Are We Ready for Our Close-Up?
Since time immemorial, synagogues across the globe have shared the minhag of reading the same three haftarot on the Shabbatot between the seventeenth of Tamuz and the ninth of Av. These selections are familiarly known as the t’lata de-poranuta, or “the three of hardship.” These haftarot, along with the seven of comfort that follow, are unique in that they are unrelated to the topics of the parshiyot that they follow. Abudraham expresses this by citing a Pesikta which says that from now until the end of the year, “hakol lefi ha-zeman ve-hame’ora,” the haftarot are dictated by the season and its corresponding historical events.[1]
Why are these haftarot chosen to prepare us for Tisha b’Av? Indeed, every student of Navi and reader of haftarot must ask him or herself why any specific nevu’a is included in the canon. Since we firmly believe that these texts are not merely historically interesting but also continue to speak to us throughout the ages, we must forge a connection to the texts that, at first blush, do not seem as relevant to us as they are informative about the past.
A closer look, however, shows not only their timeliness and relevance– these are, after all, nevu’ot le-dorot – but a progression from one haftara to the other. The character at the center of the prophecies is that of the Jewish people; we come to learn about that character through descriptions of the nation’s actions and words. The haftarot provide a progressively more detailed view of this character like a movie camera moving ever closer to its subject. The first selection provides the big picture; then, slowly, over the course of the next two selections, the nevi’im move in for the close-up – and the final frame is far from flattering. It is only by beginning with a larger scale approach, though, that the Navi is ultimately able to deliver the specific message of Shabbat Hazon. In what follows, we will take a brief look at the plainsense meaning of these three haftarot, attempting both to follow that slow zoom from the general to the specific and to make clear how those issues are still alive today.
The first of the haftarot opens at the beginning of the book of Yirmiyahu and continues through the start of the second chapter. The initial hint we have of the faults of the people is subtle. We do not yet know what Yirmiyahu is up against, but from the proverbial look in his eyes, we begin to get nervous. He fears the people’s reaction to his words, and G-d must tell him not to be afraid (1:8). All we are told, though, of the people’s behavior, is a scant, one-verse list of sins (1:16), all of which seem to be bein adam la-makom, reflecting problems in the Jews’ relationship with their Creator. Why they have committed these sins is as yet unexplained. Why Yirmiyahu is so nervous is also somewhat murky. Whether the reader at this point identifies with the people of Israel or (more likely) with the character of Yirmiyahu, a sense of foreboding has been created. Further eerie hints abound as well: the eventual punishment, exile, is alluded to in the third verse, which ostensibly only informs us of the era in which Yirmiyahu lived.
The prophet is told that his task will be “lintosh ve-lintotz…livnot ve-linto’a,” “to uproot, throw down…to build and to plant.” (1:10). Is he to be creative or destructive? The message is dark, but still unclear. A closer look at the sins of the people may begin to clarify as well as bring our camera somewhat closer.
The navi writes that the Jews were guilty of abandoning Hashem, offering incense to other gods, and worshipping the work of their own hands. The avoda zara of worshiping one’s own handiwork is a natural outgrowth of abandoning G-d and finding other gods – and is worse than both. This last sin certainly speaks to the modern reader, although that reader may be loathe to accept the message – as was Yirmiyahu’s audience, who fought against him (1:19). Having thus provided a big picture of the nation’s flaws, more emotional than specifically factual, the haftara concludes. Indeed, while the selection seems to end on an upbeat note, describing the former affection shared between the Jewish people and G-d (2:2), the note is false – as we learn when we read the continuation of the second chapter, in the second of our three haftarot.
Having established with broad strokes that all is not quite right with the conduct of the people, the navi can begin to fill in some of the more pointed details. The second haftara quickly makes clear that the nostalgic look back at the honeymoon days, the ahavat kelulotayikh of the Jews and G-d, has merely been mentioned to contrast their current relationship. “Rahaku me-alai,” they have gone far from Me,” the navi cries (2:5). Not only are the Jews guilty of failing to appreciate what Hashem has done for them (2:6–8), but they have introduced all types of to’eva, abomination, to the land (2:7). The navi first aims his criticism toward the community leaders (2:8), who were supposed to lead the people toward G-d, rather than in the other direction. After dismissing them as failures, Yirmiyahu turns his attention to the people.
