That night, cramped in the Mechina Bais Medrash of Telshe, we davened Maariv followed by Kinnos, and then the singing began. Open crying and tears, as we all swayed to the voices of hundreds of young children and bochurim connecting to the churban with song. I had never heard or felt that ever before, and that was Tisha B'Av etched in my memory.

When I became a division head in Camp Romimu, I was told that my division always stayed after davening to sing. I was excited about the opportunity but concerned about the responsibility I had to make it uplifting for the counselors and boys. A few days before Tisha B'Av that year, Rabbi Yosef Sonnenshein, the Mara D’Asra of K’hal B’nai Shalom in Waterbury, CT, sent a letter that he wrote to us, his kehilla. I had struck gold; it was the perfect message that would lead us into a meaningful song.

That Tisha B'Av night, as the Bais Medrash became quiet and after davening, I read the letter:

Dear Son עמו"ש,

Our relationship has had its ups and downs over the years, and I am writing this letter to open my heart to you and to share my deepest feelings with you.

The day of your birth was a great joy for me. I had waited for it with tremendous anticipation. My son! I loved you deeply and dearly and wished only that we could share the joy of our relationship forever. I yearned to share my wisdom with you and to teach you to be successful in this challenging world. I rejoiced in educating you in the many facets of life. In your infancy, I filled your every need and cared for you as only a father can. I carried you on my shoulders, protecting you from danger and sustaining you with food and drink until you were ready to care for yourself.

As the years went on, however, it became apparent that you had begun to shut me out of your heart. You no longer approached me when you needed help. You approached others instead. Others, who are less capable than I, and unable to meet your unique needs. You betrayed our special trust by calling others your father and acting as if you no longer remember the love that we shared.

I tried to remind you. I knocked on your door, begging you to open. I called out to you, my beloved, dearest, only son, and you acted as if you couldn’t hear me. I pleaded with you. I was so worried about you. You were engaged in reckless and dangerous behavior. You were putting your entire future at risk.

I was desperate to save you. I finally succumbed to threatening you that I would leave. I thought that the mere possibility of my leaving would wake you up and bring you back to me. It didn’t help. With a heavy heart, I left our home. Leaving you was excruciating. I had no choice. It was the only way.

I know that as soon as I left, you woke up. I know that you ran to the door and flung it open. I know that you called out to me. Desperately, you asked anyone you met if they had seen me. You suddenly and painfully realized that nothing is more important than what we shared.

Yet, I cannot come home. Not yet. I stand in the shadows, crying with you, waiting for you to abandon your reckless ways. I know that you are trying. I hope that you will keep trying. You may not see me, but I am here. Watching. Waiting.

For many years, you have sat on the floor and cried for me. I felt such a desire to end this and just come home. I heard you. You may not have realized it, but I was sitting on the floor next to you. Crying with you. I love you too.

I want you to know that the day of my return is almost here. I want you to hold onto the hope in your heart and never ever give up.

Because I never stopped loving you.

Love,

Your Father in Heaven

אני ישנה ולבי ער ... קול דודי דופק!

The visual impact it had on the boys was extraordinary, as they sang songs of yearning as if Hashem was, kavyachol, sitting beside them! The boys were swaying, singing, yearning, and some even crying. When I mentioned this letter to my grandfather, Rabbi Paysach Krohn, he published it as an entry in his new book “From Sorrow to Celebration”.

The hope is that this year Tisha B'Av will not be a sad day. But if, chas v'Shalom, it is, I hope that you as well will be able to connect through tears.

Rabbi Moshe Dov Heber is a Middle School Rebbi in Yeshiva K’tana of Waterbury, the Director of the Mishmar Evening Program in Waterbury and Division Head in Camp Romimu. He is a frequent contributor to various publications on areas related to education as well as speaks publicly on various topics. Rabbi Heber can be reached via email at mdheber@ykwaterbury.org.