I was on the road (driving home from visiting family in Florida) this past Sunday and Monday, then spent yesterday unpacking – so I got a late start on reading “In the Narrow Places.” I read the Introduction and Days 1 through 4 to get caught up, and my plan is to read each day as scheduled for the remainder of the Three Weeks.
The Introduction is powerful, and, if you skipped it, I recommend that you go back and read it. The Introduction provides a wealth of background and perspective crucial to truly experiencing this moed.
One poignant observation made by author Erica Brown is our challenge to truly mourn the loss of something we’ve not personally experienced. The Mikdash (Holy Temple) was destroyed centuries ago. How do we genuinely mourn something that feels almost hypothetical? Can we stir our emotions to the point of wailing, or at least to shed a few tears?
I remember my first visit to the Kotel in 2008. Half expecting a profound emotional connection upon seeing it, I was disappointed with myself. I craved a meaningful encounter, but it remained elusive.
Fast forward to 2019. By then I had learned that someone who sees the Kotel for the first time (or if he/she hasn’t seen it for more than 30 days) should tear their clothes and say “Beit Kodsheinu v’Tifarteinu ashere hilleluḥa bo avoteinu haya l’sreiphat eish, v’ḥol maḥmadeinu haya lḥorva.” (“Our Temple of holiness and glory in which our fathers paid homage was burnt in fire and all that we cherished was sent to destruction.”) – Shulchan Aruch, Orech Chaim 561
I had a copy of the prayer with me in 2019 and upon entering the Kotel plaza I looked at the Wall and recited those words. I was completely unprepared for the ensuing waves of grief, and just stood there, overwhelmed.
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Today’s reading (Day 5) in Erica Brown’s book “In The Narrow Places” is titled “Growth through Discomfort.” I did not enjoy reading this one, which I guess is the point.
While pondering the words, I realized how easily I can be crushed when criticized. This may be surprising to you who know me because my typical response is to display anger / denial, not pain / heartbreak. There’s a reason why one of my favorite memes is, “My boss said I intimidate coworkers. I started at him until he apologized.”
Inside my head, for whatever reason, I hear criticism as an attack on my character rather than a comment on a behavior choice. I bristle at being considered defective rather than taking a minute to listen to how I can improve.
Thanks, Erica. I’ll be chewing on this a while.
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Today’s reading (Day 6) in Erica Brown’s book “In the Narrow Places” is titled “With G-d in the Garden.” In it, we find a familiar Talmudic passage found in Tractate Ta’anit about a man who plants a tree, knowing he will not live long enough to eat of its fruit.
We all are that man. We plant and trust HaShem. We don’t expect to enjoy the fruit; that’s not why we plant. Our generations are knitted together, to the ones before, to the ones after, trusting HaShem’s wisdom and grace.
This reminds me of discussions that Rabbi Dr. Steven A. Bernstein (zt”l) and I had over the years – discussions in which I encouraged him to write down his teachings. He didn’t see the point – he didn’t believe there were enough people interested in what he had to say. My reply was simple. His writings would be not only for whatever audience he may currently have – they truly would be for the generations yet to come as Messianic Judaism continues to mature and grow.
My husband’s untimely death left his doctoral dissertation unpublished. I have labored over the past months to get it ready for publication. It was not an easy task. I was touching his words, his thoughts. My primary focus was basic grammar and flow, as I was unwilling to disturb his “Rabbi trails” and other linguistic quirks that made the dissertation personally his.
May HaShem bless the planting.
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Today’s reading (Day 7) in Erica Brown’s book “In the Narrow Places” is titled “Consolations.”
Her description of “consolation” stood out to me: “Consolation is not meant to be a distraction. It is not about looking elsewhere, in the future, to the side, somewhere other than despair. . . . Consolation is about looking exceedingly closely at a past from which it is all too easy to turn away, and deriving meaning and comfort from it. It is the confrontation of grief in company.”
It always amazes me how I can read something from a completely different perspective and instantly recognize it as my own. Yes, Erica, distractions are meaningless when we need consolation. Distractions only delay the work to be done. Distractions may be a reprieve, but they are not the solution.
