Message from Job's Cave

Hello from Job's Cave — a tiny and lesser known pilgrimage site on the northern shores of the Sea of Galilee, beloved by Christian pilgrims and Local Druze who all believe that this is the cave where Job healed from his skin ailment after bathing in the nearby spring and secret waterfall.

As many sacred sites in this hurting holy land goes - this is likely mere myth, more fiction than fact - but a beautiful spot to stop at, on an auspicious day that also has meaning for me and for many of us.

Today, I’m drawn to the profound resonance between the story of Job, today’s minor fast day of the Tenth of Tevet, and our collective struggles with suffering and justice. Job, the timeless figure of anguish, asks questions that echo through the ages: Why do the righteous suffer? Where is God’s justice in the face of innocent pain? These questions feel particularly urgent today, on the Tenth of Tevet, a day of fasting and mourning for the first destruction of Jerusalem and the beginning of exile - 2,800 years ago.

Tradition teaches that this fast commemorates the siege of Jerusalem by Babylon—a moment when hope was shattered, and lives, especially the lives of children, were consumed by the fires of war. Job’s lament and the memory of this destruction converge, offering us a mirror to reflect on the tragedies of our own time. In the 1950’s the young state of Israel declared this to be the day of the general kaddish - mourning for all those who perished in the Holocaust but have no date of death or known grave or marker. That includes my father’s parents, brother, and many other relatives. We always light memorial candles on this day and recite the mourner prayer.

Elie Wiesel, who was liberated from Buchenwald Camp in Germany along with my father, often reminded us that silence in the face of suffering is complicity.

Rabbi Yitz Greenberg, may he live long and healthy - deepened this challenge with his searing words that we reflected on earlier this week on our Below the Bible Belt journey

“No statement, theological or otherwise, should be made that would not be credible in the presence of burning children.”

It’s a heartbreaking call to honest, unflinching reflection—a reminder that faith must grapple with reality, not evade it.

Here, in this ancient cave where tradition says Job once sought refuge, I am reminded of the courage it takes to confront suffering without cheap answers or empty platitudes.

Job’s friends failed him by trying to justify his pain with tidy theologies. The Tenth of Tevet warns us against such national failures in the face of human devastation.

The horror that continue to ravage this land - to the north and south, impacting so many innocents who just want to make it through another day - demands of us to pay attention to the ways we fall short of empathy and compassion, action for change and determination to dream bigger and better for this region - and for all on this earth.

On this day, in this cave, even in mourning, we can find hope.

Job, broken as he was, never lost his voice. He dared to challenge God and demand answers. The Tenth of Tevet, though steeped in sorrow, also calls us to resilience, to rebuild from the ashes, to kindle light in the darkness.

As I stand in this cave, I think of our shared responsibility: to bear witness, to respond with compassion, and to build a world where the cries of suffering children are met not with silence, but with sight, and with care, with justice and love.

Like Job, we refuse to surrender to despair. We can insist on hope, on repair, and on the promise of a brighter tomorrow.

May our mourning lead to healing, and may we find the strength to turn lament into action.

Thank you for joining me below the Bible Belt.

Shabbat Shalom