How Summer Can Fool You- The Spinning Wheel of Tisha B’Av and Chanukkah
Chanukkah kept coming to my mind. Even when the rabbi said that, “Tisha B’Av is a a fast day like Yom Kippur and a day of restrictions like shiva,” images of menorahs in the window were in my head.
Yes, in the midst of the most depressing holiday on the Jewish calendar, the concepts of Tisha B’Av’s timing and focus on space hearken me back to Chanukkah.
Time
In the middle of the winter, darkness pervades our lives. Days are short and it is not unusual to experience some level of Seasonal Affective Disorder, where moodiness and depression emerge due to the sparse commodity of sunlight. LIke in many other religions, we, as Jews, celebrate a holiday to addresses those doldrums-- Chanukkah. Among the many lessons that Chanukkah, the Festival of Lights, teaches us is that even a little bit of light can chase away the darkness. In the time of year where we can lose hope, comes Chanukkah to teach us that the spirit of positivity, of hope and of light is always present even when it seems far away.
In the middle of the summer, it is sunlight that pervades our lives. Days are long, people are out until the sun sets and the feeling of joy is in the air. Yet, in the midst of the everpresent light, a holiday of darkness comes to wake us up. While it is not happy, or positive, it is real. Of the many lessons that Tisha B’Av teaches is that life is fragile and precious. While we hope the light lasts forever, we know that sadness and darkness are simply part of the human condition.
As Abigail Pogrebin writes that maybe Tisha B’Av is to “tell us to stop, intentionally, in the brightest possible sunlight, to remember the dark.” (My Jewish Year, p. 272)
Space
Chanukkah is the celebration of space. We recite daily the Al HaNisim which tells of the rededication of the Temple by the Maccabees. Our joy is palpable in the return to the most sacred physical space on earth, the Temple in Yerushalayim, where our nation gathered and God dwelled, is central.
Tisha B’Av is the mourning of space. Yerushalayim, according to Eicha “sits alone... like a widow” --יָשְׁבָה בָדָד..הָיְתָה, כְּאַלְמָנָה. We mourn the fall of the house of God, the place where our people gathered as one and the horror of the torture and exile of Am Yisrael.
Rabbi Judith Hauptman writes, “I used to think mourning for the destruction of a building--because that is how Tisha B’Av is always presented--made little sense….Until 9/11”
The Twin Towers on their own were mere bricks and mortar, but to Americans and to our enemies, they symbolized something much bigger. And on a much more historical and religious scale, the Temple did the same as it symbolized our connection to our people and God. Tisha B’Av, the destruction of that space that represented that connection--a mourning for a space, yes, but more importantly a mourning for the place that housed our most sacred relationships.
Rabbi Avi Weiss once told the story of a man whose family was celebrating his birthday. As the patriarch of the family, all gathered around, siblings, children and grandchildren and he requested just one thing--a stick. Puzzled, his loved ones asked him, why, out of all the things that he could get, would he want a stick.
“To put it in the wheel.” he responded. “I am filled with such joy, peace and happiness now, that I want the wheel of lighlife to stop here.”
Tisha B’Av and Chanukkah are our sacred reminders of the fragility, the sweetness and the pain of the wheel that spins in the lives of our communities, our nations and in the lives of each of us.
Yes, in the midst of the most depressing holiday on the Jewish calendar, the concepts of Tisha B’Av’s timing and focus on space hearken me back to Chanukkah.
Time
In the middle of the winter, darkness pervades our lives. Days are short and it is not unusual to experience some level of Seasonal Affective Disorder, where moodiness and depression emerge due to the sparse commodity of sunlight. LIke in many other religions, we, as Jews, celebrate a holiday to addresses those doldrums-- Chanukkah. Among the many lessons that Chanukkah, the Festival of Lights, teaches us is that even a little bit of light can chase away the darkness. In the time of year where we can lose hope, comes Chanukkah to teach us that the spirit of positivity, of hope and of light is always present even when it seems far away.
In the middle of the summer, it is sunlight that pervades our lives. Days are long, people are out until the sun sets and the feeling of joy is in the air. Yet, in the midst of the everpresent light, a holiday of darkness comes to wake us up. While it is not happy, or positive, it is real. Of the many lessons that Tisha B’Av teaches is that life is fragile and precious. While we hope the light lasts forever, we know that sadness and darkness are simply part of the human condition.
As Abigail Pogrebin writes that maybe Tisha B’Av is to “tell us to stop, intentionally, in the brightest possible sunlight, to remember the dark.” (My Jewish Year, p. 272)
Space
Chanukkah is the celebration of space. We recite daily the Al HaNisim which tells of the rededication of the Temple by the Maccabees. Our joy is palpable in the return to the most sacred physical space on earth, the Temple in Yerushalayim, where our nation gathered and God dwelled, is central.
Tisha B’Av is the mourning of space. Yerushalayim, according to Eicha “sits alone... like a widow” --יָשְׁבָה בָדָד..הָיְתָה, כְּאַלְמָנָה. We mourn the fall of the house of God, the place where our people gathered as one and the horror of the torture and exile of Am Yisrael.
Rabbi Judith Hauptman writes, “I used to think mourning for the destruction of a building--because that is how Tisha B’Av is always presented--made little sense….Until 9/11”
The Twin Towers on their own were mere bricks and mortar, but to Americans and to our enemies, they symbolized something much bigger. And on a much more historical and religious scale, the Temple did the same as it symbolized our connection to our people and God. Tisha B’Av, the destruction of that space that represented that connection--a mourning for a space, yes, but more importantly a mourning for the place that housed our most sacred relationships.
Rabbi Avi Weiss once told the story of a man whose family was celebrating his birthday. As the patriarch of the family, all gathered around, siblings, children and grandchildren and he requested just one thing--a stick. Puzzled, his loved ones asked him, why, out of all the things that he could get, would he want a stick.
“To put it in the wheel.” he responded. “I am filled with such joy, peace and happiness now, that I want the wheel of lighlife to stop here.”
Tisha B’Av and Chanukkah are our sacred reminders of the fragility, the sweetness and the pain of the wheel that spins in the lives of our communities, our nations and in the lives of each of us.
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