The fast of Tishah b’Av, which begins tomorrow night, is the most melancholy day in the religious calendar, commemorating the destruction of the Temples. According to rabbinic tradition, the Second Temple fell because of sinat chinam, causeless hatred — infighting among Jews.
How ironic, then, that what remains of the Temple compound, the Kotel, the outer western wall, should have become such a focus of Jewish discord. When the Israeli government retreated last month from a plan to upgrade the egalitarian prayer space at the site, campaigners for religious pluralism reacted furiously.
Currently, a temporary platform for non-Orthodox services exists by Robinson’s Arch, which is to the south of the main prayer area and separate from it. The government agreed early last year to expand the egalitarian enclosure, extend the plaza by the Wall to reach round to it and to allow Israel’s Reform and Masorti movements a role in its supervision.
The government backtracked in the face of pressure from Orthodox parties in Benjamin Netanyahu’s coalition, although the plan may yet go ahead since the Israel Supreme Court is shortly to rule on it.
In the meantime, the Kotel remains witness to ugly scenes. On Monday, more than a hundred members of the Women of the Wall group, which has been instrumental in the egalitarian campaign, smuggled a Torah scroll into the women’s section in the main prayer area of the Kotel in order to hold a Rosh Chodesh service.
Inevitably, that provoked protests from the more zealous supporters of the Orthodox status quo. The Women of the Wall say they were heckled and jeered with taunts such as “Reform is worse than Isis” and a plastic bottle of water was hurled at them from the adjacent male prayer section.
Non-Orthodox Jews, understandably, may bridle at a slap in the face from Israel’s government. But with all the political hullaballoo around Judaism’s central shrine, it is easy to lose sight of what it represents.
The restoration of the Temple is a cardinal part of traditional belief in messianic redemption.Yet few non-Orthodox Jews, I imagine, pray for the revival of priestly service and animal sacrifices (perhaps only the vegan meal-offering will be permitted).
We usually think of two Temples, although in reality there were three. The Second Temple, constructed under Zerubbabel’s auspices after the return of the Persian exiles, was a relatively modest affair. The grand complex from which the Kotel remains was a wholesale renovation and expansion of the Second, instigated centuries later by Herod the Great. The descendant of Idumaeans conquered and forcibly converted by the Hasmoneans, Herod was keen to impress his subjects. His Temple added lustre to the image of Judaism in the ancient world, but it reflected the regal ambitions of a ruler who was more in the Roman mould than spiritual heir to David and Solomon.
Even before the rebuilding of the Temple, Judaism was forming an alternative strategy. The Temple was transformed in the imagination of the Prophets. Ezekiel’s enigmatic vision of an angelic chariot was a kind of portable sanctuary which gave birth to mystical literature, making heightened spiritual experience available through inner contemplation rather than through public spectacle. Words replaced stone.
The Temple was the place where heaven touched earth. In the prophetic mind, its restoration was to come with realisation of Judaism’s highest ideals, built on foundations of truth, justice and righteousness.
On Shabbat Chanukah, the haftarah from Zechariah envisages the consecration of Zerubbabel’s Temple. For the prophet, the Temple stands as an emblem of peace: “In that day, says the Lord, you shall call every man his neighbour under the vine and under the fig-tree.”
Its symbolisation of harmony is depicted even more powerfully in Isaiah, who speaks of the wolf and the lamb feeding together and the lion eating straw like the ox. The prophet goes on to say, “They shall not hurt nor destroy in all My Holy Mountain.”
On the afternoon of Tishah b’Av itself, the haftarah from Isaiah foresees the children of pagans becoming “servants of the Lord”, who will bring them to His Holy Mountain. “For My house shall be called a house of prayer for all peoples”. In the prophet’s dream, it has become a centre of co-existence.
Although the physical Temple may no longer stand, the words of the prophets have endured, continuing to resonate for more than two millennia.
Non-Orthodox movements may want to pursue what they believe is their rightful share in the Kotel. But perhaps they should care less about staking a claim to a piece of sacred real estate. More important are the prophetic values the Temple stood for and finding other ways to advance them in Israeli society.
