The avodah of the Three Weeks, or more properly of making way for Mashiach, argues Rabbi Immanuel Bernstein in From Ruins to Redemption (Mosaica Press) is not just negative in nature — e.g., refraining from speaking lashon hara, avoiding disputes — but rather creating shalom, peace. The exemplar of that quality in the Torah is Aharon HaKohein, the ultimate rodef shalom, pursuer of peace. When Aharon became aware of two Jews in conflict with one another, he did not remain passive, but went to each one and told him that his bar plugta wanted to make up with him.
Thus, the Torah tells us twice of the death of Aharon, the second time in parshasMasei: "He died there, in the fortieth year from the children of Israel leaving Egypt, in the fifth month [i.e., Av] on the first of the month" (Bamidbar 33:38). Aharon is the only figure in the Torah whose precise date of death is given. And not by accident.
The death of Aharon is the prelude to the month of destruction, in which both Temples were lost. Parshas Masei is always read just prior to Rosh Chodesh Av, as if to tell us that the Churban began with the death of Aharon and the quality of pursuing peace that he represented. As Rabbi Bernstein writes, "Churban is not an event; it is a process, and it starts with the loss of someone like Aharon."
Another example. The Gemara in Gittin tells us that the Beis Hamikdash was destroyed because of Kamtza and Bar Kamtza. Bar Kamtza we know. After being humiliated by being thrown out of a festive meal by the host, and infuriated that the rabbis present saw his disgrace and did not protest, Bar Kamtza went to the Roman authorities and informed them that the Jews were revolting against Roman rule.
But who was Kamtza, and why is the destruction attributed to him as well? He ostensibly had nothing to do with the events recorded. The messenger of the host was supposed to deliver an invitation to him, and instead he delivered it to Bar Kamtza, the mortal enemy of the host.
Bar Kamtza literally means the "son of Kamtza," and the Maharsha writes that Bar Kamtza was indeed the son of Kamtza. In other words, Kamtza was a beloved friend of his son's enemy. Presumably, he knew of the enmity between his son and his good friend, but did nothing to make peace between the two of them. His attitude was one of passivity: I can remain on good terms with my son and with my friend. Their relationship with one another is not my concern.
And for that passivity, Kamtza shares the blame for the destruction of the Beis Hamikdash: He could have used his relationship with both his son and his friend to make peace between them, but did not.
NO TIME is as ripe as the present for efforts on all our parts to heal the huge rifts that divide the Jews of Eretz Yisrael, including the religious community itself, over the issue of army service. How, at the very least, can we turn machlokes, which is inherently destructive, into mere disagreement, which is inevitable until Eliyahu Hanavi returns to resolve all doubts?
I have no magic solutions, nor would I expect anyone to listen to my opinions if I were so delusional as to think that I did. But I do have some experience over the years — as I suspect most of those who reach a certain age do — of dramatically improving relationships with those with whom I formerly had a tense relationship.
One rule: Always start with the search for common ground. I think we can all agree that the State of Israel needs an army. If Bnei Yisrael upon entering Eretz Yisrael were explicitly commanded with respect to the waging of warfare, certainly our lowly generation is no better situated to rely on Divine miracles alone to defeat our enemies.
Further, I would guess that almost all can agree that the campaigns waged by the IDF in Gaza and Lebanon since October 7 were required, and that more than 100,000 Jews could not be left indefinitely to choose between fleeing their homes or being subject to constant rocket fire and the threat of invasion from the south or north.
If an army is required, then we can drop all slogans that imply that service in the IDF is ipso facto forbidden. The manner in which the IDF is organized, with respect to integration of genders and the like, may make participation halachically prohibited, but that is a far cry from arguing that army service is inherently forbidden.
It also follows that all the citizens of Israel owe a debt of hakaras hatov to those serving in our defense, and should say so openly and often. Rabbi Bernstein points out that the Korban Asham brought by the metzora upon his healing is listed by Seforno as an asham me'ilos, i.e., a guilt offering for having used something holy for unholy purposes — in this case the power of speech, for the speaking of lashon hara.
