I remember speaking with a woman who had just lost her sister. She was preparing for shiva, but she was self conscious about her small, New York City apartment. She lived in an SRO (single room occupancy), and there wouldn’t be much room for many people. And in a community with many wealthy folks, she was also reluctant to host shiva in her SRO that clearly identified her as low-income. When the time came for the first shiva minyan, the sound of her kaddish, strong yet wavering with tears, reverberated off the walls of that small room and through the dozens of people standing there. After shiva was completed, she reflected on the experience and shared that it was as if the walls of her small room expanded, making enough room to care for her, because they didn’t want her to feel alone. Being alone in her grief would have been too hard.
Tomorrow night, we will chant the book of Eicha (Lamentations), as we mark Tisha b’Av. Commemorating the destruction of the Temple so many years ago, Eicha beings with the line: אֵיכָה יָשְׁבָה בָדָד הָעִיר רַבָּתִי עָם הָיְתָה כְּאַלְמָנָה How does the city, that was once full of people, once great among the nations, sit alone? She has become like a widow.
The city of Jerusalem, covered in ashes and decimated, is likened to someone experiencing pain and grief, alone. On the day when we are meant to mark the lowest of lows, the imagery we use is that of being alone, stranded, and disconnected.
When we come together tomorrow night, our tradition asks us to recall the calamities that have befallen our people. But we don’t do so alone, we come together in community to grieve as a unit. To simultaneously grieve on our own and offer a sense of strength and presence to others grieving. To feel the sadnesses of our people and to open ourselves up to others joining us in pain. We don’t have to be alone; we don’t have to be like the woman at the beginning of Eicha.
I have thought back to that woman sitting shiva in New York many times, grateful for her expanding walls, grateful to all those that showed up to ensure that she wasn’t alone. I’d like to imagine that when we come together for Tisha b’Av, we travel back in time and offer comfort to that city, likened to a widow grieving alone. We often underestimate the power that we have in showing up and extending ourselves. We devalue what our presence - and presence alone - can offer someone. But we know, when we are recipients, it means everything.
The last six months of my family’s life have been some of the most challenging. But through it, you ensured that we didn’t feel alone. Our gratitude to this community is unending, and so many of you checked in on us, brought us food, did grocery runs for us, and were willing to be there for us in any way we needed. You were a constant reminder that even in our own unique difficulties, we need not feel alone.
This Shabbat morning, Abe and I are sponsoring kiddush in gratitude for our sons’ health and in gratitude for this entire community. We hope you will join us tomorrow for kiddush, and I hope to see you tomorrow night for Tisha b’Av. Let’s be together; we need not be alone.
