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The Night Israel's Weeping Locked the Ninth of Av

Israel wept over the spies' report and God answered: you cried for nothing tonight, so I will give you reason to cry on this night for every generation.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. Ten men came back from the land with a report soaked in fear
  2. The wrong kind of weeping
  3. A verdict from the throne
  4. What the offerings knew

Ten men came back from the land with a report soaked in fear

The spies had been gone forty days. They returned carrying a single cluster of grapes on a pole between two men, and pomegranates, and figs. The land was real. It was also, they said, impossible. Walled cities. Giants whose footprints were larger than a man. People who made the spies feel like grasshoppers by comparison.

The congregation of Israel listened to this and wept.

Numbers 14:1 records the moment with three words: the people wept that night. The rabbis who compiled Bamidbar Rabbah read those three words as a verdict on all of Jewish history.

The wrong kind of weeping

Not all weeping is equal. The rabbis heard this weeping and asked what kind it was. Reading Deuteronomy 1:27, they cracked open the word vateragenu, you grumbled, and found inside it the syllables tartem genut, you sought denigration. The people were not crying out of fear that they would fail to conquer the land. They were searching the land for something ugly to throw back at God. They wanted it to be bad. They wanted it to confirm what they had already decided: that Egypt was real and Canaan was a lie.

God called the land good. The congregation called it a grave. God had promised a gift. The people stood at the door of the gift and wept about it.

A verdict from the throne

God's answer, according to Bamidbar Rabbah 16:20, was almost quiet in its severity. "You wept a gratuitous weeping before Me," God said. "I will set for you weeping for generations."

This was not anger. It was a principle being applied. The night they had chosen for their gratuitous weeping was the ninth of Av. That night would hold weeping now, not by divine accident but by divine precision. Every Tisha B'Av after that night was not a new catastrophe added to the calendar. It was the same night, the same weeping, the same choice Israel made in the desert, playing out across centuries. The Babylonians breached the walls on Tisha B'Av. The Romans set the Temple burning on Tisha B'Av. The date was not coincidence. The date was the answer to a question Israel had already answered wrong.

What the offerings knew

A different passage in the same collection turns from collective weeping to individual approach. Numbers 15:6 commands a meal offering and a wine libation for the ram. Rabbi Tanhuma, quoting Rabbi Hanina, reads the verse the way a poet reads a line, for what it implies beyond what it states.

The offering of wine brings joy. Ecclesiastes says "eat your bread joyfully and drink your wine with a good heart, because God has already accepted your deeds." The ram brought to God after the desert years carried not only grain and wine but the entire emotional register of a person who has come through fire and is still standing. The offering meant: I am here. I survived. I bring what I have.

The people who wept on the ninth of Av in the desert were also here, also survived. They chose to bring weeping instead of an offering of gratitude, and that choice was heard.

TempleSacrificeMidrash RabbahBamidbarOfferings
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From the tradition

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The texts this telling draws on, in full. Open a card to read inline, or expand it for a wider, quieter read.

Bamidbar Rabbah 16:20Bamidbar Rabbah

The scene is set in (Numbers 14:1): “The entire congregation raised and sounded their voice and the people wept that night.” It sounds dramatic, doesn't it? But what was behind all this wailing and gnashing of teeth? It all stemmed from the report of the spies sent to scout out the Land of Israel. They came back with terrifying tales, stirring up doubt and fear in the hearts of the Israelites. And, as Bamidbar Rabbah points out, that collective cry of despair had profound consequences.

"The words of a grumbler are like blows, and they descend into the chambers of the belly," (Proverbs 18:8) tells us. The Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) connects this verse to the Israelites' reaction. Their grumbling, their negativity about the Land, became a deep-seated poison. Had they not listened to and agreed with the spies, things might have turned out very differently. But they didn't trust in God; they followed their fear.

(Deuteronomy 1:27) says, "You grumbled [vateragenu] in your tents and said." The Midrash cleverly interprets vateragenu as “you sought the denigration [tartem genut]” of the Land of Israel. They actively looked for the bad, for the negative, in what God called “a good land.” for a second. What a missed opportunity!

The consequences were severe. As (Jeremiah 12:8) says, "It has raised its voice against Me; therefore, I hated it." That collective cry of despair, that lack of faith, angered God. It led to a decree, a painful destiny for generations to come.

The prophet Isaiah also weighs in. "On the day of your planting you will flourish [tesagsegi] and in the morning your seed will blossom" (Isaiah 17:11). But the Midrash gives this a dark twist: On the very day God intended to plant them firmly in the ground, they became dross [sigim] – worthless refuse. Instead of flourishing, they withered. Their faith withered before they even faced the real challenges of conquering the Land.

“The harvest will be lost on a day of affliction" (Isaiah 17:11), continues the verse. The Midrash sees this as the day God intended to give them their ancestral inheritance, but instead, they brought disgrace upon themselves. "And acute agony" (Isaiah 17:11) refers to the calamity they bequeathed to future generations.

