Some seasons on the Jewish calendar hit in the kishkes.
The Three Weeks and Tisha B’Av aren’t flashy. They’re not covered in glitter or joy. They’re heavy. Disorienting. Sometimes avoided. And yet, they hold some of the deepest truths in Jewish life—about grief, about brokenness, and about what it means to keep showing up anyway.
If you’re in the conversion process, newly observant, or just carrying more questions than answers, this time can feel like walking into a room where everyone else knows the choreography—and you’re just trying to figure out what song is playing.
But this time isn’t just about loss. It’s also about honesty. Hope. And the radical act of not turning away.
In this video, I’ll walk you through what the Three Weeks and Tisha B’Av actually are, why they matter, and how you can engage with them in a way that feels authentic—even (and especially) if you’re still learning.
You’re not behind. You’re not alone.
Let’s hold this season together.
Transcript below.
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Transcript:
Understand one of the most soul-deep seasons of Jewish time.
One that holds space for heartbreak, history, and hope.
If you’ve ever felt spiritually out of place, disconnected,
or like you’re mourning something you can’t name, this one’s for you.
But it’s also not about spiraling into sadness.
The Three Weeks and Tisha B’Av are about reflection, memory, and hope.
And I’ll walk you through what they are, why they matter, and what observing it might look like for you.
Hey friends. I’m Kochava
Jewish convert, educator, and your internet cheerleader for building a meaningful Jewish life that works for you.
Want more support around the Jewish calendar? Get my free Resource Library and printables by joining the mailing list at Building a Jewish Life.com.
It’s full of tools to make you feel less lost and more grounded.
Today we’re talking about something that many people skip over or tiptoe around: the Three Weeks and Tisha B’Av.
These are not easy topics,
but they’re core to the Jewish year.
And deeply relevant if you’re converting, newly observant,
or carrying spiritual or communal grief.
So let’s get started. What are the Three Weeks? They start on the 17th of the Jewish month of Tammuz, and it ends on Tisha B’Av, which is the ninth day of the Jewish month of Av.
This period marks the lead up to the destruction of both of the Jewish Temples in Jerusalem.
Yes. Both.
The walls of the second Beit HaMikdash were breached on the 17th of Tammuz. And both Temples were destroyed on the Ninth of Av It’s a time of collective grief and reflection
in the Jewish calendar.
And people who are converting often feel kind of lost and alienated here, but you’re not alone.
This stretch of the Jewish calendar can feel disorienting, especially if you’re still learning.
Suddenly there’s talk of mourning and no music and no haircuts, broken walls, fast days.
And if you didn’t grow up with it, it can feel like walking into a room where everyone else knows what’s going on, but you don’t.
You might wonder why are we mourning something from thousands of years ago? What does it have to do with me?
Do I even get to mourn something I wasn’t born into? Do I even have the right to be here?
Here’s the truth. You don’t have to have generational memory to share in Jewish pain
or hope.
These weeks are about recognizing brokenness in the world, in our communities, and in ourselves.
And that’s something every Jew or wannabe Jew can touch, including you.
If it feels weird or distant right now, that’s okay. It’s not a failure.
The emotional depth of this season often builds over time.
You are not “doing it wrong” if you’re just beginning to feel your way in .
So what do people do or more importantly, don’t do during this time? Not all communities observe the same customs. There’s a lot of overlap, but you should check with your own community to find out what you should do.
Some general things that you might see: no weddings, parties, live music, haircuts, bathing for pleasure.
The tone of this season is about awareness and quiet restraint.
By awareness, I mean being more emotionally and spiritually attuned. Noticing what feels broken in the world, in the Jewish people and ourselves.
We pay attention to grief, longing, injustice, and the patterns of history.
Quiet restraint means gently pulling back from certain joys.
Not because fun is bad, but because we’re giving space for something heavier.
It’s a spiritual dimmer switch, not an off button.
When we reach the final Nine Days, from the First of Av to the Ninth of Av, the restrictions get a little stricter in many communities.
