As we approach Tisha B'Av (which begins Saturday evening), I'm thinking about what it means to rise up from the depths. The yearly commemoration of the Temples' destruction and other tragedies feels particularly potent this year not only for our Jewish people but universally as well with a rise in antisemitism and hate crimes against other communities, continued racial injustice, a war in Gaza, unending gun violence, the collapse of the condo in Surfside, Florida, continually emerging variants of Covid-19 and unrelenting illness of so many. Even in
the summer sunshine, the weight of our world could be too much to bear. For some, it is. Tisha B'Av reminds us that we can rise from the ashes and devastation and destruction can birth new practices and foster potential. Because darkness is the absence of light, we are called to imagine what light can emerge from darkness. Let's call this, hope.
How does one cultivate hope in the face of darkness? I turned to traditional and living, breathing texts to understand this question. Eicha/Lamentations which we read on Tisha B'Av reminds us, yitayn be'afar pihu ooleye yesh tikvah/let him put his mouth to the dust - there may still be hope (Eicha 3:29). Spanish commentator Ibn Ezra understands let him put his mouth to the dust to mean that one should bow down until your mouth touches the ground. Humble yourself and go to the place from where you came, the dust. Maybe there, in the quiet of creation you will find hope.
Many years ago, I miscarried a pregnancy. At one point, I thought I would die. This is not hyperbole. I called a friend at 4 am to assure me I would not bleed to death (the Jewish community should speak more about miscarriage. That is for another email). Within the devastation, I found myself as if in the eye of a tornado. With the unknown swirling around me, I landed in a place that felt safe. In the midst of darkness, I found hope. Sometimes we have to sit in the darkest place to make space for the light of hope to emerge.
While we experience life in our own unique way, much of what we encounter is not unique. Others have walked the same or similar path in their own shoes. A dear friend notes notes that we cultivate hope by looking forward and seeing that there is precedent in the past. Practice lifting your eyes and your heart while reaching behind to acknowledge what came before. For those open to embodied practice, move into Warrior Two, strengthening your stance, looking forward and reaching back.
A good friend moving through cancer treatment wisely counsels to share your journey because people care. Everyone benefits from being cared for and having someone/something to care about. Putting ourselves in relationship with others cultivates hope as we find people we barely know will invest in our wellbeing. Stepping forward to engage with others makes us feel seen and loved and builds resilience.
As we approach Tisha B'Av, know that we can find hope in even the darkest of places. Sitting in silence, recognizing our pain, fixing our eyes on the future as part of an unfolding story and sharing your experiences with others all cultivate hope. These days, hope is a necessity. Know your community is here to help with these practices.
This week, I was privileged to learn with master teacher Melila Hellner Eshed at the Shalom Hartman Institute online. Join me this Shabbat (Shaharit begins at 9:30 am. Register here) as we unpack a beautiful poem about the Dawning of Hope.
Those coming to shul this Friday night should enjoy a slightly shorter service as no d'var torah on this erev erev Tisha B'Av. Use the extra moments at your shabbat dinner to share an expression of gratitude. This too can cultivate hope.
Shabbat Shalom rg
Congregation Habonim 103 West End Ave New York, NY 10023
