COVID-19 Through the Lens of Mishnah Ta’anit
When we were ordered to stay at home in mid-March, I thought about how I could help my students maintain a sense of community in isolation and manage fear and anxiety in a time of uncertainty. On September 11, 2001, I was meeting in my home with three students taking an Independent Study. Having seen the Twin Towers fall numerous times on the morning news, we were in a state of shock and disbelief. Rather than cancel class, I suggested we study Talmud, not because it could undo the horror of the moment, but because it would allow us to retreat for a short time from pain and find a sense of order. Nineteen years later, I wanted to offer students a similar opportunity.
I chose to focus on selections from the Mishnah, a compendium of laws produced by the rabbis of the first few centuries of the Common Era. Mishnah Ta’anit, which describes rituals performed in response to drought and other life-threatening circumstances, seemed like an apt choice. I provided a brief explanation of each Mishnah, and then offered some thoughts on its message for our situation.
“Although my aim was to help my students, I found that my reading and interpretation was helping me make sense, not of what was happening around me, but of what I was feeling.”
Although my aim was to help my students, I found that my reading and interpretation was helping me make sense, not of what was happening around me, but of what I was feeling. I also realized that although science and medicine offer the best information to combat a pandemic, religious texts offer ways to find support for the day-to-day emotions and concerns that the pandemic inflicts on our bodies, minds, and souls.
March 17
Ta’anit 1:2: They do not pray for rain until the rainy season is near. Rabbi Judah says: One who leads services on the last day of the Festival – the latter one [leading Musaf] mentions [rain], but the former one [leading Shacharit] does not. On the first day of Passover, the former one mentions [rain], but the latter one does not.
The Mishnah insists prayers for rain are appropriate only in a season when rain is likely. Why not pray for rain all year, just as we do for insight or healing? The Mishnah reminds us to think twice before we pray for the extraordinary. Even if we believed that God could produce rain out of season, or make cherry blossoms bloom in the fall, is it reasonable to ask God to upend the natural order to satisfy us? Are such prayers truly supplication, or are they tests that we present to God in expectation (or even in hope) that we will be disappointed? The Mishnah reminds us that faith can and should co-exist with reason.
March 25
Ta’anit 1:7: If [several sets of prescribed] fasts occur and there is no response, they minimize business, construction and planting, betrothals and weddings, and greetings between individuals, [comporting themselves] like people who have been chastised by God…If Nisan ends and rain has not fallen, it is a sign of curse, as it is said, “It is the season of the wheat harvest today. I will pray to God, and God will send thunder and rain” (1 Sam. 12:17).
The Mishnah describes a community in social isolation, although people can still go out and about. Even greetings have been suspended; every individual is behaving like a mourner. There are no more communal fasts, perhaps because the community can endure no more, because the fasts have proven ineffective, or because food is becoming scarce and hunger has become the norm. There is spiritual malaise as well; the drought is experienced as an indication of God’s anger.
We see our current experience reflected in the Mishnah. Most have food to eat, but there has been a steep reduction in business, and weddings and other joyous occasions are being postponed. We have had to curtail our usual greetings in favor of distancing and elbow bumps.
The major difference between the Mishnah’s portrait of a community in extremis and our situation is that most of us are not reading coronavirus as a sign of divine disfavor. I wonder, though, if some people’s explanations and their tendency to look for someone to blame for the rise and spread of the virus are not even more problematic and dangerous than the Mishnah’s assumption that all things, good and bad, come from God. We may congratulate ourselves on being modern, scientifically aware thinkers, but we also see people blaming various countries, political parties, or the decisions of elected officials for our problems.
The rabbis of the Mishnah viewed the world through a theological lens. On some level, this empowered them, because they believed the God responsible for the drought could be implored to end it. To whom do we turn when we are experiencing a widespread threat and what measures do we take to seek out a solution? Our Mishnah forces us to ask these questions, while offering no easy answers.
March 26
Ta’anit 2:1: What is the order [of prayer] for fast days? They bring the ark into the town square and place ashes on it, and on the heads of the Nasi and the head of the court, and everyone places ashes on their own head. The eldest person speaks words intended to conquer the heart. “My friends, it does not say regarding the people of Nineveh that God saw their sackcloth and their fast. Rather, “And God saw their deeds, that they had turned away from their wicked ways” (Jonah 3:6). And in the tradition, it says, “Rend your heart, not your clothes” (Joel 2:13).
