When Shabbos Chazon falls on Erev Tishah B’Av, it’s a powerful reminder that the end of galus is near

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riving through the streets of Rome, Rav Yosef Shlomo Kahaneman turned to his driver and said, “I would like you to take a detour, take me to the Arch of Titus.” The year was 1953, eight years after the Ponevezher Rav had lost absolutely everything during the Holocaust. But now he was rebuilding the glory of Torah in Eretz Yisrael, the land that the Romans had destroyed. He got out of the car and walked toward the Arch. Shaking with emotion, he paused as if addressing an assemblage of thousands. With all his strength he roared, “Titus! Mir zenen noch du! Avu bist du? Titus! We’re still here! Where are you?”

The Arch of Titus is an eternal symbol of the Churban, built to celebrate the destruction of our Holy Beis Hamikdash. Its walls depict the menorah and other precious keilim being paraded triumphantly in Rome. It’s the most infamous of illustrious arches that grace world capitals, such as the Arc de Triomphe in Paris and Marble Arch in London.

Simple question: What’s the point of a ceremonial arch? It’s a glorified door or gate, much like Shaar Yafo at the entrance to the Old City. Walk through a ceremonial arch and you’re basically in the same place where you started.

I have a similar question (l’havdil) about Shabbos. Yechezkel Hanavi (46:1) describes a shaar in the Beis Hamidash that was only opened on Shabbos and Rosh Chodesh. Our holy seforim reveal that there is a mystical shaar that we can only access on Shabbos (Pardes Rimonim 16:5). I understand the concept of accessing a holy place — but why would one want to access a gate?

What’s the common thread that connects an arch and shaar? On Friday night we sing Eishes Chayil, Shlomo Hamelech’s allegorical hymn to the perfect wife who’s the anchor of her home. We celebrate the woman whose husband is “noda bashe’arim baalah — her husband is known at the gates.” What’s so impressive about her husband being known at a gate?

A gate is a place of transition. When travelers arrive at a walled city, they pass in unison through a gate and then disperse, each individual proceeding to their destination. This serves as a metaphor for how we find direction in life. “Shoftim v’shotrim titen lecha b’chal she’arecha — Judges and officers shall you appoint in all your gates” (Devarim 16:18). The wisdom of our elders is to direct us from the level where we are to the level where we should be. They sit at the city gates, like master conductors, showing everyone passing through their instrument, how to play it, and where to position themselves in Hashem’s orchestra. She’arim are symbolic of the place we access our potential and destiny.

Shabbos isn’t just the culmination of our week. It’s a gate, a transitional day, a portal to a higher dimension. If we know how to pass through it, not only can we have a taste of Olam Haba, we can access the real thing.

The Feast of Shlomo Hamelech

The Shabbos before Tishah B’Av is unusual, as it’s technically part of the Nine Days, yet takes the concept of “Shabbos as a transition” to a whole new dimension. We call it Shabbos Chazon, a reference to the haftarah of “Chazon Yeshayahu.” It contains the frightening prophecy of Yeshayahu Hanavi, predicting the destruction of Bayis Rishon.

Rav Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev, true to fashion, sees a hidden positive meaning in the words “Shabbos Chazon.” It can be translated as “The Shabbos where we have vision.” It’s a time when every Jew can visualize the Third and eternal Beis Hamikdash. This Shabbos can act as a shaar, a portal to a place beyond the Nine Days, beyond the suffering and exile unleashed by Roman tyranny.

This can perhaps be understood by noting that Shabbos is “m’ein Olam Haba” in three ways. We’ve mentioned two of them, namely that Shabbos is the culmination of six days of toil and that it acts as a shaar. It also provides the Olam Haba dimension to the following six days. This can dramatically be seen on Shabbos Hagadol. Pesach was our first Geulah and the Shabbos that precedes it contains the essence of the yom Hashem hagadol v’hanora (Malachi 3: 23) at the End of Days.

There is no aveilus on Shabbos. The Shabbos that precedes Tishah B’Av looks beyond what Tishah B’Av has become to what it will ultimately be; the greatest of all the chagim. In the words of Zecharyah Hanavi, yihiyeh l’beis Yehudah l’sasson ul’simchah ul’moadim tovim (Zecharyah 8:19).

