Sadness as a Guide

Dear Friends,

I tremble as we enter the Hebrew month of Av and walk toward tisha b’av, the day we mourn the destruction of the Temples, the loss of our sacred center.

I shake not because of what happened in the past, but because this season demands that I face the ways we humans continue to desecrate and destroy the sacred—sacred institutions, values, ideals, the sacred earth itself.

As I look at the chaos, injustice and violence in our country and the world, a fierce, consuming rage rises within me. It becomes the prism through which I view everything.

While anger might be an understandable response, this season demands something different. It insists that I go under the rage and feel the grief that ignites this passion. It urges me to listen to the grief, to learn from its wisdom and let sadness, for a time, be my guide.

I am resistant to this call. The grief I feel is so huge, I am afraid  that if I truly allowed it, I wouldn’t survive.   

And so I practice.

Carefully, I lift my eyes to what is being trampled, destroyed and lost and allow feelings of heartbreak.

Sometimes as I do, I feel like I am drowning in a river of sadness and I will do anything to reach the shore and rid myself of these feelings.

Other times, as I have surrendered to grief, I have felt sometime shift.

The sadness has softened my heart.  It has slowed me down. I have become more sensitive, patient and aware.  

Sometimes, with a heart tenderized by sadness, simple acts of connection bring me to tears. I feel such gratitude for a thoughtful comment, an offer of assistance, a caring moment.

Sometimes the sadness opens me to wild joy, I experience the smallest act of kindness, the taste of a good cup of tea, a bird singing in the tree outside my window, and my heart exalts.

There are times the sadness propels me to seek beauty. To sit by the river, to stand with a tree, to close my eyes and listen to music.

I have found that one of the greatest gifts of allowing sadness is that these feelings are eased by relationship. Comfort comes from connection and opportunities to be of service.

What I easily forget is that the sadness I feel is rooted in what I love. Allowing the grief gives me access to so much of what I cherish.

With all of this, it is still a challenge for me to be with the grief I feel when I look at our world. I pray to have the courage to lift my eyes and be guided and strengthened by grief’s truths and offerings.

May this season propel us toward acts of kindness and tikkun (repair).

May it open our hearts to each other and our great capacity to love.  

Blessings to all,

Shalom, Rabbi Yael