Fast of Tamuz

The month of Tammuz begins a spiritually intense and emotionally charged time in the Jewish calendar. While the secular world enjoys the warmth of summer, Jewish tradition draws our attention to a different kind of heat—the burning memory of destruction, uprooting, and the long road of return. Tammuz ushers in the "Three Weeks," or Bein HaMetzarim, a period framed by two fast days: the 17th of Tammuz (this year on July 13) and Tisha B'Av (this year on August 3). It is a time traditionally marked with mourning customs, self-reflection, and communal reflection.

The 17th of Tammuz commemorates five tragic events (Bavli Taanit 26a): the breaking of the first tablets by Moses, the cessation of the daily Temple sacrifices, the breaching of Jerusalem's walls by the Romans, the burning of a Torah scroll by a Greek ruler (known to some as Apostemus), and the setting up of an idol in the Sanctuary. These events are not just historical notes but spiritual milestones—moments in which sacred boundaries were violated and the fabric of holiness was torn.

The breaking of the tablets, for example, was an act of destruction—but also of awakening. When Moses saw the people worshiping the Golden Calf, he smashed the tablets he had just received (Exodus 32:19). According to the Midrash (Shemot Rabbah 43:1), God later confirmed Moses' decision with the words: "Yasher koach sheshibarta—Well done that you broke them."

This moment reflects a deeper spiritual truth: Sometimes destruction is the prelude to transformation. The Hasidic masters saw shattering not as failure, but as a path to renewal. The first tablets were delivered amidst fire and thunder, the second in a quiet conversation (Exodus 34). The Rebbe of Kotzk taught that "nothing is more whole than a broken heart."

There's a story about the Rebbe of Kotzk, who was known for his fierce and uncompromising pursuit of truth. One of his students once asked him, "Where is God?" The Rebbe replied, "Wherever you let him in."

During the three weeks we mourn the loss of the Temple—the house where God "dwelt among us"—the words of the Kotzker Rebbe resonate powerfully. In Hasidic thought, the destruction of the Temple is not just an architectural loss, but an inner exile. God is hidden in the cracks of our relationships, our doubts, and even our rituals. "Letting God in" means beginning to repair what is broken, to create a sanctuary in the heart.

Within a liberal Jewish framework, these three weeks are an invitation to look beyond historical mourning to ethical and communal responsibility. What are the "walls" we erect around ourselves—walls of indifference, exclusion, or fear? Who stands at the gates of our empathy?

Just as the ancient city was breached, we are called upon to examine our own boundaries. Do they protect us or isolate us? Do they protect the sacred or keep it at bay?

We may not fast in the traditional way or forgo music and celebration—but we can choose to spend this time with deeper listening, solidarity with the vulnerable, and a commitment to justice. In the words of Isaiah, read on Tisha B'Av: "Learn to do good, seek justice, help the oppressed..." (Isaiah 1:17).

Although this time begins sadly, it nevertheless carries within it the seeds of hope. The prophet Zechariah envisioned a future in which the fasts of Tammuz and Av would become days of joy and gladness (Zechariah 8:19). Tradition dares to imagine that even the darkest chapters can be rewritten—through remembrance, through teshuva, through love.

The Baal Shem Tov taught that remembering is a sacred act in itself. It's not about dwelling on grief, but about transforming it into a path of growth. The three weeks aren't about despair, but about finding meaning in the pain and allowing the cracks to become channels for new light.

May this month of Tammuz open a path of clarity and compassion for us. May our walls be broken down in the best way possible—so that we may let in each other and the divine presence that waits silently on the other side.