Grief and the Passage of Time

It's interesting.

People who haven't visited grief may not be able to relate to this fully. But I still feel a need to explain it. Maybe my words will help them understand. 

And maybe this can help them relate to something deeper.

The more time that passes since my younger brother's death, the more it hurts.

No, not in the intense way it hurt in the beginning, when I cried so much that I didn't know I had the capacity to contain so many tears in my body. 

Not in the way my heart hurt so strongly. Not in the way I felt this ache inside of me, a physical sensation that stayed with me no matter where I went.

None of that.

What hurts so much is that the more time that passes since my brother's death, the more I think about how much he missed out on and how much could have been different if only he was still here.

I think about where he'd be in life and wonder, what kind of girl would he have married? How many kids would they have had by now? Would we still be as close as we were when we were teens? Where would he live? How much would we share? How often would we talk?

I also think about all the milestones he's missed and all the small and big parts of my life I haven't been able to share with him. 

And that hurts.

A lot. 

I imagine how much my life would be different with my brother in it. How much joy and laughter we'd share if he lived nearby, if we'd be able to spend time together and be in each other's company. 

And that makes me reflect upon Hashem and the beis hamikdosh we mourn. While we wish for it to be rebuilt, every year that passes without it only intensifies the grief and mourning.

Another year without the beis hamikdosh? Another year without connection, closeness and clarity? Another year sitting in this galus, distant, disconnected and full of dread for the upcoming fast day?

What would life be like if we had the beis hamikdosh? How would life be different for us if we were living the ideal life and were closer and more connected to Hashem through every milestone and every challenge? Can we even imagine?

Every year that passes without my brother in it makes me miss him more and wish he were here. And it makes me wonder how my life would be so different if he was in it.

Every year that passes without the closeness that geula affords us makes me yearn for it even more deeply. I wonder what my life would look like if I was able to live with the clarity and bond that is only possible once we are out of this galus.

I yearn for more.

My heart aches for change.

My insides desire something so different. 

I imagine a time when we will be able to go to the beis hamikdosh and listen to the beautiful notes of the levi'im, playing their soulful instruments and singing their touching songs and we will be transformed and elevated to a different plane. And we will connect, reflect and be moved to a different realm of existence. Music will become a meditation. Songs will heal our aching souls. Harmony will allow us to reach a state words alone could never accomplish. 

What would our life be like if we had this all along?

That question hurts.

And it hurts more deeply every year.

Because we're still here.

And we long for more.

We yearn for something so much deeper than what we have now.

And the possibility that we could have had it but still live without it makes the yearning that much stronger, that much more intense.

So yes, the more time that passes since my brother's death, the more it hurts. Because I realize that another year passed without him in it and as much as I imagine my life along with him right here, it's still a dream.

And the more time that passes without the rebuilding of the beis hamikdosh, the more it hurts. Because I realize that another year has passed without the closeness and relationship I yearn so deeply for.

Hashem…we are waiting. 

We are hoping.

We are dreaming.

We are praying.

We are doing the best we can.

We want to be closer to you. 

Even with all the distractions.

Don't you see it?

Don't you see our desire?

How much longer will we have to wait?

To Magnify-The Nine Days

So, the nine days are coming and I don't think I took even one minute in the past two weeks to think about this time of year, what it means and what feelings should be coming up. I've just been so busy. My thoughts have been occupied with all the things I need to do to fulfill my responsibilities towards my family-and none, not even one thought was about the pain of galus and the tza'ar hashechina. How crazy is that? Probably super normal for a galus mom.

Maybe this is why we shift from the three weeks to the nine days in this way, from less intense laws of mourning to stronger ones. In case we were too busy with life during the beginning of the three weeks, we now have a reminder that there really is something to think about. There is something to be feeling during this time. We need to phase into a new level of thought so we can arouse our souls to get to a place of feeling the pain of galus without outside tzaros and crazy painful stories in the news and in the world!

Maybe this is why we mourn in reverse. Maybe it's because Hashem is waking us up to His pain-first with a soft tap, then with a light knock (the nine days) and then with a loud shout (Tisha b'av), saying, "Helllooo! I am in pain! Feel my pain with me!" And maybe we should be feeling the pain more intensely as time passes. Because as the time does pass and we acknowledge that we are still in galus, the pain should also intensify. It should hurt us even more because, like, hello?! Are we still here? How is it that we are still here? Are we ever going to get out?

After all these years, will it ever happen?

As Jews, we believe it will. That's what shabbos nachamu is all about. The prophecies about the destruction came true, and so we believe (and ask Hashem to help us continue to believe) that the prophecies about the redemption will also be fulfilled. We just don't know when it will happen so that makes it so hard. And that's where the challenge to continue to believe takes place!

I feel like its somewhat easier for me to feel pain-because I went through my own loss. So I take my emotions surrounding the death of my brother and connect them to the bigger loss of Klal Yisroel during the time of the churban.

I lost one brother and it was so incredibly painful; it still is, when I let myself feel it.

During the destruction of the bais hamikdosh, every Jew experienced multiple losses. So many Jews died of starvation and thirst. Mothers consumed their babies! The devastation was enormous. I try to magnify my loss a hundred times over to feel what took place during the churban. 

