Opinion & Comment
Thoughts on the 28th of Iyar -- Yom Yerushalayim

Our rabbonim, past and present, have made it clear to us not to mark the 28th of Iyar in any way, although since 28 Iyar 5727 we have been able to go to the remnant of Beis Hamikdosh to pour out our prayers at the place the Shechinoh has not left. I feel it would be worthwhile to expand a bit on their reasons, which have not been fully elucidated -- particularly to the younger generation.

The Malbim offers a fabulous explanation of the verse, "Ronu leYaakov simchoh, vetzahalu berosh hagoyim" (Yirmiyohu 31:6). "First they will sing with gladness for Yaakov," writes the Malbim, "for at the end of their days of exile the yoke of servitude will be removed from them and they will rejoice, for they will reign over the nations. And only Yaakov--the masses and the commoners among them--will take part in this happiness. Yisroel will not rejoice, for they are the elite and they will want to see the Shechinoh return to Tzion."

Here we have a description of a situation in which the masses are happy but the leading ranks of Am Yisroel are unhappy. Is this not the prevailing situation today?

Maran HaRav Aharon Kotler zt'l was once asked why he is not happy on the fifth of Iyar like many other people. He responded with a very telling parable about two Jews living in Eretz Yisroel during the time of Churbon Beis Hamikdosh. One of them, a simple and coarse man, lived on a thriving farm on the edge of a Galilean village. The Romans came and uprooted his vineyard, burned down his home, confiscated his flocks and destroyed his harvest. They even took his dog away. Then suddenly he was granted national independence. He returned to his land to set up his home once again and resume his previous existence. He repaired his cow sheds and replanted his orchards. Soon his granaries and wine vats were full, and even his dog had been returned. He had recovered all that was lost to him in the Churbon. For him the sunshine of redemption was shining bright.

The other Jew lived in Jerusalem, regularly feasting his eyes on the brilliant light of the Mikdosh. He would often see Cohanim busy at their avodoh, Levi'im singing and playing their instruments, and Yisroelim watching from the side as their sacrifices were brought. He witnessed the Cohen Godol shout out, "Onoh Hashem," taking in a full measure of ruach hakodesh. He felt the joy of Simchas Beis Hashoeva. He filled his nostrils with the scent of the ketores, gazed at its smoke as it rose straight up into the sky, saw how the Ner Maarovi never went out and how the Lechem Haponim was just as warm when it was taken away as when it was first set out a week earlier. He would stand in thick crowds yet had plenty of room to prostrate himself. He ate the Korbon Pesach, greeted the people carrying the bikkurim and was moved by the grandeur of the Sanhedrin arranged in a half-circle in Lishkas Hagozis.

Then along came the Romans and destroyed the Mikdosh, putting a stop to all of the holy avodoh. The Sanhedrin was disbanded and the Shechinoh went into exile. All that remained was the Kosel Maarovi.

"What significance did the 5th of Iyar 5708 (1948) have for this Jew?" asked HaRav Kotler. "What did this day give him of all that was lost in the Churbon?"

If we examine the meaning of the word, "geulah," we find it means a return to the previous state, as in the verse, "Uvekol eretz . . . geuloh titnu lo'oretz". Here "geuloh" means returning property to the original owners.

All of the above teaches us that what appears to be a success, an achievement or an act of salvation is not always reason to rejoice. Only gedolei Yisroel, through their daas Torah, can see and tell us when and what to be glad about, when and what to give thanks for.

There is also another point for us to consider. Upon reflection we find that throughout the centuries, ever since the Beis Hamikdosh was built and sanctified with eternal kedushoh, there was never a possibility for Jewish temei'ei meisim to walk up to Har Habayis. When the Beis Hamikdosh stood, of course the Cohanim oversaw this matter. And since the Churbon, none of the various different nations that have ruled over the site of the Mikdosh allowed Jews to enter Har Habayis. This was the situation until the 28th of Iyar 5727, when the barriers preventing Jews from transgressing this grave and terrible sin were finally broken. And the Steipler's strident proclamations on the severity of the prohibition against entering Har Habayis are well remembered.

In the gemora at the end of maseches Makkos, Rebbe, Rabban Gamliel, R' Eliezer Ben Azarya, R' Yehoshua and R' Akiva travel to Jerusalem. When they reach Har Habayis they see a fox trot out from the Kodesh Kedoshim and they start to cry. "This is the place of which it is written, 'Vehazor hakoreiv yumos' -- and now foxes roam here. How can we not weep?"

Likewise the Western Wall Plaza itself has plenty to rectify, particularly the upper portion, which sometimes has the look of a promenade, with all that entails.

* * *

Blowing the shofar on Rosh Hashanah is a great mitzvah. How great? It acts as a reminder of our merits, a reminder of Akeidas Yitzchok. It befuddles the Heavenly Adversary. Yet Chazal prohibited blowing the shofar on Shabbos lest someone who does not know how to do the teki'os go to someone more versed and on his way happens to carry from one reshus to another or carries the shofar four amos in reshus horabim. See for yourself what highly unlikely scenarios Chazal were worried about. After all, every baal tokei'a studies the order of the tekios before Rosh Hashanah. And even if he did not, why would he have to go in search of a chochom rather than ask a chochom in the beis knesses? And if he doesn't know the tekios, wouldn't he be able to find someone else who does know? Still Chazal were worried over the highly unlikely possibility that he might carry, and they countermanded the mitzvah of blowing the shofar on Rosh Hashanah whenever it falls on a Shabbos.

This allows us a glimpse at Chazal's feelings on the reward for a mitzvah versus the loss of a mitzvah. They taught a lesson to all of the generations to come that what is considered annulling a mitzvah is actually upholding it. No matter how important the ends are, if the means involve even a remote chance of transgressing a prohibition, we steer clear.

In Tehillim Dovid Hamelech says, "Atoh tokum teracheim Tzion . . . ki rotzu avodecho es avoneho . . . " (102:14-15). We beseech Hakodosh Boruch Hu to rise up and have mercy on Tzion, but on condition that we yearn for its stones and cherish its dust. Nobody demands Tzion, but there should be a demand for Tzion. Why is it called a "mishkon?" The root of the word "mishkon" is also the root for the word "continue" ("himshich") or "last a long time" ("hismasheich"), which hints at Am Yisroel's ongoing sins.

This begs the following question: Beis Hamikdosh is "beis chayeinu"--the place our very lives are to be centered around--and the verse, "Do not take as surety the upper or lower stones of a mill (Devorim 26:6)," warns us not to damage the flour mill, the very means of our subsistence, for doing so would threaten our own survival. Unfortunately, in this case we feel we can get by without the very means of our spiritual subsistence.

We must make it clear to ourselves time after time what we truly lack and what we should really anticipate and hope for, and then He will rise up and have mercy on Tzion.

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