As I write this, I’m sitting in my cabin at Camp Ramah in the Poconos, having just walked back down the hill from our camp-wide reading of Eikhah, the book of Lamentations. Tonight is Tisha b’Av, the lowest point in our Jewish year, when we commemorate and grieve the destruction of the Temple and the exile of the Jewish community.

It’s a challenge to grieve something we’ve never experienced. Feeling an emotional connection to something that happened nearly 2000 years ago is a big ask. And so we find ways to drive home the senses of loss and hopelessness that characterize Tisha b’Av. We perform rituals of mourning, sitting low to the ground and avoiding joyful interactions.

We center our attention less on the history and more on the intangibles that can apply across time periods, the factors within Jewish society that make the community vulnerable to attack: the internecine conflict, the lack of direction, the baseless hatred among fellow Jews. 

Alternatively, we draw a straight line through history, noting the terrible events that have taken place on or around the 9th of Av, understanding that more recent events have more of an emotional impact. 

No matter how we go about it, the goal of Tisha b’Av is to bring us down. 

And yet, as I sit here writing at this lowest moment of the day, I feel a sense of hopefulness.

Don’t get me wrong – the grief, anger, and despair that Tisha b’Av stirs up are alive and well when I look at the state of the world, especially when I think about the challenges facing the Jewish community today. Rising antisemitism, as well as the conflicts between different sectors of the Jewish community (particularly about Israel) are problems that seem to grow more and more intractable.

My hope stems from what I just experienced. The whole camp coming together in tefillah (prayer) is a powerful message of unity in the face of a day that is so much about discord. Witnessing several dozen young people, seated in the center of the room, chanting Eikhah for the hundreds of campers and staff that were in attendance, reminds me that our tradition is a living one, even at times when we cannot help but focus on death and destruction. 

The last verse of chapter 4 of Eikhah reads: 

תַּם־עֲוֺנֵךְ בַּת־צִיּוֹן לֹא יוֹסִיף לְהַגְלוֹתֵךְ

Your iniquity, Fair Zion, is expiated;

You will be exiled no longer.

(Lamentations 4:22)

Embedded in the book of Eikhah itself is a glimmer of hope, the promise that things will get better. Perhaps that’s what I experienced tonight at camp. May it be only the beginning. 

Wishing everyone a meaningful Tisha b’Av and a Shabbat shalom.