But there's more. More I want to feel. Not just my own loss magnified (because that's kind of a selfish sort of pain), but I want to connect to what we had.

That clarity, that holy connection to the Source of all life, I want that.

When I was in the holy land, Eretz Yisroel, I was able to connect to a piece of that. And the clarity I felt there, the connection I felt at the kosel as I cried tears of yearning and tears of closeness, that was a galus connection! That wasn't even what real people experienced during the time of the bais hamikdosh. 

So whatever connection I did feel, can't be compared to the clarity and closeness a Jew could experience during the time of our bais hamikdosh. If I want to grasp a piece of whatever was felt during the time of the bais hamikdosh, I need to take my clarity and dveikus-and magnify it a hundred times over- and then I can try to imagine a tiny crumb of what the Jews experienced before we were sent into galus.

I want clarity? I want real closeness? Any connection I've ever felt is only a galus experience.

I can yearn for more. 

I can daven for more.

I can arouse my soul to experience pain-pain that whatever closeness I've ever felt in my entire life on this earth has no comparison to the closeness and connection to Hashem of all those years ago.

And then I can start to yearn for moshiach.

Tisha B'Av

During the nine days, the rules we keep are similar to the halachos of someone who mourns the loss of a close relative. We don't listen to music and we don't wear fresh clothing. 

But on Tisha B'av, the mourning intensifies to another level. We don't eat or drink, we don't wear leather shoes and we don't greet people with a warm hello. When someone loses a loved one, they don't have an appetite and they don't feel like greeting everyone they meet. They miss their relative and nothing else matters!

This is why we fast.

On Tisha B'av, we mourn the loss of the closest relationship we once had with Hashem. How can we eat when we are so far away from the ideal lifestyle? We use the sadness of the day to propel us to make better choices so we can experience that same closeness once again.

May the confusion and distance we live with be replaced with clarity and closeness as we do everything in our power to bring the Geula!

Nine Days

We are now in the nine days. 

Unfortunately, we are so distant, so far, many of us don't even connect to what we are supposed to be mourning for. So we go through the motions, we don't wash our clothes, we take lukewarm showers and we don't eat meat. 

Yet, we look out for gourmet dairy recipes. We shop for the finest ingredients so our final product with be tasty with an exceptional presentation. 

We even send jokes about how hard it is to manage for nine full days without meat. (Two of those days happen to be shabbos this year). 

Seriously?! Jokes?

I get that we want to have good food and we want it to look and taste good but are we really going to joke about how difficult it is to manage for a week without any meat? That we can't barbeque? 

We don't get what we're mourning about. We don't grasp the enormity of the loss. So chazal instituted some external signs of mourning so we shouldn't forget that we should be sad about something.

You want to really feel it? Open up a shir hashirim and read about the love between Hashem and His Jewish Nation. Read about the bond we once had, the connection we are aching to have again. Learn what it means to be really close to Hashem, as close as a husband and wife who love each other more than anyone else in the world. 

This is the love Hashem has for us! This is the connection He wants to reestablish with us! 

But we are far too distracted to notice. We are busy mourning our week without meat instead of mourning what we really lost.

Let's stop for a moment. 

Ponder our lives. 

Think about what we're missing. 

Think about the lack of clarity. The lack of morals. The lack of understanding. 

And daven for the day when we will be reunited with a true bond of love and affection to the One who is waiting to show us just how much He loves us.

Nine Days

The following touching article was written by Avigayil B. of Lakewood, NJ and posted with permission.

Nine Days Menu Ideas

Have your ever gone to be menachem Avel a woman who lost her young husband?
Have your ever been in a shiva home where a woman is mourning the loss of her vibrant father? Have you ever offered comfort to a girl who lost her mother?

Sadly, all of us have been in these situations. We come, carrying pans of food and we leave the offerings of our heart on the overflowing counters and tables.

But, take a look at the aveilim. The young woman , with the seven orphaned children. Is she talking about the Pistachio Sea Bass ? If she is, everyone understands that it's just to divert her mind from her burning pain.

All year, we divert our mind from our loss.

Sure, most of us fast on Tisha B'Av , and we all have a Zecher L'Churban in our foyer. But really, when is the last time we cried as we davened that Hashem should return us to Eretz Yisroel?

Once a year, we get a chance to seriously focus on our huge loss. The tragedy of being sent away from our land where we all lived together and Torah was the law of the land.

Our Chachomim knew that's as time would go by, It would be hard for us to cry and feel the pain of all that was taken away from us.

So they gave us laws that would help put us In a mourning mood.
No meat! No chicken! No wine! No grape juice!

There are so many other laws , but for now let's look at these.

A succulent standing rib roast, a glazed roasted turkey, lamb chops and grilled baby chicken; we don't prepare these foods unless it's for a Seudas mitzva or a Siyum.

So what should we eat in the Nine Days?

Well, how about Roasted Portabella with marinated Goat Cheese and Arugula over artisanal bread?

What about Authentic hand rolled Tortellini with homemade Tomato  and just snipped Basil sauce?

