The summer heat bears down as Jews around the world begin a period of diminished celebration. No weddings are scheduled, music falls silent, and barbers’ scissors remain sheathed. For three weeks, from the seventeenth of Tammuz to the ninth of Av, observant Jews enter a state of modified mourning over the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem.
But notice the disconnect: three times daily, we beseech the Almighty to “return in mercy to Your city Jerusalem” and to “speedily establish the throne of David.” We’ve recited these words thousands of times, yet when someone suggests actually moving to Israel or Jerusalem, we immediately list the practical obstaclesācareer concerns, family ties, financial considerations.
This raises a troubling question that cuts to the heart of our spiritual condition: Have we become so comfortable in exile that we’ve forgotten what we’ve lost? The Sages teach that anyone who mourns for Jerusalem will merit to see her joy, yet do we truly mourn, or have we reduced this profound spiritual obligation to a few fast days and three weeks of restrictions?
The period between the seventeenth of Tammuz and the ninth of Av is known as the Three Weeks. During this time, we abstain from weddings, haircuts, and music. As we enter the month of Av itself, the restrictions intensifyāno meat, no wine, and for many, minimal bathing. These are carefully calibrated responses to a spiritual catastrophe that reverberates through time, with the goal of remembering what we have lost and feeling the weight of our incomplete existence.
The Sage Rabbi Levi illuminates why these observances matter: “All good blessings and consolations that the Almighty is destined to give to the Jewish people come only from Zion.” Zion represents the nexus point where heaven and earth converge, where the Almighty’s presence dwells most intensely in this world.
The Sages drive this point home with devastating clarity, declaring that “one who dwells outside of Israel is compared to one who has no God.” This stark assessment of spiritual reality recalls that when the Temple stood, everyone could access the Divine presence directly. Sacrifices ascended daily, and God’s presence dwelt among the people. The destruction of the Temple didn’t merely destroy a building; it severed the primary conduit through which divine blessing flowed into the world.
Yet we’ve grown accustomed to this diminished state. When a rabbi concludes his sermon with the traditional “may we all merit to be in Jerusalem next year” and we dutifully respond “Amen,” do we truly feel the weight of what we’re requesting? Or have we become so integrated into our comfortable exile that these words have become mere ritual formulas?
Maimonides declares that “One who is aware of the suffering in exile and does not eagerly await the redemption, denies belief in the redemption.” To live contentedly in exile while maintaining a theoretical belief in redemption represents a fundamental contradiction that undermines the entire messianic enterprise.
The Three Weeks serve as our annual spiritual audit, forcing us to confront this uncomfortable truth. The restrictions we observe aren’t meant to commemorate a tragedy that occurred two millennia agoāthey’re designed to awaken us to our current incomplete existence. Every wedding postponed, every song silenced, every haircut delayed serves as a reminder that we remain in a state of national and spiritual fragmentation.
But awareness alone proves insufficient. The Sages make clear that our exile resulted from our own spiritual failures. The Second Temple fell because of baseless hatred. The solution, therefore, cannot be only political or military, but must be fundamentally spiritual. We must transform ourselves into the kind of people worthy of redemption.
The prophet Isaiah teaches that in the time of redemption:
“For the land shall be filled with devotion to (or, literally, the knowledge of) God” refers to an intimate, experiential awareness of divine presence. We must deepen our connection to the Almighty through Bible study and repairing the interpersonal hatred that caused our exile, while simultaneously working to spread this awareness to others, creating the spiritual conditions necessary for redemption.
The Three Weeks, therefore, represent both diagnosis and prescription. They diagnose our spiritual condition: we live in a state of incompleteness, cut off from our source of blessing, comfortable in our exile. And they prescribe the cure: recognition of our loss, mourning for our diminished state, and commitment to the spiritual transformation that will merit redemption.
This process demands more than passive waiting. The Sages teach that redemption will come when we least expect it, but the Sages also emphasize that our actions can hasten or delay its arrival. Every act of spiritual refinement, every moment of genuine longing for redemption, every effort to increase knowledge of God and commitment to His commands contribute to the cosmic process that will eventually restore us to Jerusalem.
The summer restrictions will end, as they do each year. The question is whether we’ll emerge from this period transformed or merely relieved to return to our comfortable routines. The Three Weeks offer us a choice: we can continue living as refugees who’ve forgotten their homeland, or we can embrace our role as advance agents of redemption, preparing ourselves and the world for the ultimate restoration.
The Temple Mount awaits. The question is whether we’re ready to ascend.
