There are times when Tisha B’Av stops being a distant memory and becomes a mirror held up to our own community. What unfolded this year around Rabbi Eliyahu Meir Feivelson shlit”a forces us to confront not only acts of violence and disruption, but the deeper danger of silence — the silence of Gedoilim, of institutions, and of all of us who know better. This is not a story about one rabbi. It is a story about who we are, and who we dare to become.
by Menahem Godick
When Tisha B’Av Happens Before Our Eyes
There are moments when Tisha B’Av stops being a story about something that happened nearly two thousand years ago. There are moments when it unfolds right before our eyes.
I have been a student of Rabbi Eliyahu Meir Feivelson shlit”a for over twenty years. I love him and respect him deeply; I have learned from him for many years. That is why what has happened around him in recent days pains me personally.
But what I write here does not depend on what anyone thinks of Rabbi Feivelson. You can disagree with him. You can think he is mistaken. You can argue sharply with his words.That is the essence of the Beit Midrash.
But persecution is not disagreement. Violence is not ideology. Shouting and cursing are not zeal for Heaven.
A Night of Tears — Interrupted
On the night of Tisha B’Av, the Rabbi sat on the floor, surrounded by hundreds of students and bnei Torah who came to hear his annual shiur.
He spoke of destruction, of nearly two thousand years of exile, of baseless hatred, and of the teaching that “Every generation in which the Temple is not rebuilt, it is as if it was destroyed in that generation.” And he wept.
In that moment, people entered who looked exactly like us — suits, hats, beards, payot — and they shouted, cursed, and disrupted the lesson.
Just a week earlier, in Modi’in Illit, they had surrounded the Rabbi, blocked his way, insulted and shoved him, and damaged his car until he had to be rescued.
The more I think about it, the more one thing frightens me even more than the shouting:
Where is the voice of protest? Where are the Roshei Yeshiva? Where are the gedoilim? Where are the leaders who will stand up and simply say:
You do not need to agree with Rabbi Feivelson to say that.
Two Gemaras come to mind — and this year, they are impossible to read without shuddering.
1. Shabbat 119b — Destruction Through Silence and Disgrace
Chazal said:
“Jerusalem was destroyed only because they did not rebuke one another.”
And the Gemara describes:
“They buried their faces in the ground and did not rebuke one another.”
A few lines later:
“Jerusalem was destroyed only because they disgraced Torah scholars.”
Disgrace on one side. Silence on the other.
Anyone reading these words today must ask what they mean for us.
2. Sotah 41b — The Danger of Flattery
King Agrippas read from the Torah. When he reached the verse “You may not set a foreigner over you,” tears streamed from his eyes. The people called out:
“You are our brother, you are our brother.”
The Gemara says:
“At that moment, the enemies of Israel became liable for destruction, because they flattered Agrippas.”
Rabbi Shimon ben Chalafta adds:
“From the day the fist of flattery prevailed, justice was distorted and deeds were corrupted.”
And further:
“Woe to those who call evil good and good evil.”
Flattery is not only saying what you do not believe. Sometimes flattery is simply silence.
Seeing wrong and wondering who will be angry if you speak. Seeing injustice and checking which “side” the victim belongs to. Seeing a line crossed and finding a reason why now is not the time to speak.
Slowly, the boundaries blur.
Until it comes true:
“Woe to those who call evil good and good evil, who turn darkness into light and light into darkness.” (Isaiah 5:20)
We easily recognize distortion in others.The hard question is what happens when it enters us.
What happens when zealotry takes on the appearance of piety? When violence is wrapped in the word “ideology”? When Torah scholars and leaders know something is wrong but fear to say so?
Maybe that is one of the soul‑searchings of Tisha B’Av —not only to cry over what destroyed Jerusalem then,but to ask what within us still destroys it today.
Disgracing Torah scholars on one side.“Burying our faces in the ground” on the other.
This Tisha B’Av, I ask that we not bury our faces in the ground.
A Student’s Plea
I say this as his student — one who loves and respects him deeply. But I am not asking anyone to love him as I do, nor to agree with him as I do.
I am asking for something much more basic:
Disagree with him as much as you wish.But persecuting him is forbidden. Disgracing him is forbidden.Using violence against him is forbidden. Without any “but.”
Because when flattery prevails, we not only stop speaking the truth — we slowly stop knowing what truth is. Evil blurs with good, darkness with light.
Tisha B’Av Also Carries Hope
Tisha B’Av does not end with destruction.It carries within it the hope of repair and redemption.
In that same passage, the Gemara brings Isaiah’s prophecy of the perfected world:
“No longer shall the vile be called noble, nor the miser said to be generous.” (Isaiah 32:5)
A world where reality is no longer distorted —where we do not call evil good, do not dress injustice in righteousness,do not label violence “ideology,” do not call fear “responsibility.”
A world where things are called by their true names.
Good is good.Evil is evil.Light is light.Darkness is darkness.
Perhaps our tikkun begins here:
Not to flatter.Not to fear.Not to bury our faces in the ground.Not to remain silent in the face of injustice.To learn again to call things by their names.
And from the destruction we mourn today, may we soon merit to see the fulfillment of that prophecy:
“No longer shall the vile be called noble, nor the miser said to be generous.”
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