Is this really what Chazal had in mind?

Was it just a change in menu?

We used to be so close to Avinu Shebashamayim. We visited our father in His House!

We saw, heard, smelled and tasted His presence. We knew with every part of our body that He loves us.
We left His House with gifts. Gifts of awareness and clarity that held us until we came again. And when we missed our Father so much and we couldn't visit, we had a Neviah. She told us what our Father wants.She told us how to be a better wife, mother and daughter. And it was way different than therapy. When we listened to the Neviah, we had success in every relationship. Oh! How painful is this void!

Here we are searching for answers wishing we could have this type of guidance.

Every tragedy today has its roots in the Churban.

Have some sun dried tomato tilapia?

We are in pain! And if we aren't , we are to act like we are.

Eating gourmet foods? Dining in fine restaurants? Standing and assembling complicated dairy recipes?!

Not for us. Those recipes are for Shavuos.

These Nine Days I want to focus and think. I want to feel what I have lost.

We are mourning. We lost our husband, mother, and father.

And so my dear sisters, what do you eat when you're writhing in pain and sadness? What do you cook when you are so depressed that tears are falling into your pots?

What do you serve your family when grief is so strong it surrounds you?

A tuna wrap. Eggs. Macaroni and cheese. Pizza.

Anything that takes fifteen minutes to prepare.

No one will starve. And if the kids ask, "Why are we having scrambled eggs and toast for supper?"

Look at them in their eyes.

And say,"Cuz I'm sad. And I can't eat or cook fancy foods when I'm sad."

And maybe then we and our families will feel the sadness of the Churban and be zoche to see the words of our Neviim come true, and eat with happiness on the new Yom Tov on our calendar: Tisha B'Av.

Comfort

I posted this last year and wanted to share the message with you once again.

There are some contradictions in the halachos of Tisha B'av that make one wonder about the nature of the day. On one hand, we act like mourners, sit on low chairs, do not wear leather shoes and do not greet one another with a friendly "hello". On the other hand, Tisha B'av is called a Mo'ed, a yom tov-not only because it will be a yom tov when moshiach comes, but because now it can be viewed as a festival. This is why men do not say tachanun-a tefillah that is not recited on yomim tovim and other days of celebration.

How can Tisha B'av be viewed as a festival? Where is the joy in this sad day? And what can we take from the intense mourning of this day...that will bring us some measure of comfort?

The Chasam Sofer explains something interesting about the fact that we still mourn for the Beis Hamikdosh so many years after it was destroyed. There have been many nations in the history of the world who have gone through loss and destruction, yet none of them mourn; they have all been forgotten with the passage of time. Egypt, Spain, Rome-each nation had their high point and then fell. But we, the Jewish People, not only are we still around, but we still cry over our loss, so many years later. 

Why?

Our chachamim tell us that there is a gezeirah, a decree from Hashem, that the memory of one who died will fade as time goes on. It is possible for someone who experienced the loss of the death of a loved one to be consoled, to move on and even...even to forget. But because of this same gezeira, if someone mourns someone who they think is dead but really is alive, they will never be able to be consoled. No words, no stories, no inspiration...even the passage of time will ever comfort them. They will not be able to overcome this grief.

In the same way, other nations who have lost their power and greatness, who lost their country, who are no longer a People, can be consoled; they can overcome their loss...because their loss is final, it is complete. There is no hope for them. They will never be able to go back to their previous glory. The status they once held is considered "dead" and they become forgotten as time goes on.

However, the Jewish People can never be consoled over the loss of the Beis Hamikdosh. 

As it says in Megillas Eichah, ein la menachem-they have no one to comfort them. I always saw this as something so sad...for a different reason. When my family sat shiva for my brother, the stream of people coming to comfort us didn't stop. So many people came to try to offer words of consolation and to be there for us, with us in our pain. But when the Beis Hamikdosh was destroyed, there was no one to comfort the Jews-for they were all in the same boat. They were all hurting. They were all experiencing famine, death and loss. Who could offer words of comfort in such a setting? No one. They were all in it together.

But that's not what the Chasam Sofer is saying. He takes a whole different spin on that phrase. Why can we not be comforted over the destruction of the Beis Hamikdosh? 

Why?

Because it is not a permanent destruction. It is not a permanent loss. No matter how much time passes, our hearts still ache, our souls still yearn to return...because we will return. We cannot forget the pain...because it is not a permanent "death", it is but a temporary loss.

As it says in the first passuk in Eichah, ha'ir rabasi am, haysah k'almanah-the city that was great with people has become like a widow. And Rashi says, she is like a widow...but she is not really a widow. She is like a woman whose husband went to a foreign city with the intention of returning to her.

The very fact that we are still crying on Tisha B'av, that we still mourn the loss of the Beis Hamikdosh, that we still long for and hope to return to Yerushalayim, is in itself the greatest source of consolation. The greatest nechama.

This is the reason why Tisha B'av is referred to as a mo'ed, a yom tov, and why those tefillos that are not recited on festivals are omitted on this day. We can feel comforted and yes, even rejoice inside while we mourn...for we know that it is specifically because we are still mourning that we know we will once again return...return to our Father, return to our Land and return to the former glory we as a nation once had.

