Longing

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The baby is always extra whiny on Tishah B’Av isn’t he? And oh the weather. It’s a scorcher year after year. I sit at the park and push my baby on the swing and feel guilty. It’s Tishah B’Av I tell myself hellooo.

I don’t like to think I’m a shallow person. Does my whole world really have to crumble because I’m hungry? And this can’t even be called hunger! It’s just a poor relative the merest faintest pangs. Ask the survivors for the real definition of starvation. And besides isn’t Tishah B’Av more than just the fasting? Isn’t it really about the severance of a connection so intense and beautiful we cannot even fathom it?

My baby cries again. Sighing I lift him out of the swing sit him in his carriage and stick a corn pop into his palm. It is so insufferably hot.

I know the truth. I know galus is real and devastating and it throttles every one of us in its all-encompassing many-pronged grip. I know but… can I deny that little yawn of relief that whispers through me as I sit down to my coffee and slice of babke when the fast finally ends? How I savor the chocolate oozing through the crumbly dough think longingly of hot cleansing fresh water… tomorrow’s shower. And laundry finally. Fresh laundry sweet smelling and warm from the dryer. And — thank You Hashem — music. Music!