We need to feel the rawness, we need to wail, we need to touch that gaping hole, we need to stare into the chasm of regret and own what we could have done and said. Only then can we begin to heal, and smile, and stand tall, able to appreciate each step as we find our way.
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Today’s reading (Day 8) in Erica Brown’s book “In the Narrow Places” is titled “Tarnished Gold.” Quoting Eiḥa (Lamentations), she explains, “the real gold is not in the buildings but in the builders, the precious children of Zion who were decimated, shattered like simple earthenware thrown to the ground.”
My earliest awareness of the Holocaust was reading “The Wall” by John Hersey back when I was in high school. I remember being both surprised and intrigued at how few things the families packed when preparing to move into the Warsaw ghetto. A mezuzah, a Ḥanukkiah (Ḥanukkah menorah), candlesticks.
Many years later, when Steve (zt”l) and I married, I remember being surprised and saddened at how few “family heirlooms” he had. A mezuzah, a seder plate, a ḥallah cover, a few ḥanukkiot, a pair of candlesticks.
Historical fiction so poignantly melded into historical fact before my eyes.
Oh, but this is balanced by a photograph I recently came across online. The picture, taken at the Kotel, is of a Holocaust survivor with all her descendants, 400 strong. Within Judaism, our families, these “precious children of Zion,” are our treasure.
Am Israel Ḥai!
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Today’s reading (Day 9) in Erica Brown’s book “In the Narrow Places” is titled “Never Abandon Zion.”
One of the prayers which lead to our morning Sh’ma comes to mind: “Always should a person be fearing of Heaven, both in private and in public, acknowledging the truth, speaking the truth within his heart . . . “
This is a powerful image of how we are to treasure and protect Tzyon, Eretz Israel. We should not secretly love Israel while refusing to risk defending her publicly. Neither should we give a performative show of support just to forget her when we are without an audience. Israel is our home, deserving of our prayerful support and defense on all fields – economic, political, physical, social – both in private and in public. We can all do something every day, whether grand or simple, for Tzyon.
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Today’s reading (Day 10) in Erica Brown’s book “In the Narrow Places” is titled “The Divine Romance.”
Israel’s relationship with HaShem is often compared to a marriage, a covenant relationship. Covenant. We don’t really think of the implications of a covenant; the word sounds almost archaic. But a covenant isn’t just a contract; nor is it only a promise.
Covenants have a moral value, a sacred value, over and above mere legal rights and obligations. Covenants have no escape clause. Covenants can even extend through our generations.
“Covenant” might sound foreign to our Western 21st century kind of thinking. You see, within a covenantal relationship, we have no itemized list, no need to keep score. We forgive. We nurture. We go the extra mile. We go beyond expectations. Beyond accepting each other, we treasure each other.
During this period of introspection, as we consider our relationship, both personal and as a nation, with HaShem, we should also examine our personal / family / community relationships. Make time for HaShem; make time for others – and have those moments and conversations that truly matter.
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Today’s reading (Day 11) in Erica Brown’s book “In the Narrow Places” is titled “Answer Us.” She mentions “Naḥem,” a t’fillah we say just once a year, and only during Tisha B’Av Minḥa.
Naḥem begins, “Console, O L-rd our G-d, the mourners of Tzyon and the mourners of Yerushalayim, and the city that is in sorrow, laid waste, scorned and desolate . . . “
We ask HaShem to console us, confident that He will. Why? Not because we deserve it, but because of who He is. HaShem has proven His faithfulness to us repeatedly over the millennia. Yet, somehow, we’re bold enough to act as though we have the right to ask one more time. What love He has for us!
Eitan HaEzrati writes, “I will sing of the constant love of the L-rd for ever; with my mouth I will make known Your faithfulness to all generations. For I have said, The world is built by love; Your faithfulness shall You establish in the very heavens.” – T’hillah 89:2-3 And here is our call to action, lest we take His name l’shava (casually). We, as His people, are to reach out to the nations, to our neighbors, as so well said by Erica Brown, “Our brokenness gives us a window into the brokenness of others. . . . Everything is held in place by the glue of small interactions of goodness, of kindness to strangers at the time of their vulnerability. Today do one small act of kindness for someone you don’t know. Help hold up our fragile world.”
