ByJONATHAN LIEBERMAN

JULY 25, 2026 13:58

On Thursday, Tisha B'Av, Jews worldwide sat on low chairs and recited ancient poems of mourning.

Many of these lamentations recount the clear tragedies of Jewish history: cities ruined, communities slaughtered, families dispersed, and holy sites set ablaze.

Yet one of the most notable poems centers on something quieter: it laments the loss of the 24 priestly divisions that once rotated in service at the Temple in Jerusalem.

At first glance, this appears an odd topic for sorrow. Why grieve an old schedule? Why compose verse about which group handled duties in a given week?

The response is that the poem is not truly grieving an administrative setup. It is grieving a culture of accountability.

The Temple operated not only via grand religious spectacles. Most of its labor was ordinary. The lamps needed readying. The offerings needed delivery. The incense needed burning. The doors needed opening. The music needed performing.

Someone had to appear.

Someone had to be present for duty.

Each priestly family understood that a week would come when duty fell to them. They could not rely on others to handle it. They could not praise the Temple's value in words while staying away in action.

This carries a strong message for today's Israel.

A nation endures through people who fulfill their roles. Soldiers watch over while others rest. Doctors and nurses labor overnight. Teachers enter classrooms daily. Volunteers bring meals, comfort the grieving, and aid families upended by events.

Society relies less on words than on rotations.

It relies on individuals who show up, often without notice, and complete what must be done.

Yet the poem does not only lament the system's fall. It questions why it fell.

Its reply is uneasy.

The ruin came not only from outside forces. Something had already frayed inside Jewish society. People kept religious forms while shedding its ethical core.

Rituals existed, yet so did double standards. Holy structures stood, yet so did graft. Public faith statements appeared, but not always integrity, fairness, or kindness.

One line lingers: it speaks of those who "covered earthenware with silver, a shining exterior over an empty core."

That line could describe our era.

We inhabit a culture of covering. We mask frail notions with clever phrasing. We mask institutional shortfalls with publicity. We mask ethical voids with strong branding. We mask self-interest with talk of values.

The silver gleams. The item below stays empty.

This pull is not limited to faith. It touches all areas of public life.

Leaders talk of unity while fueling splits. Firms tout values while mistreating staff. Public voices tout duty while faulting others. Groups issue statements that little match their inner ways.

We excel at appearances.

Asking the real questions

The old lament poses a tougher query: What lies below?

Faith groups must face it. Is belief shown only via attire, speech, and outward acts, or does it yield modesty, truthfulness, and care for others?

Nonreligious bodies must face it as well. Does open talk pair with acceptance of differing views? Is regard for human worth applied evenly, or only when convenient?

The State of Israel must face it.

We often discuss being a Jewish and democratic state. Those terms form a kind of silver. They hold worth only if something solid supports them.

A Jewish state cannot rest only on symbols, rites, and a shared calendar. It must also be measured by its treatment of the frail, the aged, the newcomer, the mourning, and the outsider. It must be measured by whether public roles are seen as true service.

A democratic state cannot rest only on votes. It must also be measured by regard for structures, limits on power, truth in debate, and readiness to accept those who differ.

The divide between stated ideals and actual conduct is where societies start to decay.

This was the ancient prophets' caution. Holy sites cannot offset an unholy society. Rites cannot hide harshness. Pious words cannot turn deceit into good.

The poem's strength lies in its refusal to let us fault only outsiders.

Tisha B'Av turns thoughts to those who razed Jerusalem. Jewish history holds many foes, oppressors, and killers. Their role must never be downplayed.

Yet national growth needs more than spotting others' wrongs. It needs the bravery to review ourselves.

That is not blaming victims. It is accountability.

Blame wonders: Who did this?

Accountability wonders: What can we alter now?

Perhaps this is why the lost priestly rota stands as a strong image. Every division knew its week. Then, admiration or talk was not enough. They had to step in.

That is the query before Israeli society today.

Whose turn is it to cool public talk?

Whose turn is it to hear instead of yell?

Whose turn is it to put national duty over political gain?

Whose turn is it to support families bearing heavy loads?

Whose turn is it to cease polishing the silver and check what lies below?

The reply is that it is our turn.

The poem closes with a wish for the "sweet fragrance" of Temple service to return.

A fragrance cannot be held in. It spreads past its start. But the same holds for a foul odor. An ethical stench cannot be trapped inside a legislature, a body, a faith group, or an office.

Graft, pretense, and scorn leak out. They shape society's speech, erode trust, and slowly turn routine.

Fragrance thus counts. A society's nature travels in the air it makes.

A healthy society should carry a moral fragrance. Its values should show not only in speeches and symbols, but in its streets, offices, schools, hospitals, and homes.

Conversely, when deceit or decay sits below the glossy layer, others will sense it in time. No amount of silver can hide it always.

Yesterday we mourned what was lost.

Today, the work of renewal starts.

Not by feigning what we are not. Not by hiding what is empty with silver. But by making the inside match the outside.

By becoming what we claim to be.

And by taking our turn.

The writer is a rabbi and physician. He writes and teaches on Jewish ethics, leadership, and resilience. His work appears on rabbidrjonathanlieberman.substack.com and youtube.com. @rabbidrjonathanlieberman.