Truly, Women Save Mankind
A few days ago, I wrote a poem on the refusal, during the Nine Days, to cut one’s hair. The body carries boundaries no ideology, camp, or bureaucracy has the right to erase – that beneath every uniform and every category stands a person whose dignity cannot be shaved away.
The Jewish calendar does not leave that mourning to stand unanswered. Tradition did not place joy far from grief. It stands immediately beside it, insisting that the answer to churban is neither silence nor vengeance, but continuity.
Here is my new Yiddish poem for that day.
A question that answers itself
צי שטעלט זיך די פֿראַגע אין די טעג פֿון נחמה? ־ ספֿק־ספֿק… אױף װאָס װאַרטן מיר אַלע ־ אױף אַ בױען? צי לעבן איז שטאַרקער װי חורבות און ״טו־באָב׳נען״ קוּמט מער פֿאָרבײַ װי אַ טאָג פֿאַר ליבע.
Does this question even arise in the days of comfort? – doubt upon doubt… What are we all waiting for – a rebuilding? Or is life stronger than ruins, and does “Tu B’Av-ing” become more than merely a day for love?
ס׳איז אַ טאָג פֿון ממשות, געבערן פֿונעם מן־הו אין מדבר װען די מענער זײַנען נפֿטר געװאָרן װעגן זײערע שקרים. אָט די גיבורים האָבן געזען אַ חילוק פֿון ארץ כנען און האָבן געפֿונען מורא און אומרו. אוּך, שלעמזלער!
It is a day of substance, born from the manna in the wilderness, when the men died because of their lies. Those very heroes who saw the land of Canaan found only fear and unrest. Oh, poor fools!
The spies who explored Canaan returned paralysed by what they had seen and condemned their own generation to die in the wilderness rather than enter the land God had promised (Numbers 13–14). Fear – not grief – is the true opposite of neḥamah. Grief is honest; fear closes the future before it has even begun.
Fearless in the ashes
פֿאַלשע, טרוּסנע עדות־זאָגערס, קאַלטע מרגלים פֿאַרמאַכטע הערצער פאַרבליפֿטע דורכ׳ן חידושדיקן הײַמעלאַנד. די װײַבער פֿילן ניט קײן מורא ־ אַלץ איז נײַ און טשיקאַװע, אין חודש אָב ־ נאָך אַלע חורבנות,
False, cowardly witnesses, cold spies, hearts closed, bewildered by the wondrous homeland. The women feel no fear – everything is new and full of wonder, in the month of Av, after every destruction.
װען מענר זײַנען אַנטשלאָפֿן אין שטײַפֿער פֿאַרגעסנקײט ־ זײ האָבן געפֿרעגט: געבט אונדז נײַע תחנים: ניט פֿאַר תּנוג ־ נאָר צוגעבערן אַ נײַעם דור ־ ילדי־אישה. טאַקע נאָר אַ פֿרױ פֿאַרשטייט די צוּקונפֿט אין איר לײב,
When the men had fallen asleep in stubborn forgetting, they asked: give us new prayers, not for pleasure but to bring forth a new generation – children of woman. Truly, only a woman understands the future within her body.
The men returned with cold testimony; the women answered with confidence. The daughters of Zelophehad (Numbers 27) asked Moses for their father’s inheritance in a land not yet conquered. They claimed a place in a future that the fearful generation had already abandoned. Rabbinic tradition notes the contrast: where the men recoiled from the promise, the women insisted on belonging to it. They chose continuity over fear, rebuilding over retreat.
What the Law already owed her
זי טראָגט די דור־דורות אין איר בלוט, זי ציעט אױף קינדער און מאַכט זײ אין אַ דראַנג ־ טו־באָב׳ענען זוּכט דעם זכר מיט אױפֿהערלעכער ציוּנג צו לעבן ־ אַן הײמישע נחמה אָן רוּ, אָן סוף־הדורות.
She carries generation upon generation in her blood, she draws children forth and shapes them out of longing – Tu B’Av – seeking seeks the male with an unceasing yearning for life – a homely comfort without rest, without end of generations.
די מסורה לערנט אָן װײַבער אַז דער מאַן איז מחײב צו דערפֿרײען זײַן װײַב װי זי װיל און געניזט ־ ס׳איז װױל איר שארה, איר עונה ־ ניט קײן לאַסקע, נאָר צדק־גערעכט
Tradition teaches that a husband is obligated to gladden his wife as she desires and to bring her joy. Her sustenance and her onah are not acts of generosity but matters of justice.