This brings us to the most heartbreaking part: The connection to Tisha B'Av, the ninth day of the Hebrew month of Av, a day of mourning commemorating the destruction of the First and Second Temples. The Midrash says that their gratuitous weeping on that fateful night sealed the decree. God said, "You wept a gratuitous weeping before Me, I will set it for you as weeping for the generations."

From that moment, the destruction of the Temple was decreed, leading to Israel's exile among the nations. As (Psalm 106:26)–27 laments, "He raised His hand in their regard, to cast them down in the wilderness, and to cast their offspring among the nations and to scatter them among the lands." The raising of the hand, the Midrash poignantly notes, corresponds to the raising of the voice – that initial cry of despair.

So, what's the takeaway from all this? Perhaps it’s a reminder to be mindful of the power of our words, of our collective voice. A small grumble, a seed of doubt, can grow into something devastating. And maybe, just maybe, by choosing faith over fear, hope over despair, we can avoid repeating the mistakes of the past and help build a brighter future. After all, even in the darkest of times, the possibility of flourishing always remains.

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Bamidbar Rabbah 17:2Bamidbar Rabbah

It wasn't just about following the rules, but about heart and intention. to a fascinating passage from Bamidbar Rabbah 17 and see what we can uncover.

Rabbi Tanhuma bar Abba, quoting Rabbi Hanina, brother of Rabbi Aha ben Rabbi Hanina, starts with a seemingly simple verse about offerings: "Or for a ram, you shall perform a meal offering…and wine as libation, one-third of a hin" (Numbers 15:6–7). Then, he connects it to the commandment of hallah (Numbers 15:19-20) – the portion of dough set aside as a gift to God.

Why this connection? Because, as Rabbi Hanina says, drawing on (Ecclesiastes 9:7), there's hallah "below" (on Earth) and libations "above" (offered to God). He quotes: “Go, eat your bread joyfully, and drink your wine goodheartedly, as God has already accepted your actions.”

What does it mean that God has already accepted our actions? The Midrash offers a couple of intriguing possibilities. One is that it refers to the Israelites entering the Land of Israel. After wandering in the desert for forty years, finally arriving in the Promised Land was a moment of profound acceptance and fulfillment.

But there's another, even more powerful interpretation tied to the story of Abraham and the binding of Isaac – the Akeidah.

Remember that heart-stopping moment when God tells Abraham to sacrifice his beloved son? As Ginzberg beautifully retells it in Legends of the Jews, Abraham doesn't hesitate. He rises early, takes Isaac to Mount Moriah, ready to fulfill what he believes is God's will.

After the angel intervenes and stops the sacrifice, Abraham asks God: "Master of the universe, did you say 'take, now' to me for nothing?" God responds that it was to make Abraham known throughout the world, as it says in (Genesis 18:19): “For I have known him [yedativ], so that he will command…”

Rabbi Shimon ben Yoḥai adds a layer of intensity, saying that God declared that had He asked Abraham to sacrifice his very soul, Abraham would not have delayed. The verse says, "And you did not withhold your son" (Genesis 22:12), but the Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) goes deeper. It asks, what's the meaning of "your only one [yeḥidekha]"? It's not just Isaac, but Abraham's very soul (yeḥida), as we find in (Psalms 22:21): “Rescue me from the sword, my soul [yeḥidati] from the grasp of the dog.”

Even after being told to stop, Abraham doesn't want to leave without offering something. God tells him that the offering is prepared from the six days of Creation. Abraham looks up and sees a ram. He takes it and offers it in place of his son.

But the story doesn't end there. Abraham says to God, “See it as though the blood of Isaac is sprinkled before You." He flays the ram, absorbs its blood with salt, and burns it, each time saying, "See it as though it were Isaac's..."

The Midrash offers an alternative interpretation: God says to Abraham, "As you live, your son was sacrificed first, and the ram is in his place." This is about the intention, the willingness to give everything.

At that moment, Abraham asks God to swear never to subject him to such an ordeal again. God agrees, saying, "By Myself I have taken an oath" (Genesis 22:16).

The text then makes a surprising connection to Job. It suggests that the afflictions that befell Job were meant for Abraham, but they were diverted. Instead, God tells Abraham, “Go, eat your bread joyfully…as God has already accepted your actions” (Ecclesiastes 9:7).

Finally, the Midrash offers one more interpretation, connecting the verse to Solomon. When he built the Temple and dedicated it, the people forgot to observe Yom Kippur (the Day of Atonement). The Divine Spirit emerges and says, “Go, eat your bread joyfully, and drink your wine goodheartedly, as God has already accepted your actions.”

So, what's the takeaway? This passage from Bamidbar Rabbah isn't just about offerings and sacrifices. It’s about intention, about the willingness to give everything for what you believe in. It's about God's acceptance not just of our actions, but of our hearts. And it suggests that even when we fall short, as the Israelites did during the Temple dedication, God's grace and acceptance can still prevail. What does it mean for us to offer our "whole selves" in our daily lives, even when it's difficult? That's something to chew on, isn't it?

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