Reflections on the month of Sivan

Twice a year the Jewish world enters into a period of semi-mourning when weddings are banned and various other restrictions apply. One is the Omer period now just past; the other is the Three Weeks that will commence during the month of Tammuz. In between these two lies the month of Sivan, in which we still currently find ourselves.

On a prima facie basis Sivan should have no negative connotations. After all, in Sivan we received the Torah at Sinai – the event happily commemorated on Shavuot both spiritually (through Torah learning) and physically (with cheesecake and blintzes). Yet such is not the case.

Regular shule attendees may have noted that on the Shabbat that we blessed Rosh Chodesh Sivan the Av Harachamim prayer commemorating martyrdom was recited, even though it is not normally recited when one blesses Rosh Chodesh or on other festive occasions. Why? For it was at this time in 1096 that pillaging Crusader hordes, en route to the Holy Land in the name of Christianity, decimated the Jewish communities of the Rhine Valley. This event is known in our calendar as Gezerat (the decree of) Tatn”u – the letters taf, taf, nun, vav making up the Hebrew year (4)856 – 1096. (“Gezerah” – a decree – is a word often used for unfortunate events.)

And then there were other terrible historical events in Sivan. This week’s AJN is datelined Sivan 20. Sivan 20 – chaf Sivan – was for three centuries marked as a fast day in Europe. To this day some siddurim carry an order of service including Selichot to be recited on this date. Why? Because this date which had already seen 31 martyrs burned at the stake in France in 1171, entered our calendar to commemorate what is known as “Gezerat Tach veTat”. “Tach” and “Tat” make up the Hebrew years (5)408/9 – 1648/9, when hundreds of thousands of Jews were murdered or displaced from their homes as a result of a Cossack rebellion in Ukraine led by Bogdan Chmielnicki, that turned into a Ukrainian war of liberation from Poland and simultaneously became the worst event in the history of the European Diaspora prior to the Holocaust. Sadly, to this day its instigator and leader is commemorated across the Ukraine as a nationalist hero.

But those events of the distant past aside, Sivan has also more recently been a month of horrific tragedy. When I was younger we all vaguely knew that the Hungarians in our community (most of whom, sadly, have now passed on) had a yahrzeit in or around Sivan. In an era when such matters were not widely spoken about we may not have fully understood why this was so, but it was a fact that greeted us in shule through Hungarians saying Kaddish and leading services from the amud (lectern) as is customary on a personal yahrzeit. Why?

For as we need to recall at a time when antisemitism has again reared its ugly head across Europe, May 15 to July 9, 1944 (Iyar 22 to Tammuz 18) was the short eight-week period in which some 437,000 Jews were transported to their fate. As evidenced by press reports then, even to be found in our own Australian Jewish News, all this tragedy took place under the watchful eyes of the world – yet saving the lives of Jews was not the priority of the time, even though by then the fate of Polish Jewry similarly transported in 1942/3 was already well documented. Interestingly, in 1946 the Budapest Orthodox rabbinate reprinted the Selichot service of Sivan 20 in an attempt to reintroduce that fast day – but with its emphasis on the events then so fresh in the minds of Hungarian survivors – but with limited exceptions (including the Sydney Adass) the concept did not catch on. Perhaps the war-weary survivors understandably sought only to look forward and not backwards – the last thing needed by those who had survived so much hunger and deprivation was another fast day.

And perhaps also they were mindful of a Talmudic passage (Baba Batra 60b) which speaks volumes of our attitude to tragedy throughout the generations.

It involved a response to some who thought that “during this period of exile when there is no day that its troubles are not greater than those of the previous day”, we should adopt drastic continuous mourning practices.

Our rabbis taught: When the Temple was destroyed, many became ascetics. Rabbi Joshua said to them: “My sons, why do you not eat meat nor drink wine?” They replied: “Shall we eat flesh which used to be brought as an offering on the altar now in abeyance? Shall we drink wine which used to be poured as a libation, but now no longer?” He responded: “If so, we should not eat bread either, because the meal offerings have ceased.” They said: “We can manage with fruit.” “We should not eat fruit either,” he said, “because there is no longer an offering of first fruits.” “Then,” they said, “we can manage with other fruits.” “But,” he said, “we should not drink water, because there is no longer any ceremony of the pouring of water.” To this they could find no answer, so he said: “My sons, listen to me. Not to mourn at all is impossible, because the blow has fallen. To mourn overmuch is also impossible, because we do not impose on the community a hardship which the majority cannot endure.” That Talmudic passage then concludes with a promise of hope: “Whoever mourns for Zion will be privileged to behold her joy.”

May indeed all our mourning be turned to joy through the final redemption, bimhera b’yamenu, speedily in our days.

Shabbat shalom, Yossi Yossi Aron is The AJN’s religious affairs editor.