Onah (עונה) moves the poem from narrative into halakhah. Alongside food (she’er) and clothing (kesut), it is one of the three obligations a husband owes his wife (Exodus 21:10). A woman’s desire is therefore not treated as a favor granted by the husband, nor as a modern rediscovery, but as an established legal obligation within Jewish tradition. It is not in force in Christendom.
Yet Tu Be’Av/Av 15th reaches beyond conjugal rights alone. The women insist that Israel continue through new generations. The rebuilding of families after catastrophe is itself a religious responsibility. In this respect, rabbinic Judaism preserves a distinctive emphasis. Christianity developed profound theologies of marriage and family, yet it did not formulate the continuation of generations through comparable halakhic obligations in the same juridical manner. Tu Be’Av remains rooted in that specifically Jewish confidence that tomorrow must be born.
Written before we knew the word
געשריבן אײדער מיר האָבן געװוּסט די ליבשאָפֿט. קוּקט אַמאָל אױף דער געשיכטע, אױף געזעלשאַפֿטן ־ װי װײַט לעבן מענטשן אַװעק פֿון דער טראַדיציע, אלײנע, פֿאַרלױרענע ־
Written before we ever knew the word “love.” Look at history, look at societies – how far people can drift from tradition, alone and lost.
װער אַנטדעקט די געפֿילן מײדלישע און פֿרױייִשע װוּנטשן און בעלענותן? באַגערט איז ניט קײַנמאָל באַשערט ־ מען נעמט ניט, גרעפּטשט ניט קײן באַרישניע, קײן דעמוּאזעל ־ די בנות־חוה פּאָרפּעלן זיך בײַם רוּף צו שטילער שמחה וגילה,
Who discovers the feelings, the wishes and longings of girls and women? What is desired is never simply taken. One does not seize a young lady or a demoiselle. The daughters of Eve draw near at the call to quiet joy and gladness.
Physical desire is answered; it is never taken by force. Jewish law, by recognising onah as the wife’s due, also acknowledges that what belongs to her cannot be claimed through violence. Long before modern discussions of consent and reciprocity, the tradition had already recognised that mutuality belongs to justice, not merely to sentiment.
The strut and the choice
ניט מיט מאַכט ־ נאָר זאַנפֿטער נײגונג דורך אַ צעבליִענדיקער נײגוּנג, די פֿרױען לערנען מענער מיט אַ טעם פֿון דיצה און הװיה. אַ פֿרױ שטעלט זיך פֿאָר מיט חן ־ ניט קײן שײַנקײט אָדער רײַצנדיקײט ־
Not by force, but by gentle inclination, through a blossoming longing, women teach men the taste of delight and of being. A woman presents herself with grace – not merely with beauty or allure.
די קראַסאַװיצע טראָגט אַ כוח ־ זי ציעט, קלײַבט, באַשליסט: דער ־ יאָ, יענער ־ נײן. דעם גבר װעל זי בױען.
The lovely woman carries a power. She draws near, she chooses, she decides: this one—yes; that one—no. That man she will build.
Tu Be’Av preserves a striking image. The unmarried women of Jerusalem go out to dance, but the choosing belongs to them. The vocabulary of koyekh and bashlist – strength and decision – makes that unmistakable. Grace, not outward appearance, guides the encounter, and the woman’s choice becomes the beginning of (re)building a household and, through it, a people.
The chase and the meeting
אַ מאַן קרײט זיך און אַרום אין סבֿיבֿות בשעת די גברת האַלט זײַן אומרוּ און געיעג. צי איז עס שװאַכקײט? ־ ס׳רעדט זיך פֿון אמתן יחוס ־ חן־חן חנדלען אַזשוּרירט דעם קרײען און מאַכט דעם אַ ניגון־פֿרײד.
A man circles restlessly while the lady holds his pursuit and his unease in her hands. Is this weakness? It speaks instead of true worth. Grace upon grace adorns the circling and turns it into a melody of joy.
ס׳קלינגט זיס און די לידער, די דופֿטן רופֿן ביז שאַצלעכן באַגאַגעניש ביז דער איש קומט צו איר באורח כל ארעא (װעל צוקוּמען במין קבוע, װי אין ארץ). און בײַדע געפֿינען אַ נעסט פֿאַרן עת־עתּה.
