Each year, from the 17th of Tammuz until the 9th of Av, we enter a period known as Bein HaMetzarim, “between the narrow places.” These Three Weeks focus on the tragedies that have shaped Jewish memory from antiquity until today.
Our parsha, Matot-Masei, which occurs within these three weeks, recalls the journeys of the Israelites through the wilderness. The Torah insists that every place, detour, failure and act of faithfulness becomes part of our sacred story. Our parsha also focuses on the power of speech, vows and oaths. The Three Weeks similarly ask us to remember the losses, mistakes, and the difficult truths that our history teaches.
The practices of this season resemble the customs of shivah. We refrain from celebrations. Weddings are permitted until Rosh Hodesh Av, though many communities avoid them during the entire period. We do not purchase or wear new clothing. Ashkenazi communities generally refrain from shaving and haircuts throughout the Three Weeks, while many Sephardic communities allow them until Rosh Hodesh Av. During the final nine days, we abstain from meat, poultry, and wine, except on Shabbat, when the joy and sacred nature of the day overrides the practices of mourning. On Tisha B’Av, we remove leather shoes, refrain from sexual relations, and fast from sunset until nightfall the following day.
To truly observe these Three Weeks of mourning, we must understand the nature of power in the ancient world. The great empires of Egypt, Assyria, Babylon, Persia, Greece, and Rome ruled through conquest and control of strategic lands. Judea occupied a crucial crossroads linking three continents and trade routes. Even though Judea was small, it was strategically important. The Temple itself was far more than a house of worship. In the ancient Near East, temples were political, economic, and cosmic centres. Their destruction represented not merely military defeat but a profound crisis of meaning and identity.
Twice, the people of Israel found themselves on the losing side of imperial struggles. The First Temple fell to Babylon in 586 BCE. The Second Temple was destroyed by Rome in 70 CE. Each catastrophe raised the painful question: Had God abandoned Israel?
The prophets answered this question with remarkable courage. Jeremiah interpreted destruction as judgement but never abandonment. Deutero-Isaiah (Isaiah 40–55) proclaimed consolation and hope, insisting that God remained sovereign even over foreign victorious empires and was using them to test Israel. Trito-Isaiah (Isaiah 56-66) declared: “My house shall be called a house of prayer for all peoples” (Isaiah 56:7). Israel’s election was not nullified but reframed as a universal message.
Most profoundly, our tradition taught that the Divine Presence – Shekhinah– herself went into exile with the people. She was not left behind among the ruins of Jerusalem but accompanied Israel into suffering and displacement.
The rabbis later distinguished between the causes of the two destructions. The First Temple, they taught, fell because of avodah zarah, idolatry. The Second Temple fell because of sinat chinam, baseless hatred.
The classic illustration is the story of Kamsa and Bar Kamsa. A wealthy man intended to invite his friend Kamsa to a feast, but his servant mistakenly invited Bar Kamsa, the host’s sworn enemy. When Bar Kamsa arrived, the host publicly humiliated him and ordered him to leave. To avoid disgrace, Bar Kamsa offered to pay for his meal, then half the feast, and finally the entire celebration. Still, he was rejected.
Most painful of all was the silence of the sages present, who did nothing to intervene. Enraged, Bar Kamsa sought revenge, setting in motion a series of events that ultimately ended in the destruction of the Second Temple.
The rabbis understood the political realities of Roman power. Yet their deeper concern was moral and spiritual. They wished to show how hatred, humiliation, jealousy and selfishness destroy communities from within.
Our parsha and the Three Weeks from the 17th of Tammuz to the 9th of Av both link truthful speech and ethical behaviour to a nation’s health and wellbeing. Communities thrive when words are used to heal, reconcile, and honour human dignity. They fracture when language becomes a weapon and a tool for polarisation.
During these Three Weeks we are commanded to remember, to lament, and to even to cry, but the tears that flow from our eyes are not signs of weakness. They acknowledge our loss while giving us clarity as the tears dry, allowing for the possibility of personal and communal transformation.
We are called to reject baseless hatred and practice compassion, to ensure that our Jewish communities become places of dignity, forgiveness, and true authentic I- thou encounter.
Shabbat Shalom
Rabbi George Mordecai