Tisha B'av Poem.jpgB'H             


 Tisha b'Av

  By Chana Engel  

The blackest of days on the calendar year,

When hundreds of generations have shed hot tears.

A date marked with sorrow, with fire and blood,

When G‑d rules with judgement and tears endlessly flood.


The crackling of flames - this day echoes their sound,

Our Holy Temple, twice, burnt down to the ground.

We’ve been mourning our loss for a millennium – more,

Because our wound is still open, our pain is still raw.


Why are we stubbornly clinging to our sorrowful past?

Do we like to feel lethargic and downcast?

Build a bridge & get over it – don’t you think it is time?

So we don’t have our temple, but we’re managing fine.


That’s the realist’s view, that I wish to dispel,

As Napolean the Great put it so well.

“A nation that mourns 2000 years through,

Will live to see their temple rebuilt anew!”


It’s not tears of despair, it’s our cry of hope,

In a state of exile – we’d rather not cope!

Get over it?! “No way!” we should scream,

It’s not that easy to get us to relinquish our dream!


It’s not about mourning what was long ago,

The way to rebuild is to look to tomorrow.

It’s about refusing to accept what we currently see,

And opting to focus on what will be.


Our denial of reality stems from the belief,

That there’s a better future devoid of any grief.

The only reason we’re still weeping destruction,

Is because we fervently believe there’ll be reconstruction.


So cry your heart out on the ninth of Av,

But keep in mind what was said above.

No, we’re not crying over milk that’s been spilt,

Yes, very soon we’ll see the Beit Hamikdash rebuilt.

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