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Today’s reading (Day 12) in Erica Brown’s book “In the Narrow Places” is titled “Teaching G-d to Cry.” The basic thought behind that odd title is that HaShem is our partner in grief. As we watched our enemies destroy our Holy Temple; HaShem also watched. As we cried, HaShem also cried. As we mourned, HaShem mourned.
And now, day by day, we continue to mourn, looking to Tisha B’Av – which ironically will be both the crescendo and the conclusion of our grieving. Many of us will weep as we read Eiḥah together. Some of us will feel profound sadness. Some of us will quietly wonder why we can’t cry.
No need to wonder. Our modern Western culture is a harsh one for the tenderhearted. We are expected to power through, to compartmentalize. Quoting a favorite meme, “They say that what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. At this point, I should be able to bench-press a Buick.” You get the idea. We’ve learned to be strong and brave, to control our emotions, to hold back our tears.
But then the sun sets, suddenly Tisha B’Av is done for another year, and we’re breaking the fast together. I admit that many times I’ve looked back at the day with disappointment, wishing I’d glanced at my watch less and been more immersed in the fullness of Tisha B’Av.
I don’t want to manipulate myself to tears or settle for performative tears – I want to genuinely weep as I have during times of great loss. How is it that I can cry at a song, or a movie, and not cry for the loss of our beloved Holy Temple?
Our Sages teach that those who truly mourn will be those who, in the future, will experience the greatest joy. May we all weep now together.
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Today’s reading (Day 13) in Erica Brown’s book “In the Narrow Places” is titled “An Echo in the Ruins.” She relates a conversation between Rabbi Yose and Elijah about praying in a place that is in ruins, noting that, “There is something compelling about praying near ruins. It focuses our prayer on what is and on what is no longer.“
Back when my husband Steve (zt”l) and his family lived in Jerusalem (early 1970’s) the Jewish Quarter of the Old City was in ruins. The entire quarter. All Jewish residents had been expelled during the War of Independence in 1948, and then, in both celebration and revenge, the Arabs subsequently destroyed the quarter, leaving it a pile of rubble. Israel regained sovereignty of the Old City in the Six Day War (1967) but rebuilding the Jewish Quarter took years. Seeing the rebuilt Jewish Quarter had far more impact on Steve than me, because he had seen the former ruins.
My first visit to Israel was on a tour in 2008. The Ḥurva Synagogue was still in ruins with just the familiar stone arch marking its location. It was rebuilt in 2010, so when Steve and I took our first trip to Israel in 2014 it had been restored. Seeing the rebuilt Ḥurva Synagogue for the first time literally froze me in place – I can still remember turning the corner, hearing a nearby tour guide describing its history, and being barely able to breathe, completely absorbed in its beauty. The people in that tour group were simply hearing another interesting bit of history.
On Steve’s and my last Israel trip together (2019), the Tiferet Israel Synagogue was in process of being rebuilt. I made a point to take a photo of the construction zone so I would have a record of the “before” in full anticipation of returning one day to see it completed.
Rebuilding is vital and healing and worthy of celebration; but it is essential that we don’t lose the ability to commemorate the ruins; to recall the destruction. This time, during The Three Weeks, we mourn not only for what has happened, but for what still is. We mourn our as-yet-unrebuilt Holy Temple. We read in Talmud Yerushalmi, Yoma 1:1, “Every generation in which the Temple is not rebuilt is considered responsible for its destruction.” Paraphrasing Hillel the Elder, “If not us, who? And if not now, when?”
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Today’s reading (Day 14) in Erica Brown’s book “In the Narrow Places” is titled “Looking Forward, Looking Back.” This is in reference to Shabbat Ḥazon, a vision of the past rather than the future.
A bit of background: Normally we have only one Shabbat between Rosh Ḥodesh Av and Tisha B’Av; this year (5785) we have two: 1 Av (Rosh Ḥodesh Av) and 8 Av. The Shabbat immediately preceding Tisha B’Av is Shabbat Ḥazon, which means that, this year, the topic of today’s entry applies to next Shabbat.
