For those who follow the rhythm of Jewish time, a slow but steady build-up is underway. In the physical universe—where enormous objects spin around a bright star—it is still the height of summer. In Florida, that means heat that is hot, oppressive, and unrelenting. Even the rain can’t cool the air.

In Jewish time, the season feels different. We are moving away from the heaviness of communal sorrow, edging toward the release and renewal of Rosh Hashanah.

This weekend marks one of those steps. In the shadow of Tisha B’Av and the lingering ache of every day feeling like October 7, we are offered two moments meant to lift our spirits.

The first is the Haftarah from Isaiah that begins Nachamu, nachamu—comfort, comfort. To underscore the point, this Shabbat is called Shabbat Nachamu. The reading is beautiful; I have chanted it many times, letting the melody carry me to a safe place in my mind. But the comfort is fragile. Eventually words must be supported by action, lest words that once hung in the air fall to the ground, broken and meaningless.

The second is the minor holiday of Tu B’Av, which this year falls on the same Shabbat. It celebrates love and is sometimes called the “Jewish Valentine’s Day.” Long ignored, it has recently been revived. Which makes perfect sense in an imperfect world.

And yet, Tu B’Av rings hollow for me. Twenty-four hours of a little-known love holiday feels forced, especially when you are a single woman not dating anyone. It’s like Valentine’s Day without the consolation of good chocolate; more absence than joy.

I find myself at a loss, wishing the world was a better place but knowing that human monsters will always walk the earth. The idealistic girl I once was, the one who believed young people could end wars and change the world, has aged, carrying more years and less hope.

Still, I am not ready to surrender. I turn to Judaism because it asks me to do rather than simply believe. The call to action keeps me moving forward, even when my steps feel heavy.

That young girl is still deep inside, whispering eternal truths and urging me on. Silencing her would betray everything I know about who I was, who I have become, and why I am here.

So I keep going, through the oppressive heat and through the weight of sorrow, toward a new year shimmering on the horizon, carrying a fragile promise of a brighter future.