Tisha B'av Excellent Adventure

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As I sat on my floor, legs akimbo, my mind contemplated the great words of our sages Wayne & Garth (ty shoshana), "We're not worthy, we're not worthy..." I reflected on the human tragedy depicted in Eichah, on our national calamity and loss of our temple. I considered if I felt we, as a people, deserved to have our temple rebuilt (as if I had any right to pass judgment at all). I considered the recent chilum Hashem publicized in the press. I compared the shortcomings of our ancestors, whose errant ways led to constant castigation by our prophets and eventually to the fall of our temple and exile from our land. "There is nothing new under the sun," says Ecclesiastes. And indeed there is nothing new in human nature. Our past only vaguely serves to warn us of the dangers of our unwitting actions. Denial allows us to wander in a blissful haze and we feel broadsided when life and reality hits us over the head. We don't properly consider the implications and impact of our actions. "No one will catch us, who will it hurt?" we rationalize to ourselves. But our actions have universal implications, far beyond the individual, the family, the nation. Religion directs us to grow spiritually, to evolve beyond the limitations that nature imposes on our physical and cognitive being.

My hydration deprived brain began to sway back and forth regarding rebuilding the temple. As I considered my very own thoughts, that our nature and tendencies have not been perfected and that we have not corrected the errors of the past, I wondered if that was really a criteria for having a temple. The second temple's building was not contingent upon it. Maybe its building would aid in strengthening our religious identification. Then again who could really identify with worship through sacrifices, in this day and age.

My stomach growled as I accepted that there won't be any building of a temple soon. I lamented the tragedies of the past, lessons unlearned, warnings unheeded. I lamented that as a species with the greatest potential, we have so far to go to become truly good. For these I mourn.

Im EshKachaych Yerushalayim TishKach Yeminee
(I think I must have forgotten Mecca because my left wrist is messed up)

Exile

It has been said that exile is a form of death. You are uprooted from your family, friends, from familiar surroundings and a predictable environment. Things and people that brought you comfort and support, disappear in a flash. Image being kidnapped, blindfolded, and transported for what feels like an eternity and dropped off in the middle of some unknown city with just a candy bar to get you through the dark, rainy night. You have no shelter and no hope. Perhaps you speak the local dialect, perhaps not. How will the locals treat you? With suspicion, perhaps as a competitor for resources. Will you survive the tougher elements of the street? What's worse is you suddenly realize that it was someone close to you, someone you have always counted on, that did this to you. But you can't fathom why and you just want to get home but which way and how long and how many untold obstacles stand in your way? What if you never get home and if you do, how will you be welcomed? Hope fades fast as all these thoughts cross you mind in an instant.

I had a choice. I could take the cat to a shelter where they said he would be destroyed because he was sick with worms or I could send him into exile and give him a fighting chance. He is a tough outdoor cat and I want to believe he will find another family to help him or at least survive. But what kind of life will that be, going from all food cares handled to utterly on his own? He has brought me presents of mice and birds in show of appreciation for the food and affection the kids and I have shown him and this is how I repay him??? It tears my heart out that I had to make a living being especially one close to me suffer but he has brought a plague upon me and (some of) my children. I gave him worm medication but he will keep getting reinfected by his contaminated feces and other critters will be our next woe. So if I had to choose between my children's health and the cat. As much as I love my cat, I chose my children. (See if I say this when I tear the last hair out of my head when they go bonkers).

Last week, I tried to put him in a box but that effort failed so today I purchased a pet carrier and off we drove in the pouring rain. Cats hate car rides, in case you don't know. He was moaning and crying for the half-hour ride. I cried with him albeit not as loud. I just drove. I had tried to make a plan earlier in the day as to the best drop site but nothing materialized so I just let the car take us. Tali lent me moral support for the journey if I may name-drop. I let him off in a residential area and poured some cat food by the curb. He was happy to be out of the car and cage. Before I turned around he was gone.

It struck me on the way home that I had let him off in Babylon, of all places. The namesake of our first exile. And so it was, I displaced my beloved cat as the Babylonians had displaced our forefathers oh so long ago. How they must have felt, how my sweet cat must be feeling now. I cried the whole way home and my computer screen is a shimmering fog right now. Do you know, that now that I come to think of it, I might not even have a picture of him? I was going to put him here on the blog as a lasting memory but I can't. I'll be able to conjure his image but will the kids forget him? No, not him but at least how he looked. Will they ever forgive me if they find out? I'll have to make my own peace with this but I tell you it really hurts.

What went through his mind when he watched me drive off into the night leaving him stranded and all alone? He was alone and scared. His hopes faded, replaced by dispair. As I pictured him looking at my car driving off into the distance, rivulets of water streaming down by the curb, I could not help hearing the words (In Hebrew) "By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat and wept as we remembered Zion..."
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