Here we are again. Another year, another Tisha B’av. It’s remarkable how each year, without fail, we find ourselves reliving the same themes, the same messages, the same longing. But this time, I’d like to take a slightly different approach. Maybe even an upbeat one, if you’ll allow it.
I was sitting at a Shabbat meal not long ago with a dear friend of mine, a fellow rabbi and old chavrusa.
We don’t get to see each other often these days. So when we do sit down, it’s a treat. “I have to tell you something hilarious,” he said.
He had received a video clip. A husband and wife are at a fruit stand, selecting tomatoes. The wife is carefully picking them out and placing them into a bag. What she doesn’t notice, however, is that her husband, ever the quiet comedian, is standing beside her. Each time she places a tomato in the bag, he subtly reaches in, pulls it out, and then, when she goes to grab the next tomato, he proudly holds up the one she had just chosen, pretending he found it himself.
She looks at him, scrutinizes the tomato, and promptly rejects it. “No, not that one,” she says, and returns it to the pile.
Now, I’m sorry, but that’s brilliant.
There’s something so deep hidden in this silly little moment. She liked that tomato a moment ago. It met all her criteria. But the second he was the one to offer it, it was automatically disqualified. Why? Because it came from him.
Isn’t that the core of sinat chinam (baseless hatred)? The inability to accept something just because of who it comes from. It doesn’t matter what the idea is, how sound the advice, how beautiful the gesture. If you’re the one doing it, then it must be wrong.
Sometimes we behave like this in our own lives. Our child suggests an idea, but we’ve already said no in our minds before the words have even left their mouth. A co-worker offers a creative solution, and we dismiss it reflexively not based on merit, but based on who said it. A Sefardi shares a minhag with an Ashkenazi, and he tunes out. An Ashkenazi tries explaining something to a Chassid, and he shrugs. A Chabadnik tells a Belzer a vort, and the Belzer smiles politely but thinks, “Cute... but not for us.”
Why? Because the source is different. Because if I take your idea seriously, I might have to question mine. And honestly, I’m not in the mood to examine my assumptions. It’s easier to scoff than to stretch.
But the Torah tells us otherwise: “B’tzedek tishpot amitecha—Judge your fellow with righteousness.” Give them a fair shot, let them finish the sentence, hear the idea. Think about it. Not everything you didn’t come up with is automatically invalid.
Step one of loving another person is simply allowing them to speak. Step two is listening. And step three? Actually considering what they say, and not judging it based on the source, but on its substance.
And even when someone does do something wrong, are we really so quick to judge? Because if we’re being honest, we’ve all done wrong too. And yet, when we make mistakes, we offer ourselves excuses: “I was tired,” “I was under pressure,” “I didn’t mean it that way.” We speak lashon hara and later justify it as venting. We miss mincha and tell ourselves there was no parking. We click something we shouldn’t have, and tell Hashem it’s the culture, the stress, our weakness.
But when it’s someone else? We pull out the black brush and paint in bold strokes: “How could they?” “Unbelievable.” “Disgusting.” For ourselves, we write legal defenses. For others, we slam the gavel.
So here’s my plea: start appreciating the tomatoes other people pick. Even if they’re the same tomatoes you picked a minute ago. Even if you don’t like the packaging, or the presentation, or the person holding the bag.
Give others the benefit of the doubt. Give them the gift of time and space to express themselves. And when you see someone stumble, try on their shoes before you declare their path crooked. If you’d excuse yourself in that situation, then perhaps they deserve that same compassion too.
Tisha B’av isn’t just about mourning what was lost. It’s about remembering what we’re still losing each time we choose pride over empathy, prejudice over curiosity, rejection over respect.
Let’s hope we don’t have to fast this year. But if we do, may it be an easy one. But more importantly, may we learn to love a little more freely, listen a little more deeply, and judge a little more righteously.
And if someone offers you a tomato? Take it. Even if it’s not yours. Even if it’s his or hers.
