I always start early… like 15 days before the month begins. There’s something about letting the new energy ferment slowly… like sourdough. You don’t rush it. You let it rise in its own time, give it air, warmth, and patience. That’s how I prep for Rosh Chodesh. That’s how I meet the month.
Chassidus says every month holds its own unique energy. It’s hidden under the surface, like a treasure beneath the dates on a calendar. And if we can tap into it? We can bring a tikkun not only to ourselves, but to time itself.
Because in Yiddishkeit, time isn’t a flat road—it’s a spiral staircase. A cycle that goes deeper every year.
So when we revisit the month of Av, we’re not just circling back. We’re digging into its essence, discovering more.
Av.
A month full of contrasts.
A month that makes room for both sorrow and celebration.
A month of memory and prophecy.
The 9th—a day of mourning.
The 15th—a day of dancing.
🦁 Av is connected to Leo. The lion.
King of the jungle. Fierce and regal.
And yet… if misaligned, it becomes wild.
Leo represents Malchus—royalty.
Our Sages teach that the very day of Tisha B’Av, when everything seems so far from G-d, is the very day Moshiach will be born.
Paradoxes, right?
That’s the poetry of Judaism. It lives in the gray. The ache. The both/and.
Over the years, I’ve learned that anything with the potential for destruction also holds the seed of greatness.
The lion’s roar can destroy—or declare the presence of a King.
And its tikkun? That’s the tikkun of the 3rd Beis HaMikdash.
Where the whole world finally sees what royalty really looks like.
Bayom hahu yihiyeh Hashem echad u’Shmo echad.
I always get goosebumps when I think about the Arizal Hakadosh, whose yahrtzeit is on the 5th of Av.
A soul who completely shifted the spiritual landscape.
I still remember standing at his kever in Tzfas, crying to the mystic who cracked open my own soul.
His students were called “lion cubs.” His teachings were the roots of all Chassidus.
Ari, Arizal, Leo, Av. It all connects. It always does.
Tzfas—sigh. A city where the wind hums secrets and the walls whisper Kabbalah.
It’s blue like techeiles, wild with ruach, and home to artists and holy madness.
The birthplace of Thank You Hashem energy.
The original hub of Chassidus.
When I sit down with my monthly prep, I lean in to what the calendar offers. And in Av, it’s everything.
Tisha B’Av breaks us.
But Tu B’Av glues us back together with borrowed dresses and whispered blessings.
Imagine this: The daughters of Yerushalayim dressed in white, walking in the fields. Borrowed dresses, so no one feels shame. And then they call out:
“Lift up your eyes, young men… choose well.
Not just beauty. Look deeper. Look for legacy. Look for heart.”
It sounds almost immodest at first. But Chassidus flips everything.
This dance isn’t shallow—it’s sacred.
It’s a mashal for our relationship with Hashem.
We, Knesses Yisroel, say:
“Hashem, choose us again. Not for looks. For soul.
For the mitzvos we try to do, the light we carry, the family we come from.
Choose us because You made us.
Because this whole world was made for this connection.”
That’s the tikkun of Av.
Of Tisha B’Av.
Of exile.
Love.
Ahavas chinam.
The rebuilding of Malchus.
The return of the lion’s crown.
And then comes my favorite whisper of all: Shabbos Nachamu.
(Yes, I have a favorite Shabbos, okay? Don’t judge 😇)
It’s the music. The laundry piles. The gentle lifting from mourning to joy.
Av becomes Menachem Av.
Grief, yes—but now wrapped in Divine comfort.
I lost my father this year.
And this month? It hits different now.
It’s a quiet grief.
A holy ache.
I’ve found my way to stay close—through learning.
Especially Tanya.
Especially when I teach in his zechus—Yisroel Tzvi ben Ahron Dovid.
My father, who loved to learn.
Who would wander into mysticism with me when I was writing sem reports.
Who brought Torah to the table like it was bread.
I keep learning.
And I keep lifting him.
Menachem Av.
It’s Father Energy.
But not just father as protector—father as presence.
I feel his soul in the way I teach.
And in that, I find my nechamah.
🎶 Nachamu Nachamu Ami…
I can’t even say it without singing it in Carlebach’s voice.
My daughter—my own little Nechama—was born the day after Tisha B’Av.
Named for this Shabbos.
I held her in my arms and sang that song over and over again.
The tears blurred with lullabies.
Reb Yussie Zakutinsky once said that there’s a difference between a yeshuah and a nechamah.
Yeshuah is the fix.
Nechamah is the knowing that it was never broken.
The Alter Rebbe teaches in Tanya that the deepest light comes from the darkest place,
Yisron ohr min hachoshech, light that emerges from the darkness is a superior light.
The highest level – because spiritual darkness itself becomes light.
Redemption isn’t about getting rid of the pain—it’s about transforming it.
Discovering the light within it.
That’s what Av is asking of us.
To look again.
To stay with it.
To press our ear to the ground and hear the heartbeat of Moshiach rising beneath the rubble.
🖤
The darkness is also Hashem.
Sometimes… maybe it’s even a stronger form of Him.
So here I am.
Doodling thoughts into my soul-journal.
Letting Chassidus keep me on fire.
Humming niggunim.
Roaring soft.
Holding grief in one hand and geulah in the other.
This is Av.
Let’s meet her gently.
And rise with her strength.
This article was found in Nekuda Tova Issue 46 Tisha B’av Edition.