Every destruction has a point of no return. A point that, if crossed, means the destruction has already begun - and total destruction is only a matter of time. From a certain moment on, it is no longer possible to fix, impossible to stop, and impossible to regret.
This is what has happened in the past, and is liable to happen to us as well. And the really frightening thing is that the point of no return can only be identified in retrospect.
If we want to learn anything from our history, this year we can’t just talk about baseless hatred (sinat chinam), about Kamtza and Bar Kamtza (the Talmudic story that illustrates how baseless hatred led to the destruction of the Second Temple), or about the sages who didn’t protest. It’s just not enough, and it doesn’t really move the needle.
The point of no return in the destruction of the Temple, that we mourn for on Tisha B’Av, actually took place on the eve of Tamuz 17, in what is known in the Talmud as the burning of the barns.
The legend of destruction can be found in the tractate of Gittin, and it recounts the brutal siege imposed by the Romans on Jerusalem, and a dialogue between the Sages and the Zealots, who are called thugs.
The sages said, “Let us go and make peace with them.” But the thugs wouldn’t leave them alone. Then the thugs said, “We will go and make war with them.” The sages replied: “We cannot do anything.” Then the thugs went and burned the treasures of wheat and barley.
To understand the magnitude of the disaster, we should remember that the siege itself was not what immediately caused the destruction. It is said that thanks to the rich people of Jerusalem, there was enough food for 21 years. In other words, there was no hunger problem here at first. The real problem was different: hatred, fanaticism, violence, and a complete loss of leadership.
The thugs, who refused to listen to the sages, burned the barns, thinking this would force all the residents of Jerusalem to fight. In practice, they only accelerated the fall of the city into Roman hands.
Once the barns were burned and the food was set on fire, the destruction began. From there on, there was no one to stop it.
Where it meets us today
Almost 2,000 years later, we must ask: What are today’s “barns?” What are we burning today with our own hands, until it may be too late? And is there still a responsible element among us that can stop, look inward, and say that if we continue like this, we won’t ever be able to go back?
Siege in the modern era takes other forms. We may not be in danger of starvation – and there is enough food and desalinated water here – but there are things that can be destroyed much faster. Trust can be broken. State institutions can be eroded. An entire society can be turned factious, suspicious, exhausted.
And the truth is that at the heart of the situation we have reached is the ability to believe that it is possible to live here together, and create a common future.
But hatred blinds. It makes us stop believing that this story can remain complete. If we continue to divide, hate, defy, and ridicule, and if the leadership continues to exploit this situation for electoral purposes, we may reach a point where we can no longer connect from within. And then, neither the IDF nor the start-up nation will save us.
Rabbi Nachman of Breslov taught that “If you believe that you can destroy, believe that you can repair.” But a sane, responsible person knows that it cannot always be repaired. Sometimes it’s just too late.
A reckless sense of security in the “eternity of Israel,” a belief that “it will be good” even without doing anything, or a refusal to look forward to our children’s future – all of these will only make the situation worse if we do not come to our senses.
And if all of this still cannot sink in, it’s worth stopping for a moment and listening to those who are really afraid: parents who do not know what future they are raising their children for, families who send their children to war whose goals are unclear, and residents of entire regions who live in constant fear.
There are many voices of fear here, and they were not born out of weakness. They were born out of genuine concern for the future of the country, and the future of all of us.
Politicians like to say, “they are afraid,” as if that is derogatory. But at the beginning of the Legend of Destruction it is written: “Happy is the man who fears always, but he who hardens his heart shall fall into mischief.”
We should be afraid. Our hearts should not turn to stone. Because if we stop feeling, if we stop seeing the pain of the other side, we may have already passed the point of no return and won’t be able to recover from it.
In fact, it seems that we have never been closer to such a point. And that is really scary.
The writer is a Conservative rabbi and the head of the Hanaton Educational Center in the Galilee.