It might be worthwhile to reexamine some mourning practices
There is a well-known legend about Napoleon and Tishah B’Av. It’s told in a few different ways, but as commonly recited, Napoleon visits a synagogue on Tishah B’Av and is puzzled by all the Jews sitting on the floor and mourning. After examining the kinnos, Napoleon concludes that if the Jewish People are still mourning their Temple after more than 1,700 years, a people so connected to their history and values will surely one day see their Temple rebuilt.
It’s unlikely that this tale is historically accurate (although my dear friend and autodidact historian Shimon Steinmetz has uncovered that such a story was already well-known in the late 1800s). Still, the message resonates. We are indeed mourning the Beis Hamikdash after all these years, and that certainly is a testament to our collective connection to our eternal home. After so many centuries of mourning, though some accommodations have crept in to help the Jewish People cope. While they’re all designed to preserve the same memory, it might be worthwhile to reexamine some of our mourning practices.
I don’t know how widespread this custom is, but I remember when I first visited the Kosel in high school, a few of the guys decided they would circumvent the need to tear kri’ah by switching shirts with their friends. More recently, I have even seen special shirts advertised to wear to the Kosel in order to be torn. Jews of the world, I know you love your Charles Tyrwhitt shirts, but is this how far we’ve gone in order to avoid tearing them? If you’re willing to continue purchasing the extra-slim-fit shirts that haven’t fit since your second year of beis medrash, you should be willing to tear your shirt at the Kosel. As it is, your buttons are hanging on for dear life. If you can risk your buttons for the sake of feeling extra-slim fit, you can sacrifice a shirt for the Beis Hamikdash.
Most of my recent visits to the Kosel have been with the incredible NCSY Kollel summer program. Each year, hundreds of high school boys visit the Kosel. Some tear, some switch, some rely on leniencies. But every year I’m moved by the same sight: Rav Hershel Schachter and Rav Zvi Sobolofsky, roshei kollel of the NCSY Kollel, spend the rest of their day after visiting the Kosel with torn shirts. No gimmicks, no shortcuts. Great people know how to mourn.
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