Sometimes a pain goes so deep that words cannot rise above it. With the loss of a child, or in the trauma of abuse, words lose meaning. At such times, consolation cannot be found in platitudes, nor solace sought in the bright chatter of well-meaning friends and family. Where the soul is hurt, words cannot heal. At such times, we ask not for comfort, but meaning. We seek revelation, not mere understanding.
When I lost my first-born, I found that cultural conventions cannot always handle such pain. We acknowledge the stages of grief, yet tend to view it as something to be gotten through, and over with, and before long we are gently urging the afflicted to get on with life. Soul-felt hurt is seen as somehow outside the normal course of living, and the sooner banished the better.
The Jewish tradition recognizes that pain and loss are not an aberration, but an inevitable, perhaps even necessary, stage in spiritual evolution. The brokenness that results from such soul searing can lead one toward a deeper sense of self.
The holiday that “celebrates” the pain of brokenness is Tisha B’Av, the ninth of Av in the Hebrew calendar. Traditionally the day commemorates several of the intense losses of the Jewish people throughout history, such as the destruction of the temples in Jerusalem, the expulsion from Spain in 1492, and many of the pogroms (massacres) that decimated our people.
Yet despite the intense sorrow and loss associated with the day, it is still regarded as a holiday, another day in the sacred calendar where holiness is accessible. It is a day when I can connect with the sacred in the depths of pain and loss, as much as I can through joy and celebration.
Soul pain can soften my egoistic resistance to the spiritual dimensions of life. Pain and sorrow can lead me into a deeper appreciation of what is of transcendent importance. In all the tragedies remembered on Tisha b’Av, there is one powerful common element: Our people were shaken out of their spiritual indifference, and compelled to make teshuvah — to return to their spiritual foundation, to reawaken holiness in the world. This is the positive aspect of the day, and this is why Tisha b’Av is called a holy-day.
We tend to turn outward in times of joy, and turn inward in times of tragedy. We expect to share the joy, and hide the pain. Yet I find that my pain is not my own. G-d seeks the whole of me, not just those parts I’m willing to share. The sorrow and pain which I assume to be so intensely private are in reality part of a spiritual awakening that unfolds G-d into the world. I am called to seek a song out of sorrow, and make of it a note in the symphony of divine revelation. My loss is no less painful, but in the very intensity of pain is a dimension of the divine that only I can release.
Shevach Lambert is a member of Temple Beth Israel and president of Lane Interfaith Alliance. This column is coordinated by LIA to offer inspiration, share personal spiritual experiences and bring a deeper understanding of individual faith perspectives with the intention of blessing our community and world. For information, visit www.laneinterfaithalliance.org or call 344-5693.