Perpetual Mourning
The notification bell on my iPhone just informed me that Sinead O’Connor passed away. Although her passing is a shock, the timing feels familiar being that it is the eve of the ninth day of Av in the Jewish calendar. This is a time of mourning for the Jewish people and inadvertently confirms my belief about the period — one of the last beliefs that remain. See, summer has never been enjoyable to me, at least not during the three weeks.
The three weeks commemorate a disturbing time in history during which the temples in Jerusalem were ultimately destroyed by the Babylonians and Romans respectively. The three weeks end with the ninth day of Av, a fast day, and Jews all over the world mourn. It is customary during the three weeks to avoid any activities invoking joy during this period, such as getting married, listening to live music, getting a haircut, and traveling.
There is much superstition surrounding this time period and unfortunately for my logical mind, it is historically based. Over the years, many calamities against the Jewish people occurred including but not limited to, the first crusade, the expulsion of Jews from England, France, and Spain, and the approval by the Nazis of “The Final Solution.”
During my years at an Orthodox summer camp, we spent the day watching Holocaust films after listening to the reading of Eicha, a megillah that painfully describes Jerusalem after its destruction. She weeps in the night and her tears are on her cheek; she has no comforter among all her lovers.
I never enjoyed seeing those films but I suppose that wasn’t the point — the point was to suffer. The point was to collectively remember and mourn. This is paramount to the Jewish experience. It is a trauma bond. When I first put my hand to the Western Wall, it was not myself I was thinking of, it was the hundreds of thousands of souls who came before me.
This idea of collectivism is in many ways counter to Western culture which favors individualistic societies. Many of the collective events that ground and shape observant Jewish culture are things I no longer take part in — like Shabbat meals with large groups, prayer services, and so on. Trauma, however, does not require gatherings to experience. And so this is how, after all of these years, I have remained observant or makbid, to this particular time period.
Perhaps, had I never lived in Jerusalem, or touched the city with my hands and my heart, I would feel differently. Perhaps if I had not fallen in love with her golden sadness and seen her ruins — ever present — it wouldn’t be as it is. Though, I mourned for her in perpetuity even before we’d met. The collective grief is in my DNA and perhaps the only reason I can name her, is because I was raised with this historical knowledge. Perhaps, otherwise, it would linger inside of me the same, but without a name. Perhaps. Perhaps.
And so the superstitious portion of myself, the piece I fight against, surrenders every summer during this time. Though I do not need to be told to mourn, as it runs through my veins, I do. I mourn. And the mourning feels so intimate, so acute, and so painful as I sit here in New York City. Although it is impossible to travel to the past by physical means, my heart does not seem to have any trouble with the commute.
With the recent egregious political activities in Israel, the trauma is ongoing and the bullet points of history continue to accumulate. And so, I continue to mourn and also hope that one day, peace will prevail and the past can stay in the past.
