Mishneh Torah, Fasts 5

Hook

"Zion will be plowed like a field"—a sentence that echoes across centuries, transforming the dry soil of history into a living, breathing landscape of memory that we carry within our very own hearts.

Context

• Place: The Sephardi and Mizrahi experience spans the vast geography of the Mediterranean, North Africa, and the Middle East. While Rambam (Maimonides) wrote this Mishneh Torah in the heart of the Islamic world (Egypt), his codification of these fasts became the bedrock for communities from the Atlas Mountains to the bustling ports of Salonica and the ancient alleyways of Baghdad.
• Era: Compiled in the 12th century, Rambam’s work serves as the bridge between the Talmudic period and the later, more expansive Shulchan Aruch era. It represents the height of medieval legal clarity, distilling the chaotic, painful history of the Jewish people into a structured cycle of national reflection.
• Community: For Sephardi and Mizrahi Jews, these fasts were not merely academic exercises in historical recollection. They were—and remain—integral to the community's identity. In these traditions, the destruction of the Temple is not a past-tense event; it is a current reality that informs the way we eat, the way we marry, and the way we build our homes, keeping the "memory of Jerusalem" at the center of domestic life.

Text Snapshot

"There are days when the entire Jewish people fast because of the calamities that occurred to them then, to arouse their hearts and initiate them in the paths of repentance. This will serve as a reminder of our wicked conduct and that of our ancestors... By reminding ourselves of these matters, we will repent and improve our conduct...

On the Ninth of Av, five tragedies occurred: It was decreed that the Jews in the desert would not enter Eretz Yisrael; the First and the Second Temples were destroyed; a large city named Betar was captured; and Tineius Rufus plowed the site of the Temple and its surroundings."

Minhag/Melody

The Sephardi and Mizrahi approach to the fasts, particularly Tish'ah B'Av, is characterized by a "living mourning" (evel). In these communities, the tragedy is not just recited; it is performed. The piyut tradition serves as the heartbeat of this observance. For instance, the haunting melodies of the Kinnot (lamentations) in the Sephardi rite often utilize maqam modes that evoke deep sorrow and yearning, such as Maqam Hijaz or Saba. These scales are not merely musical choices; they are visceral triggers that transport the congregant into the emotional space of the exile.

When Rambam notes that we should sit "worried, forlorn, and in tears, as one whose dead was lying before him," he is describing the Sephardi ideal of Teshuvah through emotional vulnerability. In many Mizrahi synagogues, the floor of the sanctuary is covered with mats or cushions, and the lights are dimmed to near-total darkness, mimicking the physical state of the mourner.

The piyut "Eli Tziyon V'Areha" is perhaps the most iconic expression of this. While it is sung globally, the Sephardi tradition often delivers it with a rhythmic, pulsing intensity that underscores the immediacy of the loss. The melody acts as a bridge between the historical destruction and the current desire for redemption. It is not a passive listening experience; the entire congregation participates in the vocal expression of grief.

Furthermore, the Sephardi practice of Midrash on Tish'ah B'Av often focuses on the Aggadic works that describe the agony of the Sages. The Ohr Sameach commentary provides a fascinating window into this, noting the nuances of the Jerusalem Talmud regarding how the mourning period shifts in intensity as the day progresses. For the Sephardi/Mizrahi practitioner, the day is divided into distinct "waves" of grief—the evening service, the morning recitation of Kinnot, and the afternoon shift toward the hope of Nechamah (comfort). This structured progression ensures that the community is not simply "suffering" but is actively moving through a process of spiritual transformation. The melodies used for the Kinnot vary by region—the Moroccan Kinnot have a distinct, rapid-fire cadence compared to the slower, more meditative tones of the Iraqi tradition—yet they all share the fundamental goal: to make the heart "cleave" to the memory of the loss, as promised in the Psalms.

Contrast

A respectful point of divergence exists between the Sephardi/Mizrahi custom and the Ashkenazic custom regarding the "Three Weeks" and the "Nine Days." While Rambam, in his strict codification, focuses primarily on the formal restrictions of the day of the fast itself, many Ashkenazic communities adopted a broader, more progressive set of mourning restrictions starting from the 17th of Tammuz.

Sephardi and Mizrahi minhag tends to be more "targeted" in its mourning. In many Sephardi homes, the restrictions on meat and wine, for example, are often limited to the week in which Tish'ah B'Av falls, or specifically the days immediately preceding the fast. This is not because the loss is felt any less deeply, but because there is a strong emphasis on maintaining the sanctity of the Sabbath and the joy of the intervening days. The Sephardi tradition often views the "Nine Days" as a cumulative process, whereas the Ashkenazic tradition often views them as a singular, extended period of formal mourning. Both are deeply rooted in the desire to honor the memory of the Temple; one emphasizes the sustained, extended atmosphere of mourning, while the other emphasizes the intensity of the specific days of mourning, preserving the "joy of the living" until the final, necessary descent into the sorrow of the fast.

Home Practice

To bring this tradition into your own life in a small, meaningful way, adopt the practice of "creating a space of memory." Rambam mentions the custom of leaving a space in one’s home unpainted or undecorated to remember the destruction of Jerusalem. You don't need to leave a patch of your wall unpainted, but you can designate one small, physical space in your home—perhaps a shelf or a specific corner of a room—where you place a small stone from Jerusalem, a picture of the Old City, or a copy of the Kinnot. Whenever you pass this spot, take a brief moment to reflect on the concept of "unfulfilled wholeness." It is a daily, quiet reminder that our world is still a work-in-progress, and that our actions—our "truth and peace"—are the building blocks of the future redemption.

Takeaway

The fasts are not meant to be a permanent state of despair, but a mechanism for transformation. As Rambam so beautifully concludes, these days of "retribution" are destined to be transformed into days of "happiness and celebration." By mourning with intention, by engaging with our history through piyut and minhag, and by keeping the memory of Jerusalem alive in our daily lives, we are not just looking back; we are actively preparing for the day when our fasts will become our festivals.