July 23, 2026|ט' אב ה' אלפים תשפ"ו The Illusion of Victory: Titus, the Arch of Rome, and the Enduring Jewish Story By Rabbi Jonathan Muskat

Zohran Mamdani recently declared that, if elected mayor of New York City, he would seek to have Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu arrested if he came to New York, relying on the International Criminal Court’s arrest warrant. Whether he has the legal authority to do so is highly doubtful. The United States does not recognize the ICC’s jurisdiction over Israeli officials, and legal experts have questioned whether a mayor has the authority to direct such an arrest.

But the legal questions are not what struck me most.

What struck me was the assumption behind the statement.

There is something deeply symbolic about declaring that the leader of the Jewish state should be handcuffed in New York City. It reflects more than disagreement with a particular Israeli policy or government. It reflects the belief that through public humiliation, political isolation, and delegitimization, one can somehow alter the Jewish story itself.

That idea is not new.

It is the same illusion that Titus embraced nearly two thousand years ago.

The comparison to Titus is not that Mamdani possesses Titus’s power or that his actions resemble the destruction of the Mikdash. Titus was responsible for the destruction of the Beit HaMikdash, unimaginable bloodshed, and one of the greatest tragedies in Jewish history. The comparison is about something deeper: a recurring misunderstanding of Jewish history – the belief that external forces can determine the meaning and future of the Jewish people.

Throughout history, there have been those who believed that Jewish legitimacy could be weakened through humiliation, that Jewish sovereignty could be erased through political defeat, and that the Jewish story could be rewritten by those who opposed us.

Titus believed exactly that.

Titus understood that the Beit HaMikdash was not merely a building. It was the heart of Jewish existence. It represented God's presence in the world, the covenant between God and Israel, and the spiritual foundation of the Jewish people.

Therefore, Titus was not satisfied with a military victory over Jerusalem. He wanted to communicate something far greater than "Rome has won a battle."

His message was:

"The Jewish people have been defeated. Their God has abandoned them. Their covenant has ended. Their story is over."

He entered the Kodesh HaKodashim convinced that he had accomplished what no one before him had done. He desecrated the holiest place on earth, carried the sacred vessels of the Beit HaMikdash back to Rome, and immortalized his triumph on the Arch of Titus.

But the most famous image on that arch reveals what Titus truly believed he had accomplished.

It is not simply an image of Roman soldiers celebrating victory.

It is the menorah of the Beit HaMikdash being carried away by Roman soldiers.

Titus understood that the menorah represented far more than a golden object. It represented Jewish identity, divine presence, and the covenant between God and Israel.

The message of the arch was not merely:

"Rome defeated Jerusalem."

The message was:

"The symbol of Jewish holiness has been removed. The center of Jewish spiritual life has been taken away. The Jewish story has ended."

Titus built that arch so that future generations would remember his victory forever.

But Chazal tell us something remarkable.

The Gemara’s focus is not Titus’s military brilliance or Rome’s power. Instead, after describing Titus’s desecration of the Kodesh HaKodashim, Chazal turn to a theological question:

How could God allow such blasphemy and destruction to occur?

"Mi kamocha chasin kah" — "Who is mighty like You, God?"

Abba Chanan explains:

Who is like You, who hears the insults and blasphemies of the wicked and remains silent?

The question of Chazal is not:

"How powerful was Titus?"

The question is:

"Why was God silent?"

Because Titus misunderstood the nature of Jewish history.

He thought the story was about him.

He thought Rome’s power determined Israel’s future.

He thought the Arch of Titus would be the final word.

He was wrong.

God knew the story was about us.

The Nefesh HaChaim explains that Titus did not destroy the Mikdash because he possessed the power to do so. He was able to destroy only what had already been weakened spiritually. The Churban was ultimately not Rome’s achievement. It was Israel’s tragedy.

This does not absolve Rome of responsibility. Titus was still a conqueror and a destroyer. But Torah teaches us that historical events are never merely political events. The physical destruction of the Mikdash reflected a deeper spiritual reality within Israel.

And that difficult lesson is also a source of hope.

Because if spiritual failure contributed to destruction, then spiritual renewal can contribute to redemption.

But Chazal do not end the story of Titus with the destruction of the Mikdash.

They continue with the story of his downfall.

After Titus leaves Jerusalem, he believes he has discovered the limits of God’s power. When a storm threatens to drown him at sea, he mocks God and concludes that perhaps God’s strength exists only over water.

"If God is truly powerful," he challenges, "let Him come onto dry land and fight me there."

The Gemara responds with one of the most powerful images in all of Chazal.

God does not send an army.

God does not send an angel.

God sends a mosquito.

A tiny creature enters Titus’s body and torments him for seven years until his death.

The message is not about the physical mosquito.

Chazal are teaching us something profound about the nature of power.

Titus believed he was the author of history. He believed his armies, his empire, and his destruction of Jerusalem gave him control over the destiny of the Jewish people.

But Chazal teach the opposite.

Titus was never the author.

He was an instrument within a Divine story far greater than his own ambitions.

The man who believed he had conquered the God of Israel was ultimately humbled by the smallest creature in God's creation.

Titus believed power came from armies.

Chazal remind us that all human power is temporary.

The Roman Empire could destroy the Beit HaMikdash.

It could not destroy the covenant.

It could remove the vessels of the Mikdash.

It could not remove God’s presence from the world.

It could build an arch celebrating victory.

It could not control the meaning of history.

And that is the lesson we must remember on Tisha B’Av.

The Arch of Titus still stands.

But so do the Jewish people.

The Roman Empire is gone.

The covenant remains.

The monument that was intended to demonstrate the end of Jewish history has instead become one of history’s greatest witnesses to Jewish endurance.

Those who seek to delegitimize Israel today make the same fundamental mistake Titus made. They believe that political power determines historical truth – that those who control institutions, governments, or public opinion can ultimately decide the legitimacy and future of the Jewish people.

Jewish history teaches otherwise.

The question has never ultimately been:

"What will they do to us?"

The question has always been:

"What will we become?"

Will we become more divided or more united?

Will we become more cynical or more faithful?

Will we allow hatred to define us, or will we deepen our commitment to Torah, mitzvot, kindness, and responsibility for one another?

We must take political threats seriously. We must advocate for Israel, support her security, and speak out against antisemitism and efforts to delegitimize the Jewish state.

But Tisha B’Av reminds us that our ultimate confidence has never rested on emperors, politicians, courts, or mayors.

It rests on something deeper.

The future of the Jewish people is shaped most profoundly not by those who oppose us, but by how we respond before God.

Titus believed he could erase the Jewish story.

History proved him wrong.

The Jewish story is not written by those who seek to destroy us. It is written by our faithfulness, our courage, our commitment to one another, and our willingness to become the people God calls us to be.

The enduring question of Jewish history has never been:

"Can they defeat us?"

The enduring question is:

Will we become the people God calls us to be?

Because that – not their hostility, not their accusations, and not their attempts to redefine us—is what ultimately determines our future.