Thoughts on Tisha B’Av

I hope you all had an enjoyable and meaningful fast and now sit satisfied and full as you think back to your inspiration.

I wanted to share one thing I gained this year.

I am in Camp Nageela right now, a camp for girls who are interested in expanding spiritually. As you can imagine, Tisha B’Av is a little different when girls have no concept of what it is at all and come into this day confused as to why staff members are crying and starving themselves. At first I was a little annoyed, feeling like I was robbing myself of Tisha B’av. After all, it’s hard to compare the inspiration I would have gotten if I could have listened to endless shiurim or moved to Ohr Naava for 24 hours to helping girls make a skit about Titus and OD kids while they fall asleep blasting non-Jewish music on their iPods. I don’t know, I just felt like I was robbing myself of what I could have had.
But then it all changed. I reluctantly got out of bed to teach my Davening Group, who usually has an endless amount of energy and doesn’t let me speak a second. This morning it was different. I came down holding one of my favorite books, On the Derech, and sat down against the wall and said, “Today I’m being serious – anyone who doesn’t understand why we are being serious or can’t be, please just leave now. We are learning today.”

One girl left. She came back a minute later.

For the next half hour, I spoke about yissurim and Hashem being there with us no matter what. Each girl begged to share a story. We all ignored the loud announcement saying “Davening Groups are now over…”
But it got better. At 2:00, the staff put on a cantata. Scene after scene, the staff portrayed the frightening things which happened to the Jews throughout the ages. Sitting among campers, I got chills as I heard gentle weeps from all over. At the end, the camp showed a video about the suffering in Eretz Yisroel today.

For the first time in my life, I cried on Tisha B’Av as I held a girl in my arms as she wept. A 9-year-old girl. In public school. Keeps nothing at home. Her first year in camp. And she was crying like I’ve never seen before.

And I was, too. I don’t cry. It takes a lot for me to cry. But I was bawling.

Here’s a neshama who somehow feels it. Somehow, even with no understanding before, now feels that emotion. That tzelem elokim. That pintele yid, that Jewish spark.

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And as I sat with her, I cried. I cried because I’m holding a girl who’s wearing shorts. I’m sitting in a room full of over 100 neshamos. Beautiful neshamos. But they are robbed of what they could have. And their neshamos want it because they’re c
And then every girl received a paper person on which each girl wrote a kabbalah she took upon herself.rying now.

Through teary eyes, I watched as girl after girl came up and handed hers to be hung up.

Here is one I wanted to share with you.

I don’t know about you, but after watching a girl yearn so hard for the next Bais HaMikdash to be built, I couldn’t hold it in. Standing in a semi-circle with my bunk of 4th graders, many of them crying as we all sung “Yisroel Yisroel, where have you been all these years…” I couldn’t help but suddenly need Moshiach. What is it we still need? Every one of those kabbalos were written genuinely. Everyone of those Shemas and Brochos girls committed to say are greater than our daily mitzvos.

I cried because suddenly it ached that this is what the Chorbon brought. Children who now see it for the first time. Children who will go home and eat tried. Children who beg their parents to switch to Yeshiva. Children. Babies. Tinokim sheh’nishbah.

Why didn’t Moshiach come today?

Why?

~ Alti Bukalov

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