This shabbos, Shabbos Nachamu, is a time when we can find comfort in the fact that we are still here. We spent Tisha B'av in a mode of longing and yearning, as we (hopefully) cried, wished and hoped for the geula. Although we are still waiting for that day to come, we can be comforted by the fact that it will come...that we have never forgotten...and that our Nation is still alive.

May we be zoche to experience the true nechama and live to see the day come when Kol Hamisabel Al Yerushalayim...all those who mourn over the rebuilding of Yerushalayim...will actually see and experience the joy when the Beis Hamikdosh will finally be rebuilt!

Triggers

With the weeks and then days leading up to my brother's 9th yartzeit, there are times I am easily triggered. 

It doesn't take that much. It can be a thought, a conversation, a memory...and I am brought back. I think about my brother and I miss him. 

I know this was meant to be and I accepted this as Hashem's will, but that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt sometimes.

I think about what it would be like if he would be alive today. Would he be married? Would he have kids? Would we still be as close as we were when he was alive? What kind of things would I share with him? Would our relationship be more superficial? Would we chat about our daily schedule? The kids? Or would we talk about real things?

And I can only imagine...

I think back to the last time I saw Shalom and I can't help but cry. I remember saying goodbye to him on Visiting Day, not knowing that this would be the last time I would see him. The last time in my life. How I wish I could just have another few minutes with him, say a real, proper goodbye, a goodbye I would have said with an all encompassing embrace...had I known.

But I didn't know. 

I wasn't meant to know.

I snap back to reality. 

Life goes on. 

I'm in an elevator. I hear two young mothers talking about what it's like to have their kids in camp. 

"My sister says having her sons in camp is like a full-time job. All day she's busy sending packages with this one and finding rides with that one... And when the girls are in another camp on the other side of the mountains, oh boy does it get tough!"

And I want to scream. 

But of course, I don't say a word.

I walk out of the elevator and my heart is screaming.

Do you realize how lucky you are to have kids in camp?? Do you realize how lucky you are to be able to send packages to them and yes, to be busy with that? 

And I think back to the last summer of my brother's life. When for the first time since any of us kids went to camp, my mother sent packages to Shalom. In the beginning of each week, she would go to the grocery and buy nosh and treats. I always told her to buy the Softbite cookies because I knew those were his favorite. (We could eat them together so quickly-we'd finish half the package on erev shabbos after we had pizza for lunch and the rest would be gone by shabbos afternoon!) When the box was full, my mother would take it next door to my grandmother's office and she'd ship it to him in camp.

And when he got his package, he didn't keep it all to himself. He generously shared it with his friends. And when Shalom picked up on the cues from a friend that he needed certain staples for a staple gun so he could fix something, he asked me to send it in his next package. No details as to why...but I sent it to him...and he gave it to the surprised boy-who never asked for them in the first place! He had just mentioned in passing that he needed those staples and next thing he knew, he had them in his hands a couple of days later!

I think back to those packages...and I am comforted. I remember spending so much time making a collage of the pictures of my nieces and nephews, fitting them all in onto just two pages, printing them out on colored paper and sending them to Shalom. I know that I did mine. I know how happy he was to see those pictures...because he loved each niece and nephew with all his heart. He loved to play with them when they came over. He loved little babies. He loved kids. And he loved having those pictures...the last he got to see of them. It feels good to know that I was the one who sent him those pictures...in one of those weekly packages my mother sent him during his last summer in camp.

It's those little things that can trigger so much inside of me. 

Snippets of a conversation between two mothers and look...look what it brought back for me.

I think about our Beis Hamikdosh...I think about my own personal loss...and I am sad. 

Where are our triggers?

We have no triggers.

We have no memories.

Just stories.

We are so far away.

So, so far away.

We have to force ourselves to feel. To make the churban seem real to us.

It has been so many years.

Too many years.

There is nothing that can bring on memories of that awesome time. We didn't live to see the avodah in the Bais Hamikdosh, the Levi'im singing shira, the smoke of the Korban Tamid. We never experienced a Yom Kippur, watching the red string turn white, coming out of that incredible day with the knowledge that our sins were forgiven.

We didn't experience life with the glory of Hashem's presence felt in Yerushalayim.

We didn't live to feel the churban.

The devastation. 

The deaths and the losses.

We are so far away from it all.

But we have our own losses. 

Our own personal challenges that help us feel that we are in galus.

So although we can't be triggered and we aren't close enough to the time of the Beis Hamikdosh to feel real pain over what happened so many years ago, we still have this one day a year where we can try. 

We can try to go back...try to dig deep inside ourselves and see...what touches us. 

What makes us cry. 

What are we sad about?

What do we want to change?

And remember that we are in galus.

We need to daven to Hashem...for change.

For redemption. 

For the ultimate Yeshuah.

May the day come when we have no memories of galus...when galus is such a foreign concept that nothing can trigger a thought about what the time away from the Shechina, away from the Kedusha was all about!

Have an easy and meaningful Tisha B'av.

