The Silent Cry of Ayeka
In just as few days, we will all sit on the floor and read the darkest kinus of all time. It begins with the most haunting word “Eicha”.
It’s a word that carries so much weight and pain.
The very word screams darkness and suffering.
We will ask the question our people have asked for thousands of years.
How?
How did this happen?
How could there be so much destruction?
But while you are reading Eicha,
there are voices all around you, silently crying another word.
“Ayeka”
Where are you?
When your neighbor, coworker or friend quietly disappears, Ayeka?
When someone spends yet another Shabbos alone, Ayeka?
When someone smiles to you, but their eyes look haunted and lost, Ayeka?
When someone close to you gives too many excuses, too often, Ayeka?
When someone reaches out in the only way they know how. Not asking to be rescued, not asking for pity, rather simply hoping, yearning and wishing for someone to notice them. Ayeka?
Somewhere today, someone is fighting the terrifying aftershocks of their terrible childhood traumas.
Somewhere today, Someone is carrying an addiction no one sees.
Somewhere today, Someone is living with depression so heavy that even opening their eyes takes effort.
Somewhere today, Someone is fighting the most intense urges of suicide while somehow still showing up to work, smiling and pretending all is well.
Somewhere today, someone is truly and wholeheartedly wondering if the world would be better off without them.
Somewhere today, Tisha B’av doesn’t feel like a guest. It feels like home.
Sitting on the floor, mourning and crying are their daily norm.
Somewhere today, there are those that can write their own kinus. Filled with enough pain to burn through the papers.
They’re crying today.
And tomorrow.
And the day after.
Asking the very same question of Eicha; not over past pain but rather over their present day pain.
How did this happen?
This is not the life they hoped for.
This is not what living looks like.
It’s too much!
Too dark!
Too painful!
Too heavy to hold!
Too lonely!
You may never know their story.
But they are there.
Sitting beside you.
Walking past you.
Praying beside you.
Living beside you.
Quietly whispering,
Quietly screaming,
Quietly begging,
Quietly vibing,
Ayeka?
We are yearning and aching for something so simple!
See us!
Notice us!
Ask us how we’re doing, and stay long enough to hear the real answer!
Don’t take our “fake B”H Answer” as the truth.
They’re testing you to see how long you’ll stay and if you’re safe enough to share the truth.
On Tisha B’Av, we don’t answer the phone with the word “hello”?
Because even one simple word carries warmth and Connection.
Just. One. Single. Word.
Imagine for a moment, waiting days, weeks, months and sometimes years, hoping someone will say that one word to you.
Hoping someone will notice you.
Hoping someone will simply say,
“Hello.”
“I’ve been thinking about you.”
“I noticed you haven’t been around, is everything okay?”
I Sometimes imagine myself walking through a cemetery.
Stopping at every gravestone of the tens and hundreds of victims who’ve lost their lives from the cancer of silence.
I imagine Placing my hand upon each and every tombstone.
Whispering,
“I’m sorry.
I’m sorry we didn’t notice.
I’m sorry we didn’t ask.
I’m sorry for looking away”.
There are still thousands of people whose names are not written on gravestones.
At least not yet.
They are still here-for now.
Still fighting-for now.
Still hoping-for now.
Still waiting-for now
Not for someone to solve their pain.
Not for someone to have all the answers.
Just for someone to sit beside them in the darkness.
Just for someone to help them keep searching for the light.
To hold their hand and help them feel less alone.
Every year we sit in shul and ask Eicha.
This year, on behalf of the thousands of silent people struggling, I’ll ask you back, Ayeka?
And maybe, just maybe, if we answer the call of Ayeka, next year, we won’t have to hear the cry of Eicha.
Never surrender 