Parshat Bechukotai: Of curses and mourning

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Do a search on the internet for "Klausenburger Rebbe" and you'll find the deceased rebbe has a Facebook page. Add the word "tochacha" to your search, and you'll find a story about a time he was in shul for the reading of the tochacha, and he told the reader to read the section in a loud voice. Rabbi Frand, who tells the story, records the Rebbe's explanation for this contrarian position to an ancient custom.

"This can be read quietly when you are afraid that it might happen and you don't know what is going to happen to you once it happens. We, however, have already lived through this [in the Holocaust] and we are still here. This is now something that we are proud of… The tochacha is now our badge of honor. It will no longer be read silently. It will be read completely out loud! We can say we were there. It happened to us and we have remained Jews of integrity."

The tochacha carries with it G-d's promise of His personal vengeance against those who do not follow His ways, followed by His promise to send a sword against His people when they veer from the path. The sword will presumably be carried by G-d's appointed enemies.

In this period of Sefirat HaOmer, it is quite poignant to think of these promises at a time when we continue to observe certain "mourning practices" over the loss of the students of Rabbi Akiva, more than eighteen hundred years ago.

Which devastating time for the Jewish period was the fulfillment of the tochacha? Was it the destruction of the Temple? The period of the Crusades? The Inquisition? Chmielnicki? Pogroms? The Holocaust? Arab terror?

Was the Klausenburger Rebbe right? Or is the worst still to come? How do we reconcile this all with the reality of a promise that seems to be ongoing, and perhaps everlasting? Will we always be responsible for the bad behavior?

I think it comes in waves. It took 1700 years of Jewish wandering until this incredible country we reside in was created. The benevolence and freedoms this nation offered and continues to offer are a G-dsend for the Jewish people.

In a word, outside of Israel and Jewish sovereignty, "we never had it so good" in a land that was not our own. From the United States of America, as demonstrated through the tolerance and openness of this country, the history of G-d's "appointed enemies carrying His sword" has taken an altogether different face. In some instances, the U.S. has taken upon itself the role of being the protector and defender of injustice in the world, fighting against those who carry the sword.

So why do we continue to mourn for the students of Rabbi Akiva? Let's say their deaths were the fulfillment of a tochacha punishment. If it comes in waves, then our mourning practices should be limited to Tisha B'Av, as when every other event is commemorated.

I think the deaths of Rabbi Akiva's students carry with them an even more profound significance. In their book, "Why the Jews?" Dennis Prager and Rabbi Joseph Telushkin point out that when picking a monotheistic faith as a substitute for paganism in the Fourth Century, the Roman Empire should have logically picked Judaism to be that replacement.

They claim that 7 to 10 percent of the people living in the Roman Empire were Jews, many of whom were converts. The philosopher Seneca even remarked that "the conquered have given their laws to the conquerors."

Then Christianity arose from Judaism and presented a more appealing argument of spiritual rather than physical mitzvot plus a Messiah who had already arrived, and the rest, as they say, is history. What if Rabbi Akiva's students, who lived (and died) at that time, had become the great emissaries of his Torah teachings? What if they had reached out to the greater world and invited people to join them under the wings of the Divine Presence?

In what way would our world look different? What if the whole world really "was" Jewish?

This, like any other "what if" regarding the past, is a pipe dream question, which can never be answered. In the U.S., I certainly do not ask the question with an eye towards changing any status quo. But the hypothetical question is still compelling, especially as we learn more and more about ancient civilizations.

The fact that there is hatred and war in the world, perhaps on account of the loss of the potential teachings that could have easily spread Judaism like wildfire, is most unfortunate.

We continue to ask "what if" when we observe the mourning practices of Sefirat HaOmer because the opportunity they had in those days might never come again. And that is a reason to mourn.