The Three Weeks, are one of the most morose periods of the Jewish calendar. In Hebrew, this nearly month-long stint is called “Bein HaMetzarim”, which translates to “between the straits [of distress]”, commemorating the tragic bookends of the 17th of the Jewish month of Tammuz–on which the walls of Jerusalem were breached by first the Babylonians, then, about 800 years later, by the Romans–and the 9th of Av–when the Babylonian/Roman seiges on Jerusalem succeeded in destroying both the First and Second Temples, respectively.
In observant circles, the period is marked with a suspension on listening to music with instrumental accompaniment, a temporary ban on vacation travel (excluding Israel), and, according to Ashkenazi custom, not eating meat for the first nine days of Av. (For everyone else, it’s simply no meat during the week that Tisha B’Av actually falls), The purpose of these practices is to be able to fully understand and digest the magnitude of our loss of land, Temple, and centralized social and religious life.
But as a Jew of Color, I’ve gotta say…It rings a little hollow for me.
I mean, I get the feeling of loss and not belonging. The gravity of losing our homeland and identity. I just don’t see why I need a reminder. Maybe other Jewish communities do. The ones with neighborhoods, and businesses, and JCCs, and charities. The Jews that essentially blend into the power structures that exist. The ones who never have their Jewishness looked upon with incredulity.
I, however, am succinctly reminded at any given time—on, say, your average Tuesday—from either of the communities that I belong to, that “you’re one of them, not one of us.” Like the Hillel building I walked into back in college, where I was stopped at the door and asked who I was there to see. Or the “diverse” campus group I belonged to that didn’t really want to spend the money on kosher food for their big event. Or the Jewish dating site that couldn’t comprehend how I existed. And then there’s just America in general, which I currently have to convince that my life matters.
Why exactly do I need extra mourning during these three weeks? Will eating meat make me suddenly unaware of Alton Sterling or Philando Castile? George Floyd? Breonna Taylor? Will traveling to a vacation spot make me forget that I’m unsafe from law enforcement when I’m traveling, period? Will listening to music with instruments in it somehow cloud my eyes from systemic, well, everything at this point? And it’s not like life is going to be different after the three weeks, the same way that it wasn’t different before them.
I know I should be invested in this time period. But, right now, I honestly can’t see why.
And I haven’t for a very long time.
