The Month of Tammuz

The month of Tammuz aligns with the beginning of the summer, and that’s where we find ourselves right now—at the start of a month that is physically warm in temperature and also warm in spirituality, full of G‑dly revelation.

Pregnant women have normal fears. When normal fears are attacked by story upon story of horrific events, it breaks down even the most secure and strongest of women. A woman doesn’t have to be pregnant to feel bombarded by horror stories and catastrophes. All she has to do nowadays is turn on her phone or laptop and be connected to social media and the news.

How many times do I jump to conclusions without giving the other person even a chance to show me or explain to me what they are really doing?

She felt so down, depressed. She felt like she was barely holding herself up each day as she sank deeper and deeper.

The “vessel” of one’s life is too small right now to receive and perceive this new increment of good (and G-d). It must stretch beyond itself to accommodate the new light, which is forcing its way in. The process is painful. The dilation hurts. One sees only darkness.

It is the third of Tammuz, the anniversary of the Rebbe’s passing, and I find myself reflecting on the meaning of the day, desperately searching for answers to questions that still remain, unanswered . . .

As I listened to the voices of the Rebbe’s disciples, I could almost feel their yearning rise past my window . . .

I want to change. The desire comes from my need both to move away from where I am, and to approach the places I as yet only sense. I know that that requires personal effort. And yet, there are opportune moments which lift us beyond ourselves . . .

He made of each Chasid a "rebbe," made each Chasid feel that responsibility and love for every Jew, made each Jew sense her or his own greatness and holiness.

The Rebbe told me, “You are very different from each other. Remove him from your agenda.”