We are meant to use our power of speech in a positive fashion. Those who met the Chofetz Chaim were often surprised that he did not refrain from talking but readily engaged in conversation. A word of encouragement, an expression of appreciation, validation of the difficulty of what someone else is enduring are all ways of fostering shalom, and our power of speech should be employed accordingly.
Second rule: Listen, really listen, to the position of those with whom you are arguing. Try to understand where they are coming from and view matters from their perspective. The Mirrer Rosh Yeshivah Rav Chaim Shmuelevitz ztz"l was a master in that regard. During the Yom Kippur War, he instructed Mirrer talmidim to minimize the time spent looking for their daled minim. What was his concern? That a mother with a son at the front lines might see a group of bochurim searching for the perfect esrog, as if they had all the time in the world, while her son was facing mortal danger.
My wife and I recently received a lesson in empathy. One of our sons — 35, and with three children — completed the Chashmonaim six-month combat training, after which he was stationed for a period of time in Lebanon. At that time, IDF soldiers were being killed on a seemingly daily basis by Hezbollah drones, for which the IDF has not yet found a defense. As a consequence, we experienced for the first time what most Israeli parents experience: the fear that every knock on the door or phone call could bring devastating news. It's one thing to imagine what that means, and quite another to experience it oneself. But at the very least, each of us must make the effort to put ourselves in the place of those parents.
Third rule: Make clear that the suffering of others is one's own, as a fellow member of Klal Yisrael. If thousands of reservists are serving 250 days a year, with all the attendant strains that creates for spouses and children, that is not someone else's problem; it is a problem for all those committed to the health and well-being of Klal Yisrael.
NONE OF THESE SUGGESTIONS dictates a particular resolution of the issue of IDF service, which is multifaceted and involves both practical issues and ones over the hierarchy of religious values. Among the practical issues: whether, and to what extent, the army is willing to accommodate the halachic requirements of religious soldiers, and to what extent does it remain an agent of socialization to secular values. That is an issue that frequently roils the national-religious world, particularly that of the Hesder yeshivot, as well. Another question: Can the IDF come to any binding agreements with the leadership of the Torah world, or will any such agreements inevitably be overturned by the attorney general and the High Court?
Such questions go together with theological debates, which are inevitably among the most intractable, because they give rise to feelings of righteous indignation on all sides. Here too, Rabbi Bernstein's discussion of Kamtza and Bar Kamtza offers important guidance.
Why, he asks, did the rabbis remain silent as Bar Kamtza was humiliatingly evicted from the feast? And he speculates that perhaps Bar Kamtza was a member of one of the sects that separated itself from the mainstream of rabbinic Judaism at the time, a suggestion given credence by Bar Kamtza's subsequent behavior.
Even so, he suggests, perhaps it was still wrong to remain passive in the face of Bar Kamtza's humiliation. The Meshech Chochmah (Shemos 13:9) discusses the tefillin "worn" by HaKadosh Baruch Hu. The tefillin shel rosh, worn "between the eyes," is divided into four compartments, corresponding to the different levels of Divine Hashgachah experienced by different Jews, according to their spiritual level. The separate compartments remind us that there are ideas that must be fenced off and confined. Not every idea any Jew comes up with is a Torah idea, and many are pernicious.
The tefillin shel yad, worn adjacent to the heart, has only one parchment, a reminder of Hashem's all-encompassing love for every member of Klal Yisrael. And we must remind ourselves of that love, even for those whose deios strike us as treif.
Nor should we be quick to assume that deios different from our own have no basis in the Torah. On his deathbed, Yaakov Avinu gathered his sons together so that each one would hear the blessings given to his brothers. It would not have sufficed for Yaakov to give each of his sons his blessing individually, out of earshot of his brothers.
Rather each son had to know that there are valid Torah approaches other than his own, and each has a place in the great circle dance at the end of the time, where those on the circumference of the circle will point to Hashem in the center and be able to see the others doing so as well from their place on the circle.
Viewed in this fashion, when Yaakov Avinu was prevented from revealing to his sons what would be at the end of time, he did not simply move on to something else and bless each one. Rather, by gathering them together to hear one another's brachos and the place of each in Hashem's plan, he was showing them the path toward geulah.
May it arrive soon, in our time. And the mourning of Tishah B'Av be turned into a moed of rejoicing.