“I will lay your cities to waste and make your holy places desolate, and I will not partake of your pleasant fragrances.”

 (Vayikra 26:31)

The Midrash discusses the pasuk in Eichah (2:2): “The L-rd has destroyed and has had no pity.” Says the Midrash, Rabi Yochanan would explain this pasuk in 60 ways. Yet Rebbi would explain it in only 24 ways.

This wasn’t because Rabi Yochanan was greater than Rebbi. Rather, it was because Rebbi lived in a time period closer to the Churban. Therefore, it sufficed for him to explain this pasuk in only 24 ways; he would explain, cry, and then be comforted.

This doesn’t seem to make sense. If Rebbi lived closer to the time of the Churban, shouldn’t it have been harder to comfort him than Rabi Yochanan? (Rav Shach, Meirosh Amanah)

“Poland?” I must not have heard my daughter correctly. Her international phone calls were always full of static and zany background noise in her dorm. “You want to go where?”

“Poland.” This time the destination came down the wire loud and clear. “The seminary is offering a tour with rabbanim. It’s supposed to be incredibly inspirational.”

Inspirational? A tour? Poland?

“Can we discuss this later, sweetie?” Her words were filling my head, hammering at my heart.

“Sure. I also wanted to ask you…” And she was onto another topic, while my brain refused to follow suit.

Poland?

Why did Rabi Yochanan deem it necessary to explain the pasuk in more ways than Rebbi? Rabi Yochanan was worried that Bnei Yisrael would forget about the Churban. The further each generation was from the Churban, the less they’d remember the glory of the Beis Hamkidash and the less they’d mourn the loss of that glory.

With each passing generation, they’d forget about the exile of the Shechinah, as their emotions would be dulled by the daily rigors of life.

The rest of the day I was unsettled, the conversation with my daughter replaying incessantly in my head.

I’ve never been to Europe. Had never wanted to go on one of the many tours that take you to the last vestiges of European Jewry. And while I know many who have gone and come back with greater insight and understanding, to me it was forbidden territory.

Did I want to tour Ramallah? Would I go tour Bin Laden’s house so I could appreciate his evilness? How could I grant permission to my daughter’s request? And why did she even want to attend such a trip?

Over the next few days, we discussed the topic — my daughter, husband, and I. While I accepted that the trip would be taken under the auspices of great leaders and teachers, I still couldn’t come to terms with the vision of my own daughter standing on ground soaked with my great-grandparents’ blood.

True, my family hailed from Germany, not Poland. But to me the entire continent was one reminder of a nation lost in horror.

Therefore Rebbi, who was closer to the Churban and saw that the nation still remembered the Beis Hamikdash, was satisfied with 24 ways to explain the pasuk, but Rabi Yochanan, who lived in a later time period, needed more inspiration to ensure he would remember the Beis Hamikdash.

Feeling like I was going in circles, I turned to my rebbetzin, trying to articulate my dilemma.

“I don’t find these trips a kavod to those lost. I find them an intrusion. A mockery of the murders that occurred there. You can’t tour Gehinnom and then come home and show your family pictures!” I knew I wasn’t being completely logical, but my emotions ran so high about this issue.

To my shock, my rebbetzin disagreed with me. “I think she should go. She’s going with rabbanim, she’ll get the correct perspective. You’re a first-generation American. You’ve grown up with the fate of your forefathers a living, breathing entity within your family. You have no need for visuals. They’re right there in front of you.

“But your daughter, baruch Hashem, has not experienced this. She hasn’t been raised with anecdotes of her uncles, with photos of her father’s once proud and prominent family.

“She needs to see. Because she needs to remember. As do her friends and all those that age. And therefore she should go.”

She went. And I believe she was exposed with the right perspective, the right hashkafos. Because this past Tishah B’Av, as we sat on the floor, she said, “Tell me more about Opa’s family. I need to know more.”

 (Originally featured in Family First, Issue 644)