him.
Evening fell and, after maariv, her missing husband
returned.
"Where have you been! I was so worried!" she yelled at
him.
"You wouldn't have yelled at me if I were dead," said the
husband.
He explained that he had been in the beis midrash and
in the future, while he was there, learning, his wife must
pretend that he was dead. So, as they say in the best of
children's stories, "It all ended happily ever after."
Husband alive and well and learning Torah.
It doesn't always work out like that. The Three Weeks and
Rosh Chodesh Av are not exactly times for "Happily ever
after." We are mourning the Beis Hamikdosh but it is so hard
for most of us to mourn for something that we have never had,
or seen, or been affected by. The thought of an altar and
sacrifices is quite a foreign concept, emotionally and
intellectually, to the average 'modern' Western mind. So how
can we mourn?
At any other time of the year, mourning is associated with
death. Facing a death of a loved one makes people acutely
aware of how precious life is, how precious time is, how
futile and petty are everyday frustrations. For a short while
(for who can look eternity full in the face for longer than
that), everything is measured against a real and absolute
yardstick. "What would be said about this at the end of 120
years?"
Gradually the mourner becomes 'human' again. Little things
bother, time is 'wasted,' the intensity is turned down.
When the lost loved one is a parent and the mourner is a
child/adolescent, the loss causes the child's world to tumble
down. The 'role model' (even if only to fight against), the
interpreter of the world, the disciplinarian, the source of
strength, warmth and security — is gone.
The mourner has to live through the first Friday night
without, the first Seder Night without and later still the
first naming of a child that the lost parent will never see.
Yet life goes on. The child/adolescent becomes an adult. They
make their own home. They become the 'role model' for their
own children. They live almost as if that parent were never
there just as we may feel about the Beis Hamikdosh.
We have grown up and it would seem very strange to us should
that parent return and expect obedience from us as if we were
children. We are just not used to obeying that parent
anymore. It has been so long!
Yet, in the still quiet hours of the night, or perhaps when
the cool gentle afternoon breeze gives comfort to our summer-
sun scorched cheek, we may mentally put our hand out and
desperately stretch and claw towards the longed for border
crossing of time and spirituality.
And we beg, with unshedable tears, for just one more look,
one more word, one more smile. If we could all have that same
agonizing desire and longing for the Beis Hamikdosh —
why, it would be here tomorrow!