It sounds sweet. Songs and fragrances call until a precious meeting comes, until the man comes to her in the way of all the earth, returning again in due season. Together they find a nest for the present time.
Tu Be’Av offers a joyful image of courtship, but it is never merely romantic. The young men circle the vineyards, yet the women choose. Their choice is not the conclusion of the story but its beginning. Out of that meeting comes a household, and from households comes the rebuilding of Israel.
Comfort against vengeance
נחמה שפּילט זיך אַפֿט מיט נקמה ־ אַן הײַנטיקער חן־חנדלדיקער שטראָם, כעסים פֿאַרשטײן זיך ־ נאָר איצט זײַנען זײ אַרױסגעגאַנגען טאַנצן, די פֿרױען זוכן ניט קײן נקומה ־ נאָר נאָכקום.
Comfort often plays beside vengeance. Anger is understandable, yet now they have gone out to dance. The women seek not revenge, but what comes after.
אַ דור, אַ שבֿט, אַ פֿאָלק, די פֿעלקער זאָלן ניט אױסגײן, זײ פֿאַרבײַטן ניט קײן נקמה ־ זײ דערװאַרטן חתנים און כלות, מיר װעלן אױפֿבױען, אפֿילו אלץ צערשטערט, און די פֿרױען געניזן דעם מזיק.
A generation, a tribe, a people – let the peoples not disappear. They do not exchange their future for vengeance. They wait instead for brides and bridegrooms. We shall rebuild, even if everything has been destroyed, and the women heal what has been harmed.
The answer to ruin is not to imitate the violence that caused it. It is to insist, patiently and stubbornly, that another generation will exist. Tu Be’Av does not deny grief; it refuses to let grief become the final word. The dance is not forgetfulness. It is the beginning of restoration.
Her due, understood rightly
זיי טראָגן אין זײער מקום די הנאה פֿון שטענדיקן געבערן. עונה ־ קלינגט װי אַן ענטפֿער, אַ צײַט, אַ תקופֿה, טיפֿער באַשרײבט׳ס װי רואיק צוזאַמענצוּװױנען, די פֿרױ נעמט גאָרנישט ־ זי װערט געבענטשט.
They carry within themselves the joy of ceaseless birth. Onah sounds almost like an answer, a season, an appointed time. More deeply, it describes the peaceful dwelling together of husband and wife. The woman takes nothing; she is blessed instead.
עפֿענט די טירן צו אַלע מענטשן און פֿרײלעכע שדוכים. קוּקט, הערט װי די נשי־איש פֿירן דעם קאַמף שױן טױזנטער יאָרן ניט מיט געשרײַ, װױל מיט געדולד, מיט חן, מיט האָפֿענונג. זיי לערנען די לעבעדיקע טו״באב׳ענען מיט שמײכל און שטילקײט.
She opens the doors to all people and to joyful matches. Look and listen to how women have carried this labour for thousands of years—not with shouting, but with patience, with grace, with hope. They teach the living art of Tu Be’Av with a smile and with quietness.
The poem returns once more to onah, now heard almost as a word answering history. It becomes not only a legal term but also a rhythm of life, a season in which nearness, fidelity and the begetting of children belong together. Jewishness places these realities within covenantal obligation, making the rebuilding of generations part of the life of the people.
Nearness
נחמה ברענגט ניט קײן סוף ־ אױך נקמה ניט קײן קץ פֿון װײטיק, חן־חנדלט און געבט אַ צאַרטן קוש בעת־עתּה מיט אַן עלף־בלאַט אױף די ליפּן: דאָ אָטעמט נאָך די װעלט און געבױרט מיט נאָענטשאַפֿט.
Comfort brings no ending, nor does vengeance end pain. Grace gives a gentle kiss for the present time, with an eleven-leaf upon the lips. Here the world still breathes and gives birth through nearness.
The poem closes with a deeply Yiddish word: noentshaft (נאָענטשאַפֿט), “nearness.” It is more than intimacy in the private sense. It is the patient closeness through which families, communities and ultimately a people survive catastrophe. Tu Be’Av is therefore not simply the celebration of a “Love Day”. It has more: it is the quiet conviction that after every destruction, life must once again draw near.