הֲשִׁיבֵ֨נוּ יְהוָ֤ה ׀ אֵלֶ֙יךָ֙ ונשוב [וְֽנָשׁ֔וּבָה] חַדֵּ֥שׁ יָמֵ֖ינוּ כְּקֶֽדֶם׃

הֲשִׁיבֵ֨נוּ יְהוָ֤ה ׀ אֵלֶ֙יךָ֙ ונשוב [וְֽנָשׁ֔וּבָה] חַדֵּ֥שׁ יָמֵ֖ינוּ כְּקֶֽדֶם׃

Take us back, O LORD, to Yourself, And let us come back; Renew our days as of old!

Yesterday was Tisha B'Av, the Jewish day of mourning when we mark several moments of catastrophe that took place either on that very day or near enough to be rolled into the day. ( The destruction of both Temples in Jerusalem in 586 BCE and in the year 70CE, our expulsion from Spain, the decimation of Jewish communities during the crusades and of course the Shoah.)

I have been fortunate until now, not have lived through terrible times. Some years when reading the Book of Lamentations with my community I thought about how those ancient words might have resonated in Spain in 1492, or in Poland in 1941. Eicha, as Lamentations is known in Hebrew is a series of five poems of lamentation, some of which speak directly about the period of time around the siege of Jerusalem and the destruction of the Temples and other poems of more general lamentation. 

Just before Tisha B'Av, I learned of the death of Tanta Edith. Tanta Edith wasn't my Tanta. She was my friend Linda's Tanta. Actually, that isn't exactly true. Linda's mother, my buddy Herta, and Edith met in Berlin as three or four-year-olds. They remained close buddies in Berlin through their (mostly Edith's)wild adolescent adventures ( Herta often provided cover for Edith's escapades). 

The rise of Hitler to power separated the friends. Herta and her family spent the war in Shanghai.  Edith's path was complicated and I don't remember all of the details of it. The two eventually reunited in New York.

Every Rosh Ha Shanah and Yom Kippur Edith would sit next Herta. Both were elegant with their steel grey hair coiffed into an elegant shape by a hairdresser. They often wore what I assume what was proper Berlin High Holiday wear, white silk blouses, and a slate grey skirt with pearls and a beautiful gold pin. If you spotted the pair from across the room you would see a pair of elegant Berlin-born ladies.

If you were lucky enough to sit close to them you would hear the banter of two outrageous women. When they sat together they turned into two mouthy fourteen-year-olds with plenty of snark about EVERYTHING  going in in the room. They made each other laugh as they egged one another on. They made me laugh when I was lucky enough for them to switch into English. When Tanta Edith showed up I made sure to slip into a seat in front of Edith and Herta. It was truly the best seat in shul.

Edith was both incredibly elegant and incredibly raunchy. I looked forward to hanging out near the two buddies each Rosh Ha Shanah and Yom Kippur. 

Herta died just a few weeks before my mother. Edith's memory was already going. Edith died at 100 years old and with her died the memories of life in Berlin before the Shoah. I so miss seeing those two friends transform from grey-haired matrons into bright-eyed snarky adolescents each year.

הֲשִׁיבֵ֨נוּ יְהוָ֤ה ׀ אֵלֶ֙יךָ֙ ונשוב [וְֽנָשׁ֔וּבָה] חַדֵּ֥שׁ יָמֵ֖ינוּ כְּקֶֽדֶם׃

We have been getting through this time of pandemic by not thinking too far ahead about how long this will last, or too far back to think about how long we have been under siege. If I focus too much on either the past or the future of this pandemic it becomes a bit much to handle and I become a bit hopeless.

Each week I send an invitation to our virtual Shabbat guests. This week I included this concluding line from Eicha

הֲשִׁיבֵ֨נוּ יְהוָ֤ה ׀ אֵלֶ֙יךָ֙ ונשוב [וְֽנָשׁ֔וּבָה] חַדֵּ֥שׁ יָמֵ֖ינוּ כְּקֶֽדֶם׃

Take us back, O LORD, to Yourself, And let us come back; Renew our days as of old!

After I typed that line all of the sadness that I had been holding back came flooding through me. I truly miss the days of old when our table was crowded with all of our children and friends. I miss seeing my older kids and my son in law in real life. I miss the days of old when I cooked massive amounts of food for my loved ones around the table. I miss seeing friends in real life. I miss sitting next to friends in shul and catching up with our shoulders close together. I miss giving comfort to friends simply by sitting next to them- because sometimes words are not the right thing.   I miss seeing people on the street not as a potential danger to my health but as someone to greet. I miss seeing the world as a safe place. 

חַדֵּ֥שׁ יָמֵ֖ינוּ כְּקֶֽדֶם׃