Yirmiyahu begins by complaining, “Hemir kevodo,” the people have “exchanged their glory” (2:11). Metzudat David explains that the word hemir comes from the sacrificially associated term temurah, to exchange or swap. The nation has traded G-d in like a used car. Not only have they abandoned Hashem, but they have discarded him for “borot maiyim,” “cisterns” (2:13), which cannot hold water. These are the cultures of other nations, explains Radak. They seem far more attractive and sophisticated than G-d’s culture, but are ultimately leaky. In modern terms, we might relate this to those who bemoan the influence of other cultures on the modern State of Israel, wringing their hands over its “mall-ification.” Such influence can, of course, just as easily be felt by Jews living in the Diaspora as they are tempted by other metaphorically leaky ideologies, but we can leave each reader to find the parallels to modern life.
As a dark echo to the images of the honeymoon with which Yirmiyahu began this speech, he now describes the harlotry of the Jewish people (2:20). The people’s betrayal is that much more painful when contrasted with their former loyalty. And their reaction to this message, as the navi begins to be more specific in his critique of their skewed ideas and actions? They remain in denial. “Lo nitmeiti,” “I am not defiled,” say the people in 2:23. This reaction to criticism is as alive today as it was in the days before the Hurban. Again, the connection at the level of the timeless human condition is left to the reader. The navi’s growth in specificity in this selection considerably increases the reader’s level of discomfort. As the details of the people’s behavior are slowly revealed and connections more easily drawn, the mood darkens even more.
The last of the three haftarot builds on the energy of the first two. After we have been prepared in tone by the first selection, had our feelings confirmed with specific data and an explanation of the people’s distorted motivation in the second, the navi now brings it all home with a detailed list of sins that withholds little. The source for this haftara is the first chapter of the book of Yishayahu. Although Yeshayahu preceded Yirmiyahu by some ninety years, his words are by far the most direct in pointing out the people’s fatal flaws. (We should recall also that the audience of Yeshayahu was living in even rosier times than those of the audience of Yirmiyahu, and would have thought his words all the more off the mark.)
The Jews are worse than even the mule or the donkey, we are told (1:3); then as now, neither of those animals was revered for its sensitivity or wisdom, yet even these animals understood gratitude. Moving to the leaders, Yirmiyahu addresses them as officers of Sodom and Gemora (1:9–10), the epitome of selfish evil. Sodom and Gemora were so terrible that they were seared from the earth by heavenly fire.
The commentators note that the sins of Sodom were terrible precisely because they were couched in the language of teamwork and hospitality. The Midrash famously describes the Procrustean bed offered to guests by the Sodomites, who would make the tall and short guests fit exactly no matter what size they really were; the Mishna in the fifth chapter of Avot describes midat Sodom as the person who says, much like the neighbors of Kitty Genovese, “sheli sheli v’shelakh shelakh,” “what is mine is mine and what is yours is yours.” Such a mentality, the navi indicates, is why the mikdash was ultimately destroyed. Indeed, a verse in Eichah (4:6) similarly alludes to the Sodomites, telling us that the sin of the Jerusalem was even greater than that of Sodom.[2]
The people added insult to injury. Not only did they sin and think themselves valorous. They were convinced that whatever sins they had committed could be covered through their offerings to G-d. The navi gives an exhaustive list of the korbanot the people were wont to bring (1:11–14) in their attempt to buy Hashem off with contributions. To give examples of those who attempt to shore up their deficiencies in the realm of bein adam le-havero with an emphasis on the bein adam la-makom would no doubt be counter to the spirit that the navi is trying to further, but the application to our own life and times is once again dramatically clear.
Yeshayahu then reaches the greatest level of specificity, and lists the many interpersonal sins committed by the people (1:17, 21–23). The people were murderers, thieves, lovers of bribery, and unfair in judgment. The reader should note that this last item is not a specific charge to those on the bench: indeed, everyone judges others on a daily basis. Are we doing so fairly, or with a bias? These are the questions that a careful reading of this haftara ought to raise for the reader.
At this point, our vantage point is positively too close for comfort. We have been given an extreme close-up of the detailed evils of the people of Israel, both on the spiritual and social levels. We want the camera to pull back once again to the innocent time of Yirmiyahu before his calling, but it cannot. Nor can the reader keep from making connections to his or her own day-to-day interactions with others and with G-d.
As the three haftarot slowly narrow their focus, the reader also zooms his or her own internal mental camera. He or she will realize that the big picture is made up of what might otherwise seem a series of disconnected, insignificant acts (or lapses of behavior). These three haftarot are chosen specifically, we have learned, for their connections to this time of year. Their deliberate progression and development ought to make us think – and maybe even change. Perhaps 5765 will finally enable us all to look back with nostalgia from Jerusalem at this time next year.
[1] See also the Sefer HaManhig, cited in Chazon HaMikra, R. Yissachar Yaakovson, (Published by Sinai, Tel Aviv: 1959), p. 11.
[2] “Va-yigdal avon bat ami me-khatat Sodom.”