The prayer ritual for communal fasts takes place in the public square, allowing the entire community to witness and participate. The community engages in a show of public mourning, symbolized by placing ashes on the ark and on people’s heads.
The speaker reminds the people that fasting and other outward signs of mourning, in and of themselves, do not arouse God’s compassion. Citing the example of the inhabitants of Nineveh in the Book of Jonah, the speaker calls the people to abandon any inappropriate behaviors.
The Mishnah assumes that drought is a sign of Divine anger and contains a powerful message about appropriate responses to crisis. It is not enough to bewail our circumstances, to feel sorry for ourselves, even to afflict ourselves. When our community, our very existence, is threatened, the circumstances call for virtuous and righteous behavior. If we were to search our hearts at this moment, would we be able to say that we were being our best selves? Are we allowing our understandable fear, anxiety, and restlessness, our frustration at being stuck in our homes, to shape the way we behave and speak to each other? Or are we trying our best in difficult times to act in ways that sustain us and help us sustain others? When we look back at this moment a year from now, what will we be able to say about our words and our actions during a pivotal moment in time
April 6
Ta’anit 2:6: The first three [communal] fasts - the men of the mishmar fast, but not all day, and the men of the beit av do not fast at all. The second three fasts - the men of the mishmar fast the entire day, and the men of the beit avfast, but not all day. The last seven fasts – both fast the entire day, according to Rabbi Joshua. But the sages say: The first three [communal] fasts – both groups do not fast at all. The second three fasts - the men of the mishmarfast, but not all day and the men of the beit av do not fast at all. The last seven fasts - the men of the mishmar fast the entire day, and the men of the beit av fast, but not all day.
Rabbinic tradition holds that every priest eligible to serve in the Temple had an assigned week of the year to go to Jerusalem and make himself available for Temple service. The weekly groups were called mishmarot, guards or watchmen. Each mishmar was further divided into smaller groups, each one assigned to work in the Temple on a particular day of their week; these cohorts were referred to as batei av, ancestral houses or clans.
The concern raised in this Mishnah is the extent to which a person can fast when they have required work. The priests of a given beit av had to be strong enough to carry out the day’s sacrificial rituals; the priests of that week’s mishmar were on call lest the priests of the beit av required re-enforcements. Their obligation to fast as part of a community in crisis is weighed against their obligation to serve the community’s needs through the Temple ritual.
Again, our Mishnah speaks directly to our current situation. Most of us are doing part in responding to COVID-19 by practicing social distancing, washing our hands, covering our mouth and nose in public, and staying at home. But our “priests,” be they health care workers, grocery store workers, or those engaged in other essential services, are focused on a different type of response. Just as the priests were given special dispensation to eat, so that they had strength to carry out what was deemed essential work, so too those who cannot prioritize their own safety should be given access to what they need – the highest level of protective equipment – and our support, to do their work.
Our ancestors believed that the Temple service was a key factor in showing our devotion to God and ensuring God’s protection for humankind. Today, our support for essential workers, for the people who help to ensure our safety and well-being, is one way that we show faith that together, and through the exercise of best practices as determined by experts, we can help ensure the well-being of our community.
April 20
Ta’anit 2:8: On all the days mentioned in Megillat Taanit as days that we do not deliver eulogies, the previous day it is [also] forbidden, but the following day it is permitted. Rabbi Yose said: Both days, it is forbidden to deliver eulogies. [On those days when] it is forbidden to fast, both the previous and following day it is permitted. Rabbi Yose said: The previous day it is forbidden, but the following day it is permitted.
The Mishnah is dealing with a situation where we might experience a conflict between a community celebration or commemoration of a joyous event on one hand, and a communal crisis that might call for a fast or personal loss on the other. In such a situation, which takes priority: joy or sorrow?
This is a situation that many of us have experienced. Six months ago, in what now seems like another world, my brother and I buried our father two days before Yom Kippur. Our shiva was cut short, and a few days later, sheloshim ended with the start of Sukkot. How can a mourner accept that their community has “abandoned” them in their grief and turned to celebration? I had been asked this question many times, but it became harder to explain when I found myself in shul on Kol Nidre feeling entirely alone in a crowd of over a thousand people.