Comfort

There are some contradictions in the halachos of Tisha B'av that make one wonder about the nature of the day. On one hand, we act like mourners, sit on low chairs, do not wear leather shoes and do not greet one another with a friendly "hello". On the other hand, Tisha B'av is called a Mo'ed, a yom tov-not only because it will be a yom tov when moshiach comes, but because now it can be viewed as a festival. This is why men do not say tachanun-a tefillah that is not recited on yomim tovim and other days of celebration.

How can Tisha B'av be viewed as a festival? Where is the joy in this sad day? And what can we take from the intense mourning of this day...that will bring us some measure of comfort?

The Chasam Sofer explains something interesting about the fact that we still mourn for the Beis Hamikdosh so many years after it was destroyed. There have been many nations in the history of the world who have gone through loss and destruction, yet none of them mourn; they have all been forgotten with the passage of time. Egypt, Spain, Rome-each nation had their high point and then fell. But we, the Jewish People, not only are we still around, but we still cry over our loss, so many years later. 

Why?

Our chachamim tell us that there is a gezeirah, a decree from Hashem, that the memory of one who died will fade as time goes on. It is possible for someone who experienced the loss of the death of a loved one to be consoled, to move on and even...even to forget. But because of this same gezeira, if someone mourns someone who they think is dead but really is alive, they will never be able to be consoled. No words, no stories, no inspiration...even the passage of time will ever comfort them. They will not be able to overcome this grief.

In the same way, other nations who have lost their power and greatness, who lost their country, who are no longer a People, can be consoled; they can overcome their loss...because their loss is final, it is complete. There is no hope for them. They will never be able to go back to their previous glory. The status they once held is considered "dead" and they become forgotten as time goes on.

However, the Jewish People can never be consoled over the loss of the Beis Hamikdosh. 

As it says in Megillas Eichah, ein la menachem-they have no one to comfort them. I always saw this as something so sad...for a different reason. When my family sat shiva for my brother, the stream of people coming to comfort us didn't stop. So many people came to try to offer words of consolation and to be there for us, with us in our pain. But when the Beis Hamikdosh was destroyed, there was no one to comfort the Jews-for they were all in the same boat. They were all hurting. They were all experiencing famine, death and loss. Who could offer words of comfort in such a setting? No one. They were all in it together.

But that's not what the Chasam Sofer is saying. He takes a whole different spin on that phrase. Why can we not be comforted over the destruction of the Beis Hamikdosh? 

Why?

Because it is not a permanent destruction. It is not a permanent loss. No matter how much time passes, our hearts still ache, our souls still yearn to return...because we will return. We cannot forget the pain...because it is not a permanent "death", it is but a temporary loss.

As it says in the first passuk in Eichah, ha'ir rabasi am, haysah k'almanah-the city that was great with people has become like a widow. And Rashi says, she is like a widow...but she is not really a widow. She is like a woman whose husband went to a foreign city with the intention of returning to her.

The very fact that we are still crying on Tisha B'av, that we still mourn the loss of the Beis Hamikdosh, that we still long for and hope to return to Yerushalayim, is in itself the greatest source of consolation. The greatest nechama.

This is the reason why Tisha B'av is referred to as a mo'ed, a yom tov, and why those tefillos that are not recited on festivals are omitted on this day. We can feel comforted and yes, even rejoice inside while we mourn...for we know that it is specifically because we are still mourning that we know we will once again return...return to our Father, return to our Land and return to the former glory we as a nation once had.

This shabbos, Shabbos Nachamu, is a time when we can find comfort in the fact that we are still here. We spent Tisha B'av in a mode of longing and yearning, as we (hopefully) cried, wished and hoped for the geula. Although we are still waiting for that day to come, we can be comforted by the fact that it will come...that we have never forgotten...and that our Nation is still alive.

May we be zoche to experience the true nechama and live to see the day come when Kol Hamisabel Al Yerushalayim...all those who mourn over the rebuilding of Yerushalayim...will actually see and experience the joy when the Beis Hamikdosh will finally be rebuilt!

Comfort During Shiva

Today, Tisha b'av is the saddest day of the year.

This morning, while I sat on the floor, I remembered the time I sat in a low chair sitting shiva for my younger brother. We are now sitting shiva-for what? For the bais hamikdosh.

I wanted to explain this to my little son but he is so young, how can he understand? I did manage to explain it to him-by bringing it down to his level.

Today is a very sad day. You know, Hashem had a very beautiful house. It was so big and so special-it was like a shul. And all the people would come there and daven to Hashem. And then, you know what happened?

My son looked at me with his big, innocent eyes.

Hashem's house got broken.

He looked devastated.

"Oiy!" he said.

And we need to fix it.
How can we fix Hashem's house? It was such a special place, so big, so beautiful and so full of people. And now it is broken. What can we do to fix it?

He looked at me as I told him, we need to be very nice to our sister, we need to try to be extra good to mommy and always listen. We do mitzvos and make Tatty and Mommy happy by always listening and helping and acting very gentle with our little sister. This is how we can fix Hashem's beautiful house.

He had this faraway look in his eyes.

I think he got it.