Ms. Brown quotes the first chapter of Yeshaya’hu (Isaiah) to reveal how HaShem had grown weary of our offerings and assemblies, how He had become weary of our neglect of widows and orphans. “Your rulers are rogues and cronies of thieves, every one avid for presents and greedy for gifts; they do not judge the case of the orphans, and the widow’s cause never reaches them.” (Yeshaya’hu 1:23).
Have we, too, grown weary of our offerings and assemblies? Do we attend out of love for HaShem, or out of habit? Do we pour our hearts out as we read the prayers, Tehillim, and writings, or just skim through?
When we see someone in need, do we move on, assuming someone else will step up – some other person or charity or government agency? A society is judged by how we treat the most vulnerable among us. Quoting the author, “Do not call yourself a pious person unless you are part of building a just society. . . G-d will not hear the prayer of those who separate religious obligation from human compassion.” She concludes with, “Every day presents an opportunity to make our lives more whole, less fragmented, more honest and less compartmentalized. We are all hypocrites in one way or another. We strive to be good but stumble. We aim for consistency but miss the mark. So instead of trying to change the whole world at once, perhaps we can make minute but meaningful steps to promote justice. Small acts of justice are the bricks of any future Mikdash.”
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Today’s reading (Day 15) in Erica Brown’s book “In the Narrow Places” is titled “Reversal of Fortune.” Reversals of Fortune flow both directions. The mighty fall; the downtrodden rise.
One of my favorite quotes is, “Circumstances don’t make you who you are; circumstances reveal who you are.” The difficulties and trials that we face in life often feel unfair, random, even punitive. But what gets revealed?
Do we get angry? Do we get introspective? Do we lash out? Do we shut down?
The way in which we face our circumstances shows our hearts, but it also prepares our hearts for when we come across someone in need of compassion. We notice them; we walk that proverbial mile in their shoes. Regardless of the details of their circumstances, we lead with compassion. Compassion can be a random kindness; it can be an afternoon of conversation; it takes various shapes and forms based on the specific situation. Those who have been comforted will in turn comfort others – and so it goes. HaShem connects us all – and lets us discover why.
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Today’s reading (Day 16) in Erica Brown’s book “In the Narrow Places” is titled “Personifying Tragedy.” She quotes kinnot which describe Jerusalem as a grieving mother crying over her lost children; as a woman who sits in solitude like a widow.
Jerusalem is likened to a woman whose children are gone, whose husband is dead. She is Stricken with both losses – and these images rend our hearts.
Alone. Desolate. She has no purpose; she spends her days in grief, unable to dream or hope. Solitude closes in, and if the rest of the world pays any attention at all, it does not offer consolation. It only brings criticism, ridicule, and accusations.
The emptiness closes in; yet, somehow, it feels claustrophobic. Tohu v’Vohu. Inseparable void and chaos. Beyond understanding, yet crushing.
Imagine being among those leaving Jerusalem to go into captivity in Bavel, having no idea if we would return. Our first exile lasted around 70 years – not all who left did return. They died in Bavel. How could those born in Bavel have any kind of meaningful connection to a city in which they’d never lived?
The second exile has been going on almost 2,000 years – it’s easy to forget that, for the centuries from the Second Temple’s destruction in 70 CE to 1948 CE, Jerusalem remained in ruins. Jerusalem has since been rebuilt, but those living in Eretz Israel still deem themselves as in exile because we still have no Holy Temple.
As we prepare for Tisha B’Av, set aside some time for quiet reflection. Think about your family, neighbors, and community – spend a few minutes remembering moments of laughter, fond memories, significant events. Then imagine all of them gone. Feel the emptiness.
Then bring Jerusalem to mind and see the sheer magnitude of the entire city barren and forlorn. Feel the emptiness. Let the emptiness fill you.
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Today’s reading (Day 17) in Erica Brown’s book “In the Narrow Places” is titled “When Absence Is Presence.” Guided by the wisdom of our sages, we have incorporated, both individually and as a Nation, a variety of traditions to help us remember our Holy Temple.
We leave a part of our homes unfinished in remembrance. Typically done by leaving an unfinished portion on the wall which faces the front door, we are confronted by it each time we enter our homes. We see that unfinished portion and recall that, until we once again have our Holy Temple, our lives are not complete.
