Tisha B’Av and Moshiach: Longing for the Menachem

Topics

• “For These I Weep”
• Believing—and Waiting
• The Importance of Moshiach Creates the Waiting
• Kivui and Tzipiyah
• What Are We Longing For?
• The Essential Desire: Closeness to Hashem
• “Whatever You Do, I Still Love You”
• Lost in a Beautiful Forest

Transcript

## “For These I Weep”

The Navi laments:

> “For these things I weep; my eye, my eye runs with water, because the comforter who could restore my soul is far from me. My children are desolate, because the enemy has prevailed” (Eichah 1:16).

Chazal identify the word *Menachem* with Moshiach (Sanhedrin 98b). The pasuk therefore says: *“Ki rachak mimeni Menachem, meishiv nafshi”*—the comforter who will restore my soul is far from me.

But the wording requires explanation. Why say that Moshiach is “far from me”? It would have been enough to say that he has not yet arrived. And why does the Navi center the entire lament—*“al eileh ani bochiyah”*—on the distance of Moshiach? The Churban contained unbearable suffering: hunger, death, exile, and the collapse of Yerushalayim. Why should the absence of Moshiach be singled out as the deepest reason for crying?

One might suggest that each generation of suffering should bring Moshiach closer, yet the generations pass and he still appears distant. However, Rav Chaim Brisker sharply rejected the thought that Jewish suffering should be regarded as a worthwhile “price” for redemption. The life of one Jew is not something to be exchanged even for the coming of Moshiach.

The pasuk is teaching something deeper. Moshiach is not merely compensation for the suffering of the Churban. His absence is itself the essence of the loss. *“Ki rachak mimeni Menachem”* means that the true comfort, the restoration of the Jewish soul, remains distant.

## Believing—and Waiting

The continuation of the pasuk speaks of children who are desolate because the enemy has prevailed. This can be understood in light of Moshiach’s mission: he will restore Malchus Beis David, rebuild the Beis HaMikdash, and gather the dispersed of Israel. The Rambam writes that one who does not believe in Moshiach—or does not await his coming—denies not only the Nevi’im but the Torah itself (Rambam, Hilchos Melachim 11:1).

Belief alone is therefore incomplete. A Jew must also be *mechakeh le’viyaso*—actively waiting for Moshiach.

The Rishonim and Acharonim ask: what is the source for making this waiting part of the very principle of faith? The pasuk says:

> “Though he may delay, wait for him, for he will surely come and will not be late” (Chavakuk 2:3).

Yet perhaps this is only encouragement not to despair. How does failure to wait demonstrate a defect in emunah itself?

The answer lies in understanding what Moshiach means. Waiting is not an additional requirement attached to belief. When a person truly understands the importance of something, he naturally waits for it. If he can say that he believes Moshiach will come but feels no longing for that day, it indicates that the greatness of Moshiach’s coming has been diminished in his eyes.

The Rambam’s language in his commentary to the Mishnah is therefore revealing. He writes that one who doubts Moshiach, or diminishes his importance, denies the Torah (Rambam, Commentary to the Mishnah, Sanhedrin, introduction to Perek Chelek, Twelfth Principle). The failure to wait begins when the event itself no longer appears essential.

## The Importance of Moshiach Creates the Waiting

The Rambam’s two formulations now illuminate one another. In *Hilchos Melachim*, he says that one who does not await Moshiach is a denier. In the Commentary to the Mishnah, he speaks of one who diminishes Moshiach’s importance. The two are the same deficiency.

A person waits for that which he considers important. If he understands what Yemos HaMoshiach will mean, the waiting follows naturally. If he does not wait, it is because *nismayet etzlo ma’alaso*—the greatness of Moshiach has become small in his eyes.

This is the meaning of *“im yismahmeah, chakeh lo”*—even if he delays, wait for him (Chavakuk 2:3). The waiting is not merely patience. It is an expression of value. It says: this matters to me; my life is incomplete without it.

We commonly recite, *“Ani ma’amin… v’af al pi sheyismahmeah, im kol zeh achakeh lo b’chol yom sheyavo.”* The *chikui* is therefore not separate from the emunah. It reveals whether the emunah has penetrated deeply enough for a person to understand what he is missing.

This distinction also explains why Chazal ask a person after death, *“Tzipisa la’yeshuah?”*—“Did you anticipate the redemption?” (Shabbos 31a). They do not ask merely whether he believed in it. They ask whether he grasped its significance enough to live in expectation of it.

The question is not simply: Did you know that Moshiach would come? It is: Did you understand what his coming means? Did you regard the revelation of Hashem’s Malchus, the return of the Beis HaMikdash, and the restoration of Klal Yisrael as indispensable—or were you comfortable without them?

## Kivui and Tzipiyah

There are two expressions used for waiting for redemption: *kivui* and *tzipiyah*. We say *“ki lishuascha kivinu”*, while Chazal ask *“tzipisa la’yeshuah?”* These are not merely interchangeable words. Together they describe two parts of a Jew’s relationship with geulah.

*Kivui* is hope. A person knows that salvation will come, and he places his hope in it. *Tzipiyah* is more intense: he looks toward it and cannot wait for it to arrive. He does not merely hope because he needs rescue. He anticipates because he understands the greatness of what is coming.

One can believe in Moshiach and still become comfortable in galus. A person may possess Torah, mitzvos, and even spiritual satisfaction, yet fail to grasp how little this is compared with the spiritual reality that should exist. He then has *kivui*, perhaps, but not *tzipiyah*.

The Rambam describes Yemos HaMoshiach so that we should understand what we lack. The purpose is not curiosity about future events. It is to awaken longing. When a person reads what Torah life will become—without oppression, distraction, or spiritual concealment—he should realize that the present state is not normal and not complete.

