Every year, we walk into Tisha B’av carrying a heavy heart. We know what’s expected of us. We fast. We mourn. And deep down, there’s a gnawing thought: Has Hashem left us? Isn’t that the feeling we’re meant to sit with? That Tisha B’av marks the time when G-d turned away from us, when we weren’t good enough... when He left, and we don’t know if or when He’ll return.
But maybe that’s not the avodah. Maybe that’s not the goal at all.
I recently came across a powerful piece from the Leshem—Rav Shlomo Elyashiv zt”l, the grandfather of Rav Yosef Shalom Elyashiv zt”l. He wrote on bitachon, on trust in Hashem, and it reframed everything.
He explains that when the Jewish people were taken out of Egypt, they were redeemed through a unique mode of Divine interaction—Erech Anpin, Hashem’s boundless patience and kindness. He simply gave, He shined light, He lifted them out.
But once they crossed the Yam Suf, fear set in. What if this light disappears? What if Hashem withdraws His kindness? What if we’re left alone, to be judged, to bear the weight of our mistakes?
So Hashem brought them into the wilderness not to punish them, but to test them. Water would run dry, food would be scarce, Amalek would attack, Moshe would disappear on the mountain, the Land of Canaan would seem terrifying. All of it was a test.
And the test was this: Would the Jewish people believe that Hashem left them? Or would they hold on to the one truth that matters most—that He never left at all? Because the strongest power a Jew possesses is bitachon. The deepest spiritual strength is the ability to say, “Even in darkness, He is here with me.” The challenge is not to feel abandoned when tragedy strikes, but to remember: the pain isn’t proof of distance. It’s proof—whisper of closeness.
Tisha B’av lives in a month called Av. A month named for a Father. Hashem wants us to remember, even on the darkest day of the year: I am your Father. I never left.
It wasn’t Hashem who turned away. It was us. We distanced ourselves. We thought we could do it on our own. We forgot to see the open arms that were always there.
So the avodah of Tisha B’av is not despair. It’s not about confirming our worst fears. It’s about reminding ourselves of the deepest truth—that He is still here. That He never stopped being our Av. That He is waiting for us to come home.
Whether you’re facing personal pain, national tragedy, or just another Tisha B’av, this is our task: to return with more bitachon, not less. To believe harder. To walk forward with confidence, the way our ancestors should have walked into Eretz Yisrael—with faith, with dignity, with the unshakable knowledge that Hashem is with us. This Tisha B’av, as we mourn the past and fear the future, let us not fall into despair. Let us rise with the quiet, steady strength of one who knows: He never left. Not for a moment. He’s been beside us all along. And now, it’s our turn to walk toward Him.
Ein od milvado. There is nothing but Hashem.
Every soul, every moment, every detail of this world is a spark of Divine energy. But we live in a world of blockages—trauma, ego, pain, confusion. We are in exile, and not just physically, but spiritually. Exiled from ourselves, from each other, from our Source.
Mashiach is when that veil is lifted. When we finally see each other, and ourselves, as fragments of a great Oneness.
And here’s the key: the work of Mashiach doesn’t begin when he arrives. It begins now. In me. In you. Every time we confront our own darkness. Every time we choose to live with faith, with openness, with Divine consciousness. That is Mashiach. That is redemption.
The prophet Yeshayahu says that when Mashiach comes, we will say: “Odecha Hashem ki anafta bi—I thank You, Hashem, for having been angry with me” (Yeshayahu 12:1). Meaning, we will look back at all of history and say, thank you.
But how? What can possibly justify all the pain? All the loss? One child’s death, let alone rivers of tears, centuries of persecution? Free sushi? Easy shidduchim? No tuition?
Of course not.
The revelation of Mashiach will bring a clarity and joy so profound that we will understand what we never could. We will see why the journey had to be this way. And we will finally see the light that was hidden in the darkness. That is Mashiach.
And the more we awaken that light now, the more we live with compassion and unity, the closer we bring that day.
Not a day we just hope for. But a day we can begin to live.
Rabbi YY Jacobson