Today, we are all struggling with the tension that underlies our Mishnah. How do we celebrate graduation, ordination, and other major milestones while we are frightened and isolated, when thousands are dying and millions are losing their jobs? The Mishnah hints at one approach – we need to carve out space for sorrow while still finding time for joy. In the words of the Psalmist, בערב ילין בכי ולבקר רנה, we may lie down in the evening weeping, but we rise in the morning with the capacity to experience joy. In this difficult time, each of us needs to acknowledge our own pain and fear, as well as that of others, and, at the same time, we need to remain open to the possibility that even in such times we can take pleasure and even delight in the moments in our life that call for joy.
April 28
Ta’anit 3:3: So too a town that has not had rain [despite rain in the area], as it is written, “I would make it rain on one town, and not on another; One field would be rained upon [while another on which it did not rain would wither]” (Amos 4:7) – [the inhabitants of] that town fast and sound the shofar, and those around it fast but do not sound the shofar. Rabbi Akiba said: [Those in surrounding towns] sound the shofar but do not fast.
How should a community respond to troubles that impact another community but not theirs? The two opinions in this Mishnah share an assumption: If a nearby community is under threat while one’s own community is not, the latter must show some sign of its concern for its neighbors.
How do we express solidarity with those whose suffering we can see but do not share? It assumes that if the inhabitants of a city are in danger, we cannot ignore their danger, but must intervene. For the Mishnah, intervention takes the form of fasting or sounding the shofar, that is, adding our pleas for divine mercy to those of the afflicted. I propose that we consider these actions as metaphors for shaping a non-theological response. When the inhabitants of the nearby town fasted, they were acknowledging that it would be callous to eat and drink while their neighbors fasted. In denying themselves food, they showed their compassion for their fellow citizens. Rabbi Akiba’s approach suggests that when we see other people suffering, we do not need to suffer with them; rather, we need to sound the alarm. We need to make noise. Hopefully either of these approaches leads us to intervene, and to do what we can to alleviate the suffering of others.
May 5
Ta’anit 3:7: For the following, they sound the shofar even on Shabbat: a siege, flooding, or a boat foundering in the sea. Rabbi Yose said: In these cases, they are summoning help, not calling out to God. Rabbi Shimon the Teimani said: Plague as well, but the sages did not agree with him.
I find myself particularly moved by the words of Rabbi Yose. Throughout the tractate, the often unstated but tacit understanding is that the purpose of fasting, prayer, and sounding the shofar during a time of trouble is to ask for divine intervention. Rabbi Yose asserts that when we sound the alarm on Shabbat, we do so not to alert God to our difficulties but to summon human aid.
I do not think that Rabbi Yose denies the possibility of a God who hears and responds to prayer. Rather, he acknowledges that there are times when our first strategy should be to seek the help of other human beings. I will not repeat the old joke about the person who is sitting on a roof during a flood, so resolute in faith that they call upon God to save them while repeatedly ignoring offers of help from would-be rescuers. Rabbi Yose reminds us that we need to be willing to ask for help from each other when we need it. Turning to human beings is not a denial of the power of God, but a reminder that those around us may also have the capacity to rescue us. This also reminds us that we cannot rely on God to solve problems, but must be prepared to act when others are in need.
May 22
Ta’anit 4:8: Rabban Shimon ben Gamaliel said: There were no finer days for Israel than the fifteenth of Av and Yom Kippur. On those days, the young women of Jerusalem would go out in white garments borrowed to avoid shaming those who did not have any (all the garments required immersion). The young women of Jerusalem would go out and dance in the vineyards….
For the past two months, we have journeyed together through a tractate of the Mishnah that speaks to a community in crisis. Mishnah Ta’anit imagines a community coming together, taking on shared hardships, enacting rituals, and praying for Divine intervention. Although we are living 1,800 years after the creation of the Mishnah, we live in a moment not unlike the ones mentioned in the tractate. And our responses have similarities as well. Many people have come together to care for those in need. Communities have accepted hardship – staying at home, social distancing, the loss of human contact and much that is familiar. We have created new rituals to celebrate and to mourn. We have prayed in new ways. And although many of us no longer believe, that God intervenes directly in the world, we have sought guidance and leadership, if not from God then from our elected officials, public health experts, and from our clergy.
“I pray that our “tractate” of anxiety and uncertainty, our moment of fear of an unknown future, will end with joy and dancing.”
As we complete our study, I pray that our “tractate” of anxiety and uncertainty, our moment of fear of an unknown future, will end with joy and dancing. And when that day comes, may we, like the women of Jerusalem, be generous of spirit, so we do not shame those whom we believe lacked shining garments of courage, clarity, or communal spirit in a challenging time.