That is why the question in Shabbos is specifically *“Tzipisa la’yeshuah?”* Did you merely believe, or did you look toward it? Did you feel that Hashem’s Malchus should be revealed? Did you wait for the Beis HaMikdash and for a world filled with knowledge of Hashem?

The test is whether a Jew can live in galus without becoming inwardly satisfied with it.

## What Are We Longing For?

The Rambam describes the desire for redemption with the language of *nis’avu*—the Nevi’im and Chachamim yearned for Yemos HaMoshiach. This is not passive belief. It is a burning desire to see Hashem’s beauty revealed in the world, to witness the avodah of the Beis HaMikdash, and to live in a reality where Torah is no longer obstructed.

The greatness of Moshiach is not that Klal Yisrael will reverse positions with the nations and rule over them. That is not the center of the Jewish hope. The Rambam writes that the Chachamim did not desire the days of Moshiach in order to dominate the world, eat, drink, or receive honor. They longed to be free for Torah and wisdom, without oppression or distraction, so that they could merit the World to Come (Rambam, Hilchos Melachim 12:4).

Galus causes an enormous loss of Torah and mitzvos. It creates confusion, pressure, persecution, distraction, and distance. The redemption removes those barriers. But even this does not yet express the entire longing.

Where is the Beis HaMikdash? Where is the revealed closeness to Hashem?

A Jew’s yearning for Moshiach is ultimately a yearning for the Ribbono Shel Olam. It is the desire to see the Shechinah openly present, to serve Hashem in His house, and to experience the spiritual world for which Klal Yisrael was created.

When a person understands this, *tzipiyah* becomes inevitable. He no longer waits only because life is difficult. He waits because the highest form of Jewish life is absent.

## The Essential Desire: Closeness to Hashem

The Ramban expresses the heart of our hope in *Sefer HaGeulah*: our central desire is to draw close to Hashem. The Beis HaMikdash is the *Beis Hashem*, the place where that closeness becomes manifest. This is the *ikar ta’avasenu*—the essential object of Jewish longing.

A Jew can endure extraordinary suffering and still survive spiritually. Klal Yisrael has lived through generations of yissurim and remained alive. But the one thing a Jewish neshamah cannot truly live without is its bond with Hashem. That is its source of life.

Rabbi Walkin recalled buying a sefer as a bachur in Yerushalayim. He entered a basement sefarim store in Geulah and found a work called *Ayalah Sheluchah*, written by one of the roshei yeshivah of Tchebin. He initially had no intention of purchasing it. The sefer covered only a few early dapim of Gemara in hundreds of pages, and he was prepared to return it to the shelf.

Before doing so, he opened the introduction. Instead of an ordinary hakdamah, the author printed a letter that had reportedly been discovered hidden in a wall in Auschwitz.

The writer described unbearable suffering, but then repeated a story he had heard from his rebbe about a Jew who escaped the Spanish persecutions. That Jew succeeded in fleeing by boat with his wife and children, only to lose his entire family in a storm at sea.

The story does not end with the tragedy. Its meaning lies in the Jew’s response—and in what the writer in Auschwitz learned from it.

## “Whatever You Do, I Still Love You”

The Jew who survived the shipwreck looked toward Heaven and said: “Ribbono Shel Olam, whatever You do to me will not succeed in separating me from You. I love You. Send what You will; my love for You will not change.”

The chassid writing from Auschwitz applied those words to himself. Amid suffering that defied description, he declared that his bond with Hashem remained intact. He concluded with *Shema Yisrael, Hashem Elokeinu, Hashem Echad* (Devarim 6:4).

Rabbi Walkin kept that sefer close because the letter did not express only the voice of one individual. It echoed the voice of Jews throughout the generations—the kedoshim, the survivors, and all those who endured galus without surrendering their love for Hashem.

This is the meaning of the pasuk:

> “For these things I weep… because the comforter who restores my soul is far from me” (Eichah 1:16).

After all the tragedies described in Eichah, what does the pain finally become? *“Rachak mimeni Menachem.”* Moshiach, the true *meishiv nefesh*, remains distant. He will restore the Jewish soul because he will restore closeness to Hashem.

The phrase *“rachak mimeni”* can also be read personally: Moshiach has become distant **from me**. I have become comfortable in galus. Tishah B’Av passes, and life resumes as though nothing happened. Of course, a Jew must function and continue living. But he must not become inwardly content.

The deepest mourning is not only that Moshiach has not arrived. It is that the longing for him has grown distant within us.

## Lost in a Beautiful Forest

Galus itself prevents us from recognizing the depth of galus. A person can be lost in a forest and still admire the trees, the lake, and the scenery. Everything may appear beautiful—but he is lost, and that fact places him in danger.

Rabbi Walkin recalled a song associated with Novardok. It described a fish hidden by deep water, the sun concealed by the thickness of the forest, and a traveler unable to find his way home. If the water were less deep, the fish could be seen. If the forest were less dense, the sunlight would penetrate. If the darkness were thinner, the lost traveler would recognize the road home.

That is our condition. We do not fully realize how dark the world has become because we have never known anything else. We do not know the hashra’as haShechinah that once existed. We do not know the avodah of the Beis HaMikdash or the spiritual clarity of a world in which Hashem’s presence was openly felt.

Therefore, *“rachak mimeni Menachem”* does not mean only that Moshiach is chronologically distant. He is distant from our consciousness. The forest of galus has become so thick that we no longer see the light beyond it.

Our avodah is to become *mechakeh* and *metzapeh la’yeshuah*: to hope, to look toward redemption, and to refuse to accept concealment as the complete form of Jewish life.

When that longing returns, the light begins to break through. We again recognize that we are not home—and we begin to yearn for the day when the Shechinah will return to Zion.