Tisha B’Av is the lowest point in the Jewish calendar, a day of mourning that mirrors the deepest ruptures in Jewish history—destruction, exile, dislocation. It is a fast day, not to punish the body, but to awaken the spirit. It is a time to feel the weight of what has been lost, and to recognize that, according to our sages—sinat chinam, “senseless hatred”—was at the root of these devastations.
Tisha B’Av asks us not to turn away. Not from suffering. Not from one another. Not as American Jews. Not as Israeli American Jews, who are entangled more intimately in the complexity of this hideous disaster. Not as our Israeli siblings, who live in this nightmare of war, grief, and national reckoning. Not as our Palestinian cousins, who endure profound loss and devastation.
This year, I am sitting with the Hasidic teaching that “the whole world is a very narrow bridge—and the essential thing is to not be overcome by fear.” It’s often sung as an anthem of resilience. But a deeper reading reminds us that a narrow bridge isn’t just scary; it is also a place of reckoning.
And so is Tisha B’Av.
As we sit in the dust of this day and read the anguished poetry of Eicha, we hear: “You have veiled Yourself in a cloud, so that no prayer can pass through.” (Eicha 3:44)
We bear witness to the human cost of hatred, arrogance, and indifference. But Eicha is not only about the past. It seeps into our present reality and awakens us to what happens when we stop listening.
This year’s grief feels vast. The continued echos of the horrors of October 7th. The hostages still held. The staggering loss of Palestinian life. The crisis of conscience for so many. The heartbreak in Israel and Gaza. The despair of war that rises without end, without clear end.
And here at home, fear is rising too. Masked ICE officers detaining people in our cities. A rising tide of authoritarianism and dehumanization. Many in our community are scared—for themselves, for their families, for the future of this country.
Tisha B’Av asks us to feel this pain. For many of us, it is impossible to turn away. Many of us are struggling. Many of us are struggling with our very Jewish identity.
Reckoning with that is important. But disappearing from Jewish spaces—even when that impulse feels protective—will likely not heal the hurt or bring the clarity we seek.
Those who chose Judaism may feel especially disoriented by this moment, grappling with the collision of joy and trauma. Those of us supporting Jewish partners and children may be experiencing a new layer of grief in our bones.
But all of us, regardless of path, are asked to remain present: to our sorrow, yes, but also to our souls and to our inner wisdom.
This Tisha B’Av let us reflect on what we are building in the here and now. Let us reflect on the differences and the spaces between:
- fasting and starving.
- safety and slaughter.
- ranting and reaching out.
- restorative rest and avoidance.
- the impulse to fix and the courage to listen.
- knowing and learning.
- what we know and what we can hold.
- silence and abandonment.
- the call and the readiness to respond.
This is a time to ask:
- What are we preserving?
- What are we destroying?
- What are we passing on—to our children, our children’s children, our neighbors, our communities, and our world?
Our Reconstructionist impulse teaches us that to be “a light unto the nations” is not about superiority or being “chosen.” It is about participating in the great constellation of human dignity—offering sparks of justice, humility, and connection. Adding light, not claiming it.
Dear ones, I come to you as your rabbi—in the most Reconstructionist sense of that word. Not as a gatekeeper of truth, but as a fellow spiritual traveler. A facilitator, a meaning-maker, and someone who, like you, is trying to stay awake to the heartbreak and the holiness of this time.
Let us walk this narrow bridge together—not with all the answers, but with hearts open to the questions, to one another, and to the sacred work of repair.
For those of us who are fasting, may that fasting deepen our presence.
May our mourning awaken our compassion.
May we walk this bridge—carefully, courageously, and together.
B’ahavah,
Rav Gavrielle
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Below are various recordings of Gesher Tzar Me’od (The Very Narrow Bridge) that may speak to your hearts:
Baruch Chait Version
Yosef Karduner Version – with fuller Nachman text
