Tisha Ba'av

You know that day after Tisha Ba'av feeling; you're hung over from the fast, dehydrated, tentative about letting go of all the sadness and heaviness of the last three weeks, and maybe even relieved that it's over.

I remember last year, I woke up in the morning after feeling a light sense that maybe I could breathe again, but then got smacked down by the reality of the painful summer we had. I think we all carried that heaviness forward into an even more challenging fall and holiday season.

Now, after almost two years, Tisha Ba'av felt different.

With the balance of being attuned to national and international struggles, and also being a real person with a real personal life, like work, friends, family, and my own wellbeing to consider, I felt differently about yesterday than I ever had before.

Last year, I was sure that we were on the cusp of something messianic; Iran was threatening us, there was a massive earthquake there, there was international intrigue, and I truly entertained the thought that it would be our last Tisha Ba'av. I felt so hopeful that something massive was about to change.

It didn't.

When Tisha Ba'av came around again yesterday, it felt different. It was not a day of anticipation or hopefulness. The day met me where I already was. It was like shiva for people and a situation we've been mourning for a long time.

So instead of my daily effort of balancing what's happening to me vs what is happening around me, I just let it go.

Instead of trying to keep myself buoyant and productive, functional and even-keeled, I just let the energies of the day envelop me.

I cried through Eicha. I cried through my writing. I lay in bed, fasting, curled up, thinking about everything I don't usually let myself think about, so that I can stay functional day to day.

I didn't need the "inspirational" films about the past or present Jewish traumas to "get me in the headspace."

I've been living in that headspace.

I think many of us in Israel and around the world, have been there for a long, long time.

I felt permission to fall apart if I needed to.

Or sit in the sadness of it all; all we've experienced as a people, all that's happening to us now. All we are afraid of for the future.

It's so heavy.

Today, there isn't much relief, and I feel like I'm gasping for air again.

I'm a bit older and wiser than I was last year, and I know the power of a moment of reprieve. It looks different every time, and yet we need to take them for our own sanity.

I know I can't untether myself from what's happening. I don't even want to. I can't really see myself running away to a deserted island and eating coconuts for a month, pretending that it's all over.

But I will grab little moments if I can find them, to nurture myself and my family, spend time with friends. Enjoy this precious land we were given.

I know that in order for me to be well, I need to get back into balance. We're not here only to witness or partake in suffering. There is work to do. To be present, we need to take deep breaths and connect with what we need to keep going.

We learned a long time ago that this is a marathon and not a sprint.

But it's more than that.

Am Yisrael Chai- we are alive. We need to bring our hostages home. We need to advocate. We need to pray. We need to end this w*r.

But we need to live, too.

Wishing you all sunsets and smiles, laughter and full lungs, gentleness and good news, as we live through this unfathomable reality.