Monday was Tu B’Av

The world’s pretty grim right now.

That’s not news to anyone who pays even the slightest attention to, well, anything. Tom Lehrer, whose recent death left the world sadder, less tuneful, and certainly less funny, told us about it in the ’60s, in “National Brotherhood Week”:

“Oh, the Protestants hate the Catholics, and the Catholics hate the Protestants, and the Hindus hate the Moslems, And everybody hates the Jews…,” Lehrer sang. The tune is jaunty, which might mislead you into not taking the words too seriously. Then they grab you. (And yes, he was Jewish.)

So things aren’t good. We’ve got that.

But then joy can break through.

As you may or may not know, Riverside Park, which is next to the Hudson River for a few Manhattan miles, is marvelously constructed on many levels. They’re not all obvious if you don’t know about them. I was walking my dog through the park on Monday a little before sunset when I saw small white paper signs, with arrows, that said “TuBav.” (That’s how it was spelled. I’m an editor. I wanted to fix it, but I couldn’t, and anyway that’s not the story.)

I decided to follow them.

They led down the stairs at street level to the park’s main level, and then down more stairs to the next-to-bottom level, the one that’s still on the east side of the Henry Hudson. (The next time you take the Henry Hudson, note the runners and bikers and occasional dog walkers to the road’s west. They’ve penetrated to the park’s outer level.)

At the bottom of the stairs, between a beach volleyball court, complete with sand, and an outdoor café, the signs pointed to an area where people dressed in white had begun to gather.

It was for bangitout.com’s annual Tu B’Av party.

Tu B’Av is the day when, according to tradition, young Jewish women would dress in white and dance in the fields, hoping to meet their basherts, and until then enjoying the freedom and the beauty and the endless possibilities that always seem a bit more possible in high summer.

It’s also six days after Tisha B’Av — the 15th rather than 9th of the month of Av — and a prime example of the Jewish — or maybe the human — ability to switch between grief and joy. Israelis do it when they switch between Yom HaZikaron and Yom HaAtzmaut. Shul-goers do it when the service includes both Yizkor and Hallel. Mourning and joy.

The party looked like it was going to be great. It was for singles, theoretically from 21 to 49, but no one was checking. The late afternoon light was golden, it wasn’t too hot, the river was visible, with some of the big ships that ply it (and that look far better at that distance than closer up).

Joy not grief. A time for pleasure and hope. Summertime.

We’re not all young singles looking for partners, but we can all enjoy some joy. We can wear white at dusk. We can laugh. And we should do those things. Like grief and fear, they’re part of being human. —JP