My eyes teared up.

* * *

When I read Eichah last night, there was one thought that kept coming up again and again, in different phrases.

"Ein La Menachem" - she does not have anyone to comfort her.

I thought about these words and I cried.

After the destruction of Hashem's home, His palace, there was nobody to offer any sort of comfort...and I imagined...and I remembered.

When my family sat shiva for my brother Shalom a"h, people kept streaming into our home to try to comfort us, to try to say something that will bring us some sort of nechama. The house was busy from the moment we got up until we were so wiped out from another day of talking and emotional memories...it made us tired. But, there was a constant flow of people...they kept coming.

After the bais hamikdosh was destroyed, there was no one! No one came to comfort Hashem...no one was able to comfort the Jewish Nation. All around them there was destruction. A building, not just a building, a home for the shechina, a place of clarity, a place of real beauty, a place of connection...all gone...burned...so many dead people all over the streets, little children dying in their mother's laps, people collapsing and passing out from hunger...from thirst...children who grew up in rich homes asking for drinks of wine when there was no water to be found...

And there was nobody to comfort them.

When someone goes to be menachem avel, these are the words they use to comfort the mourner: Hamakom yenacheim eschem b'soch she'ar aveilei tzion v'yerushalayim.
What does this phrase mean?

When we sat shiva, someone told us a beautiful way of explaining it.

One of the names of Hashem is Makom, like we say in the haggadah, Baruch Hamakom...Makom means place and Hashem takes up all the space in the world yet at the same time, He doesn't take up any space at all. This is a deep concept and we can't even understand exactly what it means - but this is part of Hashem's G-dliness. On one hand He is everywhere and takes up every inch of space in this world-wherever you go, Hashem is there---and on the other hand, He does not take up any space. This is why Hashem's name is Makom.

When a person loses someone close to them, there is a tremendous void in their heart. So we tell them, Hamakom yenacheim eschem-only Hashem who is called Hamakom can comfort you. He can fill the void.

So why do we end with b'soch she'ar aveilei tzion v'yerushalayim?

Because when someone passes away, all the family wants is to get to see them again and spend time with them again. When will that happen? When moshiach comes! So we say, you should be comforted together with all those who mourn for Yerushalayim-because as we know, whoever mourns for Yerushalayim will be zoche to see it rebuilt.

But how can someone live until that time? How can they go on? How can they be comforted during this long wait? By filling that deep emptiness that is in their hearts with spirituality, by doing mitzvos that will make the niftar's neshama go higher.

We had so many people come to comfort us when we sat shiva. But Hashem has still not been comforted, the Jewish People have not been comforted.
We are all waiting for the day of ultimate geula, the real redemption and ultimate nechama, the real consolation.

May that day come when all those families who have mourned for their siblings, parents, grandparents, children and grandchildren are reunited with their loved ones...and Klal Yisroel is reunited with Hakadosh Baruch Hu.

One last point: The purpose of a fast day is not just to refrain from eating - but to bring us to do teshuva. Each person has to think - what am I doing that is keeping the bais hamikdosh from being rebuilt? It's a strong question. Come up with an answer and then...do something about it.

Can You Cry?

I'm reposting part of today's Hakhel email - I found it very touching and hope it will inspire you too and help you get into the right mode for Tisha B'av.

There are two categories of animals in your local zoo. Some were born in the wild, and were moved to the zoo. Others, however, were born in the zoo, and will remain in the zoo all of their lives. There is a great difference between these two kinds of animals. The animal born in his natural habitat knows what it means to be free, knows what it means to be his true self. He knows that he does not belong in the zoo--it is not his natural habitat. He knows that he can run 50 miles an hour on the open prairie, but cannot do this behind a fence or in a cage….The animal born in the zoo, however, simply does not know better. He gets his food from humans who have established his feeding times, and gets laughed at, stared at, and perhaps fed by spectators. He thinks that this is simply what his life is all about.

The Sefer Palgei Mayim, a classic commentary on Megillas Eicha, writes, that one of the three things Yirmiyahu laments over in Eicha (other than the Bais HaMikdash and Yerushalayim) is that Bnei Yisroel have lost their “Shefa Ruach HaKodesh”. We don’t even know what we are missing--we were born in Galus, and don’t know our true greatness. We are all capable of Ruach HaKodesh! We must recognize this Tisha B’Av that we need to quickly free ourselves from our current exile--it is simply not natural, it is shameful, it is a Chillul Hashem--as the spectators in the world around us think that they are feeding us, that they are sustaining us--as we are really kept prisoners away from our essence, from our true lives. Let us turn to Hashem, and let us ask that we be released, that we be set free…and that we return to our status of royalty, of a Mamleches Kohanim V’Goy Kadosh that is our true essence and being!

The Gemara (Megilla 21A) teaches that Moshe Rabbeinu would learn the more difficult laws and concepts of the Torah sitting down.

As we sadly noted last year, if we have to sit down this Tisha B’Av, we should take the time out to go over in our mind some of the difficult concepts that we tend to ignore, or at least avoid, during the rest of the year--the churbonos and the tzaros that have accompanied us through the ages and into our day.

