Living according to the Jewish calendar aligns one with the meaningful rhythms of loss and renewal. On the 17th of Tammuz we begin a three week period mourning with a minor fast day (from sunrise to nightfall) that culminates with Tisha B’Av, the 9th of Av, the day we mark the destructions of the Temple in Jerusalem in 586 BCE and 70 CE, along with many other tragedies that have befallen our people throughout history. Since the 17th of Tammuz falls on Saturday this year, we observe the fast on Sunday. On Tisha B’Av the fast begins in the evening and lasts until the next night.

There are many mourning rituals during this three week period whose severity increases as we approach Tisha B’Av. We refrain from listening to live music, from getting haircuts, and shaving. During the first nine days of Av, we also refrain from eating meat or drinking wine, yet Shabbat meals override this restriction.

Each Shabbat morning during the three weeks, we read a special haftarah whose intent is to jar us out of complacency to take actions that will reverse or at least mitigate our harsh experience of history and reshape the world according to our highest values.

On Tisha B’Av itself, we begin the night chanting the book of Eicha, Lamentations, while sitting on the floor of the synagogue in the dark by the light of a candle. We either chant the prayers in a dirge-like melody or we simply say them. We don’t put on Tallit or Tefillin in the morning. We don’t study Torah or do other pleasurable activities.

At the afternoon service, the tone shifts towards healing and rebuilding. We put on Tallit and Tefillin and read sections from the Torah and prophets about comfort and forgiveness.

This begins the seven-week period, shiva, of healing, culminating with the renewal of Rosh Hashanah.

On each Shabbat, we read a haftarah of comfort. The first Shabbat is called Shabbat Nachamu and the haftarah beautifully opens with Nachamu Nachamu Ami, Be comforted, be comforted, my people.

From the outside, all of these rituals may look antiquated and extreme. For the one who lives in-sync with the Jewish calendar, these rituals guide one on a journey of transformation and renewal. The rabbis teach, “All who mourn for Jerusalem will merit seeing her joy, as it is said, ‘Rejoice with Jerusalem and be glad for her, all who love her; all who mourned her will rejoice with her (Isaiah 66:10).’”

Tosefta Sotah 15:10-15

Another word about fasting. Here is one of my favorite teachings-

As Rav Ḥana bar Bizna said that Rabbi Shimon Ḥasida said:

What is the meaning of that which is written: “Thus said the Lord of hosts: The fast of the fourth month, and the fast of the fifth, and fast of the seventh, and the fast of the tenth, shall become times of joy and gladness,and cheerful seasons, to the house of Judah”(Zechariah 8:19).

It calls them days of “fast” and it calls them “times of joy and gladness.” How so? When there is peace in the world, they will be times of joy and gladness, on which eulogies and fasting are forbidden; but when there is no peace, they are days of fasting.

Rav Pappa said that this is what it is saying: When there is peace in the world and the Temple is standing, these days will be times of joy and gladness; when there is persecution and troubles for the Jewish people, they are days of fasting; and when there is no persecution but still no peace, the halakha is as follows: If people wish, they fast, and if they wish, they do not fast.

Rosh Hashana 18b

-Rabbi Barkan

I was in a car accident yesterday. An hour before we were supposed to drive up to Ramah, a block away from our destination, I caused the accident. Thank God, no one was injured!

Yes, I should have got a few more hours of sleep the night before. Yes I should have drank more water after being in the sun all day. Yes, I should have…but I didn’t.

It could have been so much worse. I could have hit someone else. I could have harmed my two year old daughter who was in the back seat. I could have fallen asleep a mile earlier when going around the bend of the hills. I could have…but I didn’t. And I had no one to blame but myself.

The guilt weighs heavily on me. The gratitude also weighs heavily on me.

After the car was towed away, my wife rented another car and we drove up to camp that night, Tuesday night, last night as I am writing this.

Being at camp today has been restorative: immersing into this familiar dynamic environment; teaching kids of all ages sitting on the grassy hill; being surrounded by loving people, meeting new people, and reconnecting with old friends, colleagues and mentors; and, reaching out to the Director of Camper Care for personal support.

This week’s Torah portion, Korah, addresses different responses – effective and destructive ones -- to tragedy. In the wake of the failed rebellion by Korah and his Edah (group of followers), Israel compounded the tragedy by lashing out and blaming Moshe and Aaron for “killing the people of God” (Numbers 17:6). This response of misplaced blame occurs right after God commands Moshe to instruct Aaron’s son Elazar to take the fire pans of the rebels who were consumed by fire and mount them on the altar so they can serve as a sign for the children of Israel to remember the harsh consequences for rebelling.

Perhaps this reminder was too painful for the people. They may have still been trying to come to terms with the great loss that they felt about the public punishment of the earth swallowing up and consuming the rebels. I imagine that they felt a mix of sympathy toward the rebels who were killed and fear for their own lives after witnessing such an intense punishment. This grief was exacerbated when Elazar put the burned fire pans of the rebels onto the altar, at the command of God, in front of the people as a reminder of what happens to those who rebel. This kind of intense emotional grief may have caused the people to assess the events irrationally and cry out against the authority of the legitimate leaders, thereby extending the rebellion unwittingly and, ultimately, rebel against God. Which led to more destruction.

Similarly, I question if the car accident was a direct result of my actions while I am desperately trying to come to terms with a range of conflicting feelings of fear, sadness, and gratitude. The emotions are so strong at times when I speak about the accident with someone I get choked up with tears. Is this the right time to make theological or personal assessments? How can I not try to come to terms and learn from what happened? I am grateful to be within the supportive Jewish community of Camp Ramah as I struggle with these questions. The communal environment calls on me not to retreat into isolation. The Jewish structure compassionately pushes me to wrestle with the big questions.

We also need to be reflective about how we respond to tragedy on a communal level as a Jewish people? Here too there are mixed emotions and different responses to the losses we have faced. Anger and compassion may very well exist within the same person or one emotion may be stronger for one or another. One can see these emotions raging in the robust conversations today about how we use the memory of the Holocaust when confronting the immigration crisis we face in our country today. These intense emotional controversies must take place in a context of respect and solidarity, guided by the rabbinic value of an “argument for the sake of heaven,” in which we build ourselves and each other up through the disagreements instead of tearing each other down.

Today is Rosh Hodesh Tammuz. On the 17th of the month we begin the three weeks to prepare for Tisha B’Av, the ninth day of the month of Av, the saddest day of the Jewish year in which we commemorate destructions that we have suffered throughout our history. We deal directly with destruction instead of erasing it. Also, we don’t get stuck in it. After Tisha B’Av, we mark seven weeks of consolation and comfort during which we begin the process of rebuilding and renewing ourselves culminating in Rosh Hashanah. This process provides us with the opportunity for reflection and constructive conversation on this vital question of how we can translate our people’s pain into a force for good in the world and amongst ourselves.

Coming close to death reminds me of how fragile life is. I am grateful for this opportunity to reflect upon it here through the lens of Torah. Even though I am not mentioning it explicitly in my teachings throughout camp this week, I hope that the campers and staff sense my positive passion to communicate life’s preciousness through teaching Torah.

-Rabbi Barkan