When celebrating special occasions, we leave an empty place setting at our table. Each time we look around the table, enjoying the gathering, we can’t help but notice the blank place – that empty space which symbolizes the missing altar.
Women are encouraged to remove one piece of jewelry than would ordinarily be worn. It not only leaves her “look” incomplete to others, but she will feel the absence – a bracelet she unconsciously adjusts, a ring she twirls, leaving in their stead an empty spot. It leaves her just a bit off balance, again serving as a reminder of a life that’s incomplete.
The broken glass at a wedding is a reminder of the destroyed Holy Temple. Black stripes on a tallit are a reminder of the destroyed Holy Temple. Omitting the t’ḥeilet in tzitziyot can be a reminder of the destroyed Holy Temple.
During The Three Weeks, from the 17th of Tammuz to the 9th of Av, our list expands. We don’t get married, we don’t cut our hair, we don’t dance or listen to music. From the 1st of Av to the 9th of Av – the Nine Days – we don’t eat meat, we don’t drink wine, we avoid freshly laundered clothes, we refrain from desserts.
Each of these traditions, these seemingly minor adjustments to our everyday lives, serve to heighten our sense that nothing will truly be right until we can once again worship in our Holy Temple.
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Today’s reading (Day 18) in Erica Brown’s book “In the Narrow Places” is titled “Speak Tenderly to Jerusalem.” She observes that HaShem did not just provide the words that Yeshaya’hu was to say to Yerushalayim; He also reminded Yeshaya’hu how to speak them over us. The Prophet was speaking to a distraught and dejected nation; we needed comfort, not instruction.
We had remained in exile for 70 years – not that long from a biblical scale, but for many it is a lifetime. We have a hard enough time imagining our parents as youthful; going back 70 years requires us to connect to the world in which our grandparents, and our great-grandparents, lived.
Most of us struggle to feel any kind of long term connection to our own family history, much less our community or national lore. We had been in exile so long – our old way of life in Yerushalayim was a daydream, a vague notion.
Yes, we first needed comfort. Quoting the author, “Tenderness is not marked by how you say something but rather by the relief that you generate by what you say.” We needed to hear HaShem’s words, but we needed first to feel safe so we could lift up our eyes and receive encouragement.
This is important for us to remember whenever HaShem guides us to someone who needs comfort. Those who are hurting do not need poetic platitudes; they need words from the heart. We need to provide genuine comfort to them rather than an eloquent treatise. We also do not have to have all, or even any, of the answers. Quoting the author, “The first step of consolation is not a tangible solution. It is hope. Before change, there is hope.”
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Today’s reading (Day 19) in Erica Brown’s book “In the Narrow Places” is titled “A Heart of Stone.” She begins with a quote from Eiḥa 3:41, “Let us lift up our hearts with our hands to G-d in the heavens,” then segues to a tale from Rabbi Naḥman about a king who commands his young prince, fresh from studying in a distant land, to bring a boulder up to the palace attic.
The two thoughts seem unrelated but in fact they are intertwined. Though, to understand, we need to view them in reverse order.
First, the prince – he had just returned from years of study, yet he is unable to decipher a way to move the boulder. Seeing no way in which he can fulfill his father’s, his king’s, wishes, he is confounded; crestfallen.
The king is saddened by his son’s limited vision. He needs his son, the future king, to have both the understanding and the wisdom to find solutions to dilemmas which initially appear unsurmountable. He then reveals the answer: to move the boulder, it must first be broken apart.
The juxtaposition is now apparent.
We sometimes wonder, how are we to lift our hearts to HaShem, when they so heavy with grief? We let them break. We then completely trust Him as we lift up the shattered pieces of our hearts. He is Avinu Malkeinu, our Father, our King.
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Today’s reading (Day 20) in Erica Brown’s book “In the Narrow Places” is titled “To Question, That Is the Question.” She explains, “Questions trap us. In our mortal, limited state, we are surprised and stunned to be caught. Continual questioning forces us to look inside.”
The source of this “continual questioning” is found in the second chapter of Yirmeyahu, in which HaShem literally peppers us with questions and accusations. The sheer number and intensity of His questions doesn’t give us a chance to waive them off or avoid them. We do not have time to think, to reply with easy, offhand answers. We are forced into an uncomfortable introspection.
