I have been thinking a lot about grief. Yesterday was Tisha B’Av, the saddest day on the Jewish calendar, the day we - as a people - collectively mourn. We might have individual days of grief and mourning for our loved ones who have died, but Jewish tradition dedicated a single day each year to mourning all the losses of the Jewish people. We mourn the loss of life (Jews killed in various events / wars throughout history), but we also mourn for other reasons - we mourn for the destruction of the First and Second Temples, we mourn because the Jewish people were exiled from the land of Israel, we mourn because Jews were exiled from many other countries, etc. Tisha B’Av is a day to lean into collective grief - to mourn what was, to mourn what’s been lost, to mourn for what could have been. We look back at our history, and we weep.
A therapist told me recently that grief is a hard emotion for many people to access. When there is grief, we often turn to other emotions instead - for example, we might turn to feelings of guilt or anger. The grief is there, hidden under the surface, but the presenting emotion is something else. It’s easier to be angry than to grieve. It’s easier to feel guilty than to grieve. Because we can’t do anything about grief. We have to sit in it, sit with it, and it’s so uncomfortable for most of us that we try to avoid it altogether. We do everything we can to ignore grief, to pretend it’s not there. But it is there. And it needs to be expressed, or it can wreak havoc. Think of grief like the character of Sadness in the movie Inside Out - it may not be a ‘pleasant’ emotion, but it’s necessary. And it will tinge everything if it doesn’t get its proper attention / time at the “Control Console.” Sometimes Grief needs to be in charge.
Tisha B’Av reminds us to lean into grief. We need to mourn. On Tisha B’Av it is traditional to read the book of Lamentations, which is called “Eicha” in Hebrew. Eicha is a hard word to translate. Often translated in English as “Alas!”, it can also be “Why?!” or “How?!” or “UGH!” It’s a lament. It’s an expression of angst, of despair, of confusion, of wondering “How could this have happened?!” It’s an expression of grief. When we grieve, we cry out. You might not have had the literal experience of crying out, but it’s worth a try sometime - what does it feel like to literally cry out in pain, mourning, and grief? If you haven’t tried it before, go somewhere you feel comfortable (maybe alone?) and cry out (literally!). What comes pouring out of you? What grief / mourning are you carrying right now?
The Jewish people are holding a lot of grief these days…
Mourning the tragedies of Oct 7.
Mourning the subsequent wars in Israel, Gaza, Lebanon, Iran, and elsewhere.
Mourning the loss of allies and friends.
Mourning the Jewish community as it once was.
Mourning the sense of safety and security we used to feel as Jews in America.
Mourning our Jewish identities.
Mourning our feelings about Israel, as they keep changing and being challenged.
Mourning the political fractures and difficulties in both the US and Israel.
There is so much to mourn. And yet instead of mourning, we might have skipped mourning and gone straight to feelings of Anger. Resentment. Guilt. This week reminds us to go back to mourning. It’s time to mourn! If you didn’t observe Tisha B’Av yesterday, I encourage you to carve out some time for mourning today. Mourn as a Jew. Mourn for the Jewish people. Mourn for all the losses in the past and in the present.
And then we get to Shabbat. This Shabbat is called “Shabbat Nachamu,” which means “Shabbat of Comfort.” It is named for the opening words of the Haftarah portion from the Book of Isaiah: “Nachamu, nachamu ami” (Comfort, comfort my people!”). This Shabbat begins a seven-week period of consolation leading up to Rosh Hashanah. From the depths of our grief, we move into comfort and consolation. We rebuild from the desolation and devastation, bit by bit. Rebuilding after loss is not easy. It takes time and it takes effort. But we can do it. We do it every year spiritually when we move from Tisha B’Av to Rosh Hashanah. And these holidays remind us that we can do it in the world, too. We can move from our mourning to building a new reality. We can start fresh. We can rebuild relationships. We can rebuild identities. We can rebuild countries. We can rebuild trust. We have done it before, and we will do it again. The story of the Jewish people is a story of loss and devastation, but it’s also a story of determination, hope, and renewal.
May this Shabbat of Comfort remind us not to overlook grief. May we step deeply into grief, and then, when we’re ready, start the slow process of comfort, of consolation, of rebuilding.
Shabbat shalom.
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