Simon Jacob explores why Jewish tradition forbids wine and meat before Tisha B'Av, tracing the halacha from the Mishnah through the Shulchan Aruch. He connects this to 1,500-year-old grape seeds found at Avdat in the Negev, evidence of a desert wine culture that disappeared after the Muslim conquest, and shows how biblical agricultural laws like orlah and kilayim carry spiritual meaning about patience and identity.
Welcome to The Kosher Teruah. I'm Simon Jacob, your host for this episode from Jerusalem. Before we get started, I ask that wherever you are, please take a moment and pray for the safety of our soldiers and the safe return of all of our hostages. There is a time to plant and a time to uproot what is planted. Kohelet, Ecclesiastes. Welcome back to the Kosher Terroir, where wine is more than just a beverage. It's history, halacha, heart, and heritage. As we enter the solemn days that lead up to Tisha B'Av, the 9th of Av, we find ourselves not just reflecting, but mourning. Mourning the destruction of two Temples, mourning exile, mourning disconnection from Kadosh Baruch Hu, from Hashem, God. And intriguingly, Jewish tradition calls on us to express that mourning through our food and drink, or rather, through what we refrain from eating and drinking. Meat and wine, the celebratory pair, become off-limits during the days before Tisha B'Av. But why? What does wine, so often associated with joy and holiness, have to do with mourning? If you're driving in your car, please focus on the road ahead. If you're home and it's your custom to refrain from drinking wine, please do so. And I look forward, again after Tishabav next week, to share and enjoy wine together. More surprisingly, what do ancient grape seeds discovered in the Negev Desert by Israeli archaeologists and halachic prohibitions like orlah and kilayim, not mixing species, have to teach us about destruction and renewal, even in today's vineyards. This episode weaves together these stories—of restriction, of remembrance, and of resilience—to show how halacha, history, and terroir converge in one of the most sacred and somber seasons on the Jewish calendar. Why no wine or meat? Let's begin with halacha. The Mishnah in Taanit sets the foundation. When the month of Av begins, we decrease in joy. The Shulchan Aruch, or Chaim, lists customs to express this, including refraining from building, laundering, bathing, and from eating meat or drinking wine. But when exactly do we abstain? Many Sefaradim only abstain during the week in which Tisha B'Av falls, the Shavuos Shechalbo. Ashkenazim abstain from Rosh Chodesh Av, the beginning of the month. And some Hasidim and Kabbalists abstain even from the 17th of Tammuz. Marking the breach of Jerusalem's walls. Why meat and wine? The Gemara in Pesachim, and later Rashi, connects wine and meat to the Temple service. Sacrifices were accompanied by wine libations and meat from offerings. With the loss of the Temple, we symbolically lose the joy they represent. Rav Soloveitchik famously taught that refraining from these foods isn't just about grief; it's about yearning. By not drinking wine, we underscore that we lack true simcha. We await the day when wine will again be poured in holy vessels and meat will again come from sacrifices of peace. Recently, Israeli archaeologists uncovered grape pips seeds in Avdat, an ancient Nabataean and later Byzantine outpost in the Negev. The seeds date back 1,500 years, suggesting not only wine production but a thriving desert viticulture. It's hard to overstate the significance. These were people growing grapes and making wine in the desert. They carved out terraces, channeled water through clever irrigation, and cultivated vines under a brutal sun. Shivta, Halutza, and Nitzana— entire settlements supported the wine industry. Professor Guy Bar-Oz of the University of Haifa called it a desert wine culture, a culture built with the sweat, of ingenuity, and perhaps with faith. Because to plant grapes in the desert is to believe in the possibility of a harvest not yet seen. So what happened? The wine economy vanished after Muslim conquest, when the consumption of wine fell out of religious and cultural favor. The vineyards were lost, the knowledge was buried, and only now, literally, are we unearthing it. The halachic thread continues in the vineyard. The Torah tells us in Vayikra that fruit from newly planted trees are forbidden for the first 3 years. This is orlah. Grapes are included. What does this teach? That it's not just agricultural patience. It's spiritual timing. You don't rush holiness. The first 3 years are a type of sanctified restraint. Only in the 4th year is the fruit permitted, and even then, in the times of the Temple, it was brought to Jerusalem as netar havai. In a world where we want quick returns, Orla says, wait, let things root, let them deepen, let them be worthy. In Devarim, we are warned, you shall not sow your vineyard with two kinds of seed. This is kilayim, the prohibition against mixing species. It's deeply symbolic. Each species Halacha teaches has a role. Mixing grapevines with other crops blurs boundaries. Rav Kook saw in Kilayim a message about preserving identity, about respecting distinctions in a world that too easily muddles them. Today, even modern viticulturists must navigate this. Israeli kosher vineyards must be planted with careful separation, not just for halachic reasons, but to uphold a deeper value: integrity of creation. Let me share a story. A few years ago, a young Israeli winemaker stood at his new vineyard in the Judean hills. He had planted vines but couldn't yet harvest, as it was still orlah. A secular friend asked him, "Why wait? No one will know." The winemaker answered, "This vineyard is my temple, these grapes are my offerings, and halacha is my priest." What a powerful image. In the absence of the Beit HaMikdash, the vineyard becomes a mikdash ma'at, a small sanctuary. and every choice, even when no one is looking, becomes a prayer. Today we explored the halachic customs around abstaining from wine and meat during the days before Tisha B'Av, reflecting loss and spiritual longing. The ancient vineyards of the Negev, rediscovered beneath centuries of sand, a story of of resilience and forgotten wine culture. The laws of orlah and kilayim, which embedded sacred boundaries and patience into the very soil of Jewish agriculture. Together they form a mosaic of discipline, devotion, and hope. As we approach the 9th of Av, we remember not only what we've lost, but what might be rebuilt. Vineyards may lie fallow, the Temple may be destroyed, but beneath the dust, seeds remain. And just like those ancient pips, seeds, discovered at Avdat, all it takes is care, halacha, and time, and something long dormant may once again bear fruit. May we merit to drink soon from the wine of redemption, pouring not in mourning but in joy. This has been the Kosher Teruah. I'm your host, Simon Jacob. And until next time, L'Chaim, even as we wait to say it fully. This is Simon Jacob again, your host of today's episode of The Kosher Teruah. I have a personal request. No matter where you are or where you live, please take a moment to pray for our soldiers' safety and the safe and rapid return of our hostages. Please subscribe via your podcast provider to be informed of our new episodes as they are released. If you are new to the Kosher Terroir, please check out our many past episodes.
