“They tried to kill us; we persevered; let’s eat!" my rabbi said with a wink. Even in a congregation that centers Jewish joy, there’s no escaping the terrors of the past, the thousands of years of persecution that Jewish people have been subjected to around the world.

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Still, that pithy aphorism makes me cringe. As a longtime co-leader of my synagogue’s Rosh Chodesh group, a monthly Jewish women’s holiday celebrating the arrival of a new moon, I plan and facilitate celebrations, study sessions, and activities. Based on my years of cycling through the Jewish calendar, I suggest an alternative saying:

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Let us recall the terrible and wonderful things that have happened. Despite tremendous losses, there’s almost always something to celebrate. Let us toast to life: L’chaim!

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Each month of the Hebrew calendar is associated with specific events, themes, and vibes. Take, for example, the month of Av, which corresponds to July or August on our secular calendar. 

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Av recalls the destruction of the First Temple in 586 BCE and the Second Temple in 70 CE, two devastating events. As if losing such a holy place (twice!) weren’t bad enough, fast-forward more than a thousand years to the expulsions of Jews from England in 1290 and from Spain in 1492, both of which took place during Av.

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Based on these horrific events, you might think that the only themes of Av are grief and mourning, as observed on Tisha B’Av. But you’d be wrong. Av is also a time to rejoice in love and dancing under the full moon. Tu B’Av, which falls mid-month, is often referred to as the “Jewish Valentine’s Day.” 

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There’s almost always a reason to invite in joy, but the shift from mourning to celebration can feel like emotional whiplash. That said, it can also feel like… life.

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Life is wonderful! And also terrible. Blessing and tragedy, grief and joy co-exist. Jewish history teaches us that this is — has always been — the way of the world.

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And yet, it can still be hard to reconcile. How can we dance under the moonlight in the face of war? In the tight grip of patriarchy? Against the background of environmental destruction?

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Rabbi Joshua weighed in on this back in the first century after the destruction of the Second Temple. “Not to mourn at all is impossible,” he said. “...But to mourn too much is also impossible.”

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Judaism prescribes rituals and timelines for mourning. For example, shiva is traditionally observed for seven days, during which mourners refrain from daily tasks and routines. Community members provide food, companionship, and other support for the mourners.

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After seven days, mourners leave their home and go for a walk. This simple ritual provides a gentle reintroduction to the outside world, a chance to say, “Hineni, I am here.” 

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Mourning is an outward expression of grief, a deeply personal mix of complicated emotions that follows a loss. Grief does not play out in five simple stages. It is nonlinear. Messy. Exhausting. Unpredictable. Unrelenting.

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To paraphrase Rabbi Joshua, in order to live authentically, we must recognize our grief, but we cannot live fully if we’re mired in it. 

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So, how do we keep grief from turning into despair?

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Embrace it. 

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Embracing grief doesn’t mean inviting it to take over your life. It just means creating space for it and the messy feelings that follow. This space may be filled with ugly crying, quiet sobbing, praying, lying in the grass staring up at the sky, or blanketed in bed staring at the wall. Grief space may include napping or making art to help process thoughts and emotions.

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Rather than an arsenal of tools, I suggest creating a cupboard of comfort that helps acknowledge grief, settles in with it. Stock your cupboard with a favorite beverage, fluffy socks, a journal, a rainbow of markers and sketch pads. A friend or therapist on speed dial. Lots of tissues (the ultra-soft kind). Write yourself a sticky note that reminds you that grief has something to teach you even if you never signed up for the lessons. Those lessons may not be fun or enjoyable, but they are important and meaningful.

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Jews are known as the People of the Book, so it’s apt to think of grief as a heavy book.

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Imagine you have a large bookshelf. After a tragedy, all of the books fly off the shelf and are replaced by one book titled Grief. For days, weeks, or months, that solitary book is the only one available to you. 

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Over time, though, your shelf fills with new books. Some are happy; some are sad. New tales of adventure, romance, and mystery appear. Eventually, you need an additional shelf to hold them all. As more time passes, that shelf gets packed, too. As life moves ahead, the grief book remains visible, taking up the same amount of space, just as large and heavy as it was in the beginning, but it represents a smaller percentage of your library.

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Sometimes that heavy book falls off the shelf and lands in your lap. When that happens, sit with it. Acknowledge its presence. Feel its weight. And then tuck it back onto the shelf.

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Whether this heavy book is shelved or weighing you down, it’s important to find joy in the world around you. This is not a mere suggestion, it is wisdom handed down through generations.

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So gather with your dear ones month after month, moon after moon. Recall the terrible and wonderful things that have happened. Find something to celebrate and toast to life: L’chaim!

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At The Well uplifts many approaches to Jewish practice. Our community draws on ancient Jewish wisdom, sometimes adapting longstanding practices to more deeply support the well-being of women and nonbinary people. See this article’s sources below. We believe Torah (sacred teachings) are always unfolding to help answer the needs of the present moment.

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Sources

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Tisha B’Av 101, My Jewish Learning

Tu B’Av, the Jewish Day of Love, My Jewish Learning 

Rabbi Joshua, My Jewish Learning 

Timeline of Jewish Mourning, My Jewish Learning

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