Verse 11 particularly stands out to me, “Has any nation changed its gods, even though they are non-gods?” In other words, are we, who are in an eternal relationship with the One True G-d, that fickle, that unfaithful & capricious with HaShem? How can it be that these other nations, who worship trees and rocks, are more steadfast to their non-gods than we are to HaShem? In all our yearning to be “just like all the other nations,” our greatest failure is that, in this one area, we aren’t at all like them. They are more commendable than we, and it is to our shame.
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Today’s reading (Day 21) in Erica Brown’s book “In the Narrow Places” is titled “Words on Fire.” Jewish people are often referred to as the “people of the book” because of our focus on Torah and Torah study. Thanks to the wisdom of the Anshei Knesset Gdola (the men of the great assembly), our nation has embraced Torah as our guide and inspiration over our many centuries of exile.
Those who wish to oppress us often burn our Torah scrolls, the Talmud, and various other texts we study. They know that, if they can eliminate our books, they can disconnect us from HaShem and from our history as a nation. Heinrich Heine (1797 – 1856) so eloquently wrote, “Where they burn books, they will ultimately also burn people.”
In an age of Kindle and electronic resources, we should still seek out hard copy books, and for good reason. These past few years we have been witness to classic movies being edited remove unpopular views, we have seen statues toppled, we have faced demands to rewrite history so to placate nouveau grievances. AI (Artificial Intelligence) can and will be used to make these changes even more quickly and surreptitiously. Novels like “Fahrenheit 451” and “1984” now strike us as warnings rather than fiction. We should be concerned.
Most Jewish homes still have libraries – many actively seek out and preserve old and out-of-print books. We look through garage sales and thrift stores, rescuing precious books and Judaica from the shame of the trash heap.
This we know – quoting the author, “It is up to each of us to own a Jewish library, both for our own spiritual and intellectual growth, and to be a role model for our children, demonstrating what it means to live by the word.”
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Today’s reading (Tisha B’Av) in Erica Brown’s book “In the Narrow Places” is titled “Beyond Words: A Closing Thought for Tisha B’Av.” This day is our day of mourning, of pouring out words that, quoting the author, “perhaps can best be summed up with a sigh and a cry and a pounding on the door, all the non-verbal acts that ask “why” more loudly than words.”
Our homes, our Schuls, our communities are, this day, houses of shiva. Social niceties and pleasantries are set aside. Initially awkward, we settle into the quiet. We are raw in a grief that is personal yet mutual.
The Holy Temple is our life center – we declare at the conclusion of each Pesaḥ, “Next Year in Yerushalayim!” We direct our daily prayers toward the Temple Mount where it twice stood. On this day we must be brave enough to look directly into the emptiness at our core, to feel the pain of being a nation that is not able to go home.
In Z’ḥaryah 8:19, HaShem promises us that, one day, “the fast of the fourth month, and the fast of the fifth, and the fast of the seventh, and the fast of the tenth, shall become times of joy and gladness and cheerful feasts to the house of Y’hudah.”
Our time of mourning will pass. May we all merit to see that day.
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Today’s reading (10 Av) in Erica Brown’s book “In the Narrow Places” – her final essay for The Three Weeks – is titled “Redeeming the Ruins.” Her focus is on Yirmeyahu’s letter to the exiles in Bavel. His message is unexpected, far from what we might imagine for a nation about to go into exile.
“Build houses and live in them, plant gardens and eat their fruit . . . Seek the welfare of the city to which I have exiled you and pray to the L-rd in its behalf . . . “ (Yirmeyahu 29)
We are not to resist exile. Rather, we are to embrace our temporary surroundings, all the while remembering that our true home awaits. We are to make wherever we live a better place, while keeping our hearts and eyes focused on our true destination. We are to settle in yet resist getting comfortable or complacent.
Without our beloved Holy Temple, even those living in Israel, even in Yerushalayim, are in exile. The Hebrew word for exile is “galut,” which literally means “in the wrong place.” We are in the wrong place. We do not fit. We yearn for a place that is still a promise. We pray to merit that place.
May HaShem rebuild the Holy Temple and bring us all home. May it be soon and in our days.
Ashtey Khayil 