We Jews are a lunar people — our calendar is driven by the cycle of the moon. The new Hebrew month begins with that tiny sliver of the new moon, and next week, on Tuesday evening, we will welcome the month of Av.
It’s a strange phenomenon. Our custom on the Shabbat preceding the new moon is to recite a blessing — one of hope and gratitude — for the month to come. But the month of Av begins with sadness, so even as we say the blessing, we know what’s coming: the nine days of traditional mourning culminating in Tisha B’Av, our day of commemoration for the multiple national disasters that have befallen our people at this time of year.
And this year, of all years, we say those words of blessing knowing full well what Av holds.
This year, we journey toward Tisha B’Av with an even greater sense of dread. Antisemitism at levels most of us have never experienced in our lifetimes. Anti-Israel rhetoric normalized more and more each day. The world feels less safe for Jews than it did even a year ago.
Last Wednesday marked 1,000 days since October 7 — mostly ignored by the western press, noted quietly in Jewish newspapers and social media feeds. The living hostages are finally home. The dead have been buried. And yet for many of us, it doesn’t feel like much has been resolved. Yesterday the United States announced fresh strikes on Iranian targets in the Strait of Hormuz and the President declared the ceasefire agreement likely over. A concerning potential sale of advanced American military aircraft to Turkey is in play. And within Israel itself, tensions over national service for Haredi citizens have reached a breaking point, with elections approaching in late October and, God forbid, the specter of civil conflict in the air.
We sense, before Av even begins, what this month and the months to come might hold.
And still. We bless. And that’s part of the lesson. Still. We. Bless.
Another lesson is found in this week’s Torah portion, a double portion that concludes the Book of Numbers. The second half of the double portion, Masei, opens with a list of every place the Israelites stopped during the forty years of wandering in the wilderness. All 42 of them, including the places of failure, rebellion, and grief. Our Torah doesn’t edit them out. We remember them all, the good and the bad.
Why? Why remember it all?
One answer is seemingly obvious: you cannot get to where you are going without having been at every place you have been. Every stop is part of the journey, even the stops you wish you could forget.
At the end of Numbers, the Israelites stand at the 42nd stop — the plains of Moab, looking across the Jordan River at the land they have been promised. They can see it. They haven’t crossed yet. They don’t know exactly what it will take to get there but they can see the destination.
From a place of deep humility, we have to acknowledge: we don’t know which stop we are on right now. Is this the last of the setbacks? Or, as my beloved Uncle Allen of blessed memory used to say, is this just another disappointment in a lifetime filled with them.
So much uncertainty. So much we don’t know.
But here is what I do know. Still. We. Bless.
On Shabbat, we will bless the month of Av. We will say: “May it be Your will, God, that this new month bring us long life, peace, goodness, sustenance, dignity, and answers to our prayers!”
It’s not a description of what is or what we know will be. It is instead a prayer. A wish. There is no promise here, we don’t know if any of these things will come to pass but we ask for them anyway. This is hope.
One way we hold onto hope is by being together so I want to end with some invitations:
On July 15, join me at the Skirball for an afternoon with Lisa Edelstein and Robert Russell — space is limited, so sign up soon.
On July 22, join us at Stephen Wise Temple alongside our friends from Wilshire Boulevard Temple, Valley Beth Shalom, Leo Baeck Temple, Adat Ariel, and Temple Isaiah for our community Tisha B’Av commemoration. We will sit with the grief that is real. We will not pretend it isn’t there.
And then for some light and joy and uplift, join us for our annual beach Shabbat in Santa Monica on July 24.
We don’t know how. We don’t know when. But we bless Av anyway — because that is what it means to be a Jew in time. Not to pretend the hard parts aren’t coming. But to show up for them, to acknowledge them, and to trust that on the other side of this stop, there is another one, and eventually, there is the crossing
Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Yoshi