This article initially appeared in My Jewish Learning’s Shabbat newsletter Recharge on August 3, 2024. To sign up to receive Recharge each week in your inbox, click here.
The Hebrew month of Av starts on Monday, and here I am, surrounded by delivery boxes, packing up our eldest for his first year of college. It feels monumental and mundane all at once. This big step is laced with excitement and anxiety, especially knowing how tough it can be to be Jewish on campus these days. This moment in the Jewish calendar feels like a perfect metaphor for everything we are experiencing.
Eighteen years ago, we faced a classic parental dilemma: the name game. We wanted a name beginning with A to honor my husband’s mother, Andi, who died when he was a teenager. It had to carry the weight of our hopes and dreams for this new little person and help us turn grief into joy. Two names stood out: Avi (“my father”) and Ami (“my people”).
We sat at our kitchen table, the weight of the world and the promise of new life hanging in the air. “Avi makes me think of the embrace of a parent we always want him to feel,” Jason said. I nodded, thinking of the strength and comfort we seek when we cry out to God as avinu, our parent, during the High Holidays.
“But what about Ami?” I asked. We loved the idea of our child being cradled not just by us but by our entire people. We were grappling with two sources of Jewish comfort and strength — the divine and the communal — as we took our first steps in helping him navigate the joys and sorrows of life.
That decision feels especially poignant this year. The month of Av begins with deep mourning, particularly during the first nine days when we put joyous occasions on hold. The grief peaks on Tisha B’Av, the ninth day of the month, a day that gathers all our collective sorrows into one heavy moment. We remember the destruction of both ancient Temples, the expulsion from Spain, and many other heartaches. The weight of our history presses down on us, demanding that we face our pain head-on.
Then, six days later, we dive into Tu B’Av, a matchmaking festival that the Talmud teaches is one of our most joyous days. In between, we mark Shabbat Nachamu, the Sabbath of Consolation. In the Haftarah we read that day, God calls us ami, “my people,” wrapping us in words of comfort and hope. This is why the month is also called Menachem Av (“comforting parent”).
Contemplating the name Avi brings me to a hospice bedside moment. As Betty and I prayed together for her comfort and renewed spirit, her smile lines deepened. “Rabbi, I am ready,” she said. Her fear evaporating, she said she felt like a small child held by a loving God. The grief of life ending wasn’t absent, but the joy was in the room, too.
“Joy is a deep release of the soul, and it includes death and pain,” writes Rabbi Alan Lew. He teaches that true joy comes from fully inhabiting our experiences, no matter how tough. The month of Av doesn’t deny grief or force celebration. It accompanies us through both.
How can we reflect on tragedy and gratitude in the current situation?
Reflecting on our tragedies also enhances our gratitude for present blessings. Dr. Erica Brown suggests that “we don’t diminish our happiness when we spend a day or a few weeks meditating on the tragedies of history from which we emerged. We become more grateful, holding on tightly to our blessed lives because we can.” This thread weaves through Av.
Rabbi Jonathan Sacks offers another layer of understanding. Joy, he says, is not merely the absence of sorrow but the presence of a deeper connection that transcends our immediate circumstances. And in Jewish tradition, our joy is inherently collective. “The festivals as described in Deuteronomy are days of joy, precisely because they are occasions of collective celebration,” he writes. In our shared connection with God and each other, we discover a communal joy that carries us through even the toughest times.
Navigating the end of childhood isn’t easy, especially for parents. But the lessons of Av are there for our kids and for us. We live in a world scarred by memories and ongoing experiences of destruction, yet it still bursts with moments of deep joy. That joy is richer because we share it as a people, together seeking God. Opening ourselves to awe and wonder, we touch Divine compassion. We find strength in our shared history and the gritty, beautiful reality of our current lives.
As Av begins, we mourn the destruction happening in real time along with the sorrows of our past. But if we allow ourselves to sit with the pain, we can also feel the loving presence of Menachem Av. By coming together, we gain the strength of community. We join a dance, a song, an act of learning or helping, and tap into the enduring joy and hope of the Jewish people.
And as for our son Amichai, he has already met the Hillel rabbi and is ready to go.
The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of JTA or its parent company, 70 Faces Media.