Can we not shed a tear over:

· The pain of the Shechina over the chillul Hashem of the Galus (the Father’s pain is greater than the child’s)

· The void left by the Beis Hamikdosh that is not with us and the concomitant void of sanctity within us (we could be closer to angels, and not closer to animals)

· The honor of Klal Yisroel that has been cast to the ground and trampled upon

· The murder of an innocent Jewish child

· The murder of a Tzaddik who was giving Brachos

· The sorry hatred of secular Jews to Torah Jews

· The Goldbergs and Rosenblooms of the world who are not Jewish

· The hundreds of thousands of Russian Jews who have been numbed by Communism

· The Crusades

· The Pogroms

· The 1648-1649 Massacres

· The Holocaust

· The murder of the Fogel parents and children, the Mumbai Massacre, Sbarros bombing, the bombing of Bus Number 2, the Leil HaSeder Attack, the drive-by murders, the Mosad HaRav murders, the hundreds of other terrorist attacks, the murders and maimings, the mortars and bombs, the soldiers and the children all under attack

· All of the unnecessary sickness and suffering for 2000 years (multiplied by each second of pain)

· The desolation and ruination of the Har Habayis, Har Hazeisim, Chevron, Teveria…

· Sinas Chinam—smiling at the mishap of another, failing to properly rejoice at another’s simcha, and finding it hard to accept another’s honor and success

· The Jews who do not even know that Tisha B’Av exists--even if they live in New York City

· The Jews who know that Tisha B’Av exists and do not grow in their resolve to do something to end this Churban as soon as possible

The Navi (Yeshaya 1:3, which we read as part of last week’s Haftora) teaches “Ami Lo Hisbonan--My nation did not consider.”

Rashi adds that the people knew they were acting improperly but “tread with their heels” on this knowledge, and simply “did not take it to heart.”

We all know too well the desperate straits we are in at this time, in which we deal with the Churban of Eretz Yisroel and Yerushalayim--the defiling of a land and of a people on the one hand; and the turmoil in Eretz Yisroel today--upon which the nations of the world have heaped additional disgrace and scorn, on the other.

Haven’t we yet reached a point where we will, as the Navi asks, at least “consider”? It is not, it cannot, and should not, be beyond us to go off into a room--our bedroom, dining room, study, or even the floor somewhere, to sit down and cry: “Oh, what has befallen us! A nation in ruins, the holiest people on Earth berated by the lowest nations on Earth. What makes us better today than the captives of Judea taken by the Romans more than 1940 years ago. We cannot allow ourselves to be fooled by the amenities, luxuries, or even just the relative comfort in which we live. We have been in exile far too long, and the longer we are here, the worse off we are.

L’Maaseh, living with reality and practically speaking, we are walking about badly wounded in this bitter exile. Even in Eretz Yisroel itself, the very Holy Land , an estimated 40,000 Russian-manufactured missiles, many of which possess long-range capability, are said to be available in Lebanon alone (without even including what the murderers have in Gaza ).

We cannot be ashamed to cry. Ashamed?!--Why, and from whom?! Why can we not pour out our hearts to Hashem, as Yirmiyahu HaNavi cries out (Eicha 2:19) “Shifchi Kamayim Libeich--pour out your heart [to Hashem] like water.”

At least today, on the eve of Tisha B’Av, and no less certainly tomorrow itself, on the day of pain and mourning over the Chilul Hashem that exists in the world today, over Hashem’s pain which is infinitely greater than ours, over a world that has been lowered to the bottom of the bottom-most depths, over all the individual and communal pain and anguish, over these and much more, we must cry real, very real, tears.

Yirmiyahu HaNavi further teaches (31:14), “A voice is heard on high, lamentation, bitter weeping, Rochel weeping for her children, she refuses to be comforted for her children, for they are not.” On this Pasuk, the Mahari Kara (in the Mikraos Gedolos) writes that Rochel Imeinu represents K’lal Yisroel, and that our weeping in exile is heard by Hashem’s ears.

So, as much as we would not like to, we must cry--really cry. We must realize that we are in the nadir of our exile. The Tay-Sachs test, when originally developed, required a person to shed a tear, which was then tested. One had to think of something sad to shed that tear. Is it such a great challenge to cry unabashedly over an unfulfilled world, over the world’s most precious possessions disgraced and derided, over all the unnecessary anguish, unnecessary suffering, destruction, and death that we are currently experiencing?

If, for some reason you cannot cry--at least cry out--as our forefathers did in Mitzrayim. Remember, the gates of tears--and the gates of ruchniyus--are never closed. If we have to sit on the floor in a few hours, it should do more than cause us some temporary physical pain. Plead to Hashem as Dovid HaMelech does: “El Dimosi Al Techerash--Do not be silent to my tears!” (Tehillim 39:13) Hashem, I will not find comfort with the few pleasures I have when the Heavens and the Earth writhe in pain!

Please join with your brothers this Tisha B’Av, as our sincere tears and cries reach the Heavens.

May these tears and cries turn into overflowing sounds of salvation for each and every one of us, as we join together to witness the comforting of our people and the ultimate final and glee-filled redemption--speedily and in our days.

