From Mourning to Morning

Yesterday I had a good cry. I used the day to reflect on what we have lost, what we have never known, where we are now, and the possible reasons we have yet to be redeemed. Sometimes I felt sad. Sometimes I felt angry. Sometimes I felt frustrated. But in the end, I felt hope.

In Eicha, we relive the horrors of what happened to us, all those years ago. This year, I decided to read along in the Megillah, using the English translation so that I could fully grasp the gravity of what was, allowing the pain to enter my heart. I sat on my living room floor, watching the masked men ( via zoom) take turns, reading the Megillah in lamenting tones, and really felt like I was at the bottom of despair. But then we came to the last line of the Megillah. The one that we all say in unison,

השיבנו ה אלך ונשובה חדש ימינו כקדם

“Bring us back to you Hashem, and we shall return, renew our days of old.”

It was at that moment where I began to cry. For Hashem is everything. We have angered him. We have disappointed him. We have caused him to kick us out into Galut and have not yet merited to return home. But He remains our father. And He still loves us. We rely on him and we need Him. And we still ask Him for forgiveness.

This is the relationship between a father and His children. Unconditional love. Hashem sees our pain and suffering. And He cries along with us, wanting us to return, if only we desire it and show Him.

Yesterday I reflected on my Tisha B’av from last year. One where I was lucky enough to spend it as close to Hashem as I could get. At the kotel, our remaining wall that surrounded the temple, the one that beckons to us from its age old stones. The stones that warm your soul the minute you touch them. I sat there on the plaza floor, marveling at the amount of people who make the trip in the heat, without food or water, fighting the crowds to be amongst them in unity- a family longing to be together amidst the presence of their father. I closed my eyes and I listened to the songs being sung from the heart, the prayers and the cries that surely reached the heavens. And when it was over, I felt lighter, rejuvenated and proud. Our nation is absolutely spectacular. We have been attacked and struck down, yet here we still remain. And we will continue to remain, for that was Hashem’s promise, and He will not go back on His word.

I couldn’t help but notice the stark contrast from last year to this year, watching the kotel and its barriers, only allowing a select few to to touch that wall, connect to its power. How lonely the kotel must feel. The ancient stones miss our touch and our presence and long for it once again. We ache to be there.

Last night I realized, that throughout the day, as I listened to various speakers discussing what Tisha B’av is all about, what the current situation means for all of us, and what we need to do to finally bring the Geulah, I made mental notes to myself on ways to improve, how to change for the better, so that we can show Hashem we mean it this time. Tomorrow we will read the words of the Parsha that are meant to console our nation.

-נחמו נחמו עמי

Don’t worry, Hashem reminds us. I am still here, and I will always be here. Let your guard down, uncloud your eyes and start listening to your soul. Follow it, for through that path, you will reach me, and I will take you home.

Let us take the pain and the passion, the despair and the hope, along with the new resolutions and promises we made, and make them a reality. Let Hashem take us home. It is time for us to turn our mourning into morning.