This year, Shabbos Chazon has an extra twist as it falls on Erev Tishah B’Av. In a regular year, the last meal before the fast, the Seudah Hamafsekes, is a somber affair. We sit on the floor and dip a hard-boiled egg into ashes. This year our Seudah Hamafsekes is the third meal of Shabbos, where our custom is to have a festive meal with meat and wine (O.C. 652: 10). The Talmud (Taanis 29b) engages us with a powerful visual, “u’maaleh al shulchano afilu k’seudas Shlomo b’shaato,” which can be translated as “One can enjoy a lavish banquet like that of Shlomo Hamelech in his prime” (described in Melachim 1:5:2-3).

There’s a special symbolism in the analogy to the feasts of Shlomo Hamelech in his prime. Rav Tzadok HaKohein (Devarim 17) notes that the seudos of Avraham Avinu were technically greater than those of Shlomo Hamelech. However, when Shlomo Hamelech was in his prime, Klal Yisrael reached their zenith, the closest to the world that Mashiach will herald. Shlomo Hamelech, with seemingly endless wealth, ruled over the whole world, including the world of sheidim (Megillah 11b), using nothing more than the power of his wisdom. Every nation turned to him and his people for enlightenment and inspiration. As the name Shlomo implies, the world had reached shleimus, perfection.

At the grand finale of Shabbos Chazon, we have the ability to connect to that world. When Mashiach comes, he’ll turn Tishah B’Av into the ultimate festival. Until that moment, this year’s Seudah Shlishis is the nearest we can get.

The Churban of Daas

This year we will perform Havdalah verbally, by inserting Atah Chonantanu into the fourth brachah of the Shemoneh Esreh. That’s the brachah where we request daas, Hashem’s wisdom, so that we can live a correct life, the one for which we were uniquely created.

The Ran (Taanis 11b) quotes the Ramban who gives a shocking insight into the custom of Havdalah. Originally Havdalah was performed verbally as most people were too poor to afford wine. At a later date, our situation improved and the rabbis introduced Havdalah over wine (Berachos 33a). On Tishah B’Av, says the Ramban, we all revert to a state of poverty, “as there is no greater poverty than our despondency on Tishah B’av.”

This isn’t just word play. Chazal (Nedarim 41a) teaches that true wealth is daas. Deda bei kula bei, with daas we have everything; delo da bei, mah bei, without it what do we have? Daas in this context is the ability to receive wisdom from Above, which in its ultimate form is ruach hakodesh. Daas, like everything connected to kedushah, is celebrated over wine.

On Tishah B’av we experienced a physical churban, the destruction of our Holy Beis Hamikdash. With that came a spiritual churban, the churban of daas. That means we can no longer think like a Yid, the way we were trained at Har Sinai. Our thinking has been hijacked by the perpetrators of the physical churban, the cursed legions of Rome.

Titus! Where Are You?

Our enemies built the Arch of Titus to make a point. They want us to pass through it, if not physically, then spiritually, as if to say, “You’re now transitioning from your old world to a world where we’re in control.” The hegemony of Rome is forever.

This year we’re challenged to experience two antithetical emotions, two transitions like mighty rivers flowing in opposite directions.

Restricting Havdalah to the brachah of daas reminds us that we’re in a state of spiritual poverty. We’re not worthy to have the elevation that comes with Havdalah over wine. In a sense, the Ponevezher Rav’s epic speech at the Arch of Titus seems to be wishful thinking. Rome is as imperious as ever, continuing to take the spoils of war. Every day trainloads of our youth pass under the proverbial Arch of Titus and find themselves on the other side, living meaningless lives, the life that Titus intended.

Incredibly, just a short while before saying Havdalah we were enjoying Seudah Shlishis, a meal reflecting Shlomo Hamelech in his prime. We were in a state of ecstasy, closer than ever to the Berditchever Chazon, a world beyond pain and suffering., a world of malah ha’aretz de’ah es Hashem, a world filled with the perfection and beauty of Hashem’s daas (Yeshayahu 11:9).

Shabbos, especially Shabbos Chazon, reminds us that the control our enemies have over us is nothing more than a fleeting dream. We’re so close to Mashiach, who will take us through the ultimate transition. Shabbos takes us from a world of galus to a world where we can declare once and for all, “Titus! We’re eternally here! Where are you?”

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 954)