MAY WE BE ZOCHE TO NECHOMAS TZION VEYERUSHALAYIM THIS TISHA B’AV. ALL WHO MOURN OVER YERUSHALAYIM WILL BE ZOCHE TO SEE ITS REBUILDING!

The Funeral Director

I posted this last year and am putting it up here again so you can gain from it and think about the message.

Last Thursday, I was informed of the death of a woman who I did not know.

She was relatively young, only 64 years old. She left behind three sons and grandchildren. It was a stifling, steamy hot humid day; the temperature was hovering over ninety degrees.

The funeral was held in Far Rockaway. I drove out from New Jersey to officiate at the funeral of a woman I never knew.

At the conclusion of the funeral, I asked the funeral director- who was Jewish, and was also driving the hearse containing the nifterres (the deceased)-if he (as they usually do) has a knife for the kriah (ripping of the garments).
He handed me the knife, I helped the mourners with the kriah and returned the knife to the funeral director. We continued to the cemetery in Elmont, New York for the burial.

As we arrived at the cemetery we proceeded to carry the coffin to the grave and we commenced the burial. Everyone took turns with the shovels and we all assisted each other in the burial of the nifterres. The day was stifling hot and most of the men removed their jackets as their brows were filled with sweat and their pants became dirtied as the hot dust swirled around.

The sons and the sisters of the nifterres were overcome with grief.

All of us were exhausted and spent. We were drained both emotionally and physically.

We felt the heat of the sun and the pain and grief of the mourners.

It was an emotionally laden experience.

As the levaya came to a conclusion, we proceeded back to our cars.

As I sat down in my car I was drained and weary from the events of the day. Every funeral is painful; every levaya is filled with grief.

However, perhaps because of the heat and because of the relative young age of the nifterres-I was tired and wasted.

Suddenly, I look up and see the funeral director standing at my car window.

As I look at him he says, "Did you give me back my knife? It's the only one I have and I cannot find it."

I felt terrible at the thought of not returning his knife and began to search my pockets.

I said to the fellow, "I cannot find the knife, I am so sorry. I will replace it for you".

About ten minutes later after everyone had returned to their cars and we were about to exit the cemetery, I realized that I better get the address of the funeral director to send him a new knife.

As I approached his car, I apologized for losing his knife. He said in what appeared to me to be in complete seriousness, "Don't worry, I have a whole list of problems with you!"

I was stunned.

I had just met this man about two hours ago. Our interactions seemed to me to be limited to my borrowing his knife. Was there something I had said or done during the funeral which had offended him? My mind was racing in its attempt to figure out what I did to offend this man that he now has a 'list' of things which he has a 'problem' with.

I looked at him and said with total supplication, "I am so sorry, please tell me what I have done to offend you?"

His face broke into a broad smile as he said,

"Oh, I 'm just kidding around. You have done nothing to offend me and don't worry; I found my knife, you gave it back to me.

I like to joke around with people.

By the way here is my card and I am licensed in New Jersey as well".

I smiled meekly as I took his card and returned to my car.

As I sat down, I realized I was shaking.

"What's wrong with this picture?" I asked myself.

We have just completed burying a 64 year old mother of three. It is about 100 degrees outside. We are all exhausted and our clothes and shoes are filled with the dust of the earth after burying a Jewish mother, and this man informs me that, "I like to joke around with people"!

I also like to 'joke around'.

However, as Shlomo HaMelech taught in Koheles 3:4: (There is...) "A time to weep and a time to laugh; a time of wailing and a time of dancing."

This was not a time 'to laugh'!

After thinking about this on the drive home, I realized that because this man is always involved in death and burial he has become hardened and no longer is touched by the tragedy of death which to him is a regular part of life.

Death has become the norm in his life.

As I drove on, I thought of the fact that we are now in the midst of the Three Weeks (and now the Nine Days) - the time of national mourning for the Beis HaMikdash.

How do I find it possible to 'joke around' today?

How can I crack a smile and a laugh when I'm supposed to be in the midst of mourning for the destruction of both Batei Mikdash?

Am I not exhibiting the exact same callous and caviler behavior which I found so distasteful in the funeral director?

How can I smile and 'kid around' when at this time of the year, thousands and thousands of Jews were being killed and ultimately the Beis HaMikdash was destroyed?

Have I become as casual and cavalier in my reactions to death as the funeral director?

As I drove on I stopped feeling so smug about myself and so scornful of the funeral director and I started feeling more and more ashamed of myself for my lack of feeling.

Have I become unmoved because of the fact that I have lived every day of my life without a Beis HaMikdash?

Is my skin no longer responsive to the pain of the nation?

As I drove, I felt sadder and sadder; not so much for the nation but, rather, for me.

I was saddened by the realization that the Churban (destruction) has become routine in my life; something standard and unexceptional and most troubling, almost natural.

As the realization hit home, I pulled over to the shoulder of the highway and I cried.

I cried not for the Beis HaMikdash; and not for the destruction of Yerushalayim.

I cried for me, and for the realization that I too had become a funeral director.

Taken from www.ahavasyisroel.com.