Today is the 17th of Tammuz, a minor fast day in the Jewish world. It commemorates the breeching of the walls of Jerusalem in the Second Temple period which led to the destruction of the Second Temple and the exile of our people. It also marks the date we understand Moshe smashed the tablets with the ten commandments following the sin of the golden calf. The 17th of Tammuz begins a period of mourning in the Jewish world called the three weeks. It’s a time during which we hold no celebrations, we don’t shave or get haircuts, and we aim to reduce our joy. This grief will intensify when the month of Av begins and we embark on the Nine Days of Av. All of this will culminate with the observance of the 25-hour fast on Tisha B’Av on July 26 and 27.
For years I’ve extolled the greatness of our people having a national day of mourning. In fact, it’s amazing and helpful to have it. The issue with this time of the year is we’re being asked to grieve that which we’ve never known or experienced. Some of us are being asked to be sad for the loss of something that we don’t necessarily long to bring back. To grieve means to have had an emotional attachment to something or someone. We grieve the loss of dreams because they were deeply longed for in our hearts. We grieve the loss of relationships because they were connected to our souls. We grieve the loss of pets because they were there for us and bonded with us. We grieve when tragedies and disasters occur because they shake our security and our false sense of indestructibility. We grieve when people we love die for all the reasons above. Each of these “griefs” are experienced because of personal connections, and are, to a greater or lesser extent, tangible. We can wrap our brains around these “griefs.”
In the 21st century, we struggle with grief. We struggle with allowing ourselves to feel vulnerable and experience pain. We struggle with the hurt and sadness that encompasses our lives. We struggle, and because of that struggle, we often deny anything is wrong with us or our world. We, as a people, need to learn to embrace the grief that’s staring back at us. We need to learn not to bury it because it’s uncomfortable, but to expose it because it burns and hurts. Nothing good has ever come from delayed or hidden grief. Nothing good has ever happened from denying the reality we live in each day.
I’ve taught many classes and given many sermons on grief over the years. I’ve counseled and been with people in the most awful moments of their lives. All of these involved sympathy but not empathy. Sympathy is about understanding someone else’s emotions from one’s own perspective. Empathy on the other hand involves feeling what someone else is feeling. I never fully empathized with someone who experienced the death of a loved one because I had never been a mourner. Now that I have, I understand myself and my grief for the death of my father. I appreciate how I feel and I can begin to imagine how others feel in similar circumstances. However, since no two “griefs” are the same, empathy has its limits.
We all have experiences and connections that cause us to view the world through the lens we do. We all have our individual wiring that shades how we see the world. No two people are the same. No two deaths are the same. No two experiences are the same. This is why I don’t say to people “I know how you feel.” I’ve always said something to the effect of “I cannot begin to imagine how you feel.” Now that I’ve experienced this loss up close and personal, I can say “I can only begin to imagine how you feel.”
This Jewish day/period of mourning is essential to the Jewish experience of the world. It’s essential to our communal experience and history. It’s essential to feel the pain and hurt our people have experienced over thousands of years. Each of us needs to confront this pain and to recognize that each and every Jew is unique and will mourn and grieve differently. Our different backgrounds and education will cause us to mourn the loss of the Temple and all other Jewish tragedies in different ways.
Shabbat Shalom, Rabbi Hearshen
Candlelighting time on July 7 is 8:33 pm. There will be no Zoom services this week.
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