Some people may not do laundry. Some people may not eat meat or drink wine except on Shabbat.
The focus shifts from history to a personal and communal mourning.
Think of it as the difference between feeling a little off and going into an intentional state of mourning.
In the early part of the Three Weeks, we’re mostly sitting with what happened, the historical tragedies.
The collective wounds of exile, destruction, and loss.
But once Rosh Chodesh Av arrives, the energy sharpens. It gets more immediate.
Now, it’s not just about then. It’s about us,
our grief, our disconnection, the brokenness we still carry
in the Jewish world, in our communities, in our very souls.
The Nine Days invite us to feel that loss personally,
to acknowledge where we feel exiled,
to mourn the things we still long for: wholeness justice, peace.
That’s why the customs intensify during this time.
No meat, no wine. No swimming or bathing for pleasure. A deeper quiet.
Because mourning isn’t just historical now, it’s happening in us.
We’re not just mourning buildings. We’re mourning disconnection.
Disconnection from each other. Disconnection from tradition, disconnection from God.
Disconnection from the kind of wholeness we ache for.
The destruction of the Temple isn’t just a historical event. It’s a symbol of everything that’s been shattered since.
But this season isn’t just about loss, it’s about resilience. It’s about what we build instead.
A Jewish life that’s honest, grounded, loving .
The world is still broken,
but Judaism teaches us not to give up on it or on ourselves.
If you’re feeling that heaviness right now or you’re not sure what to do with it.
All that’s okay. You don’t have to have a perfect practice. You just have to keep showing up.
In some ways, converts can feel this through our own experiences.
Being outside, yearning to belong, struggling to feel in.
We have been exiled and now we belong.
This is a time when even lifelong Jews can feel that distance between what is and what should be. Between exile and home between wholeness and heartbreak.
Feeling out of step is the step. You’re feeling the ache of exile. That doesn’t mean you’re doing it wrong.
When you feel out of place, when you don’t know what’s happening, what page you are on, that is that lost feeling we should all be feeling.
It means you’re walking right into the heart of what this season is about.
So how can you engage with this, especially as a beginner? Start small, decide that you won’t listen to live music, or maybe you won’t get haircuts. Take on one meaningful practice to you.
You can journal on destruction and rebuilding in your own life and in your community.
You can learn Lamentations, Eicha.
Or you could learn some kinot, mourning poems, we recite the night before and the day of Tisha B’Av.
You can find the kinot in specially made Tisha B’Av machzors, which is this prayer book that is specific to the holiday. You can also find them online on Sefaria, S-E-F-A-R-I A.org. Just search for kinot, K-I-N-O-T.
If you go to synagogue for these services, you will find these machzorim, or you’ll find printouts of the kinot to say.
More broadly, sit with discomfort, but try not to do it alone. This is a grief of the community, and it’s best not to be alone during this time.
So if you go to synagogue on the evening before Tisha B’Av, or the day of Tisha B’Av, you’ll see a lot of mourning practices in place.
You won’t see anyone donning tallis or tefillin in the morning. You’ll probably be sitting on the floor or low stools. The lights might be dim.
The tone is quiet, raw, reflective. There’s probably not gonna be as much chitchat as normal.
This isn’t about a performance, it’s about a communal cry.
And for at least some people, that will be a literal cry. There will be people who cry, and that’s cool. Go with it. Don’t feel pressure that you have to cry too. I’ll swear to you, I have never cried on Tisha B’Av. I am not a crying person. I’ll probably never cry on Tisha B’Av, and I’m still an okay Jew. Only okay.
So as you’re reciting the kinot, the emotional arc goes from grief to longing to endurance.
You’re not just sitting in the sadness, you’re remembering. Resisting forgetting and insisting that this pain matters.
The kinot are elegies.
Intense poetic grief bombs.
Mourning the destruction of the Temples, exiles, massacres, pogroms, the Holocaust. You’ll find modern tragedies listed as well in the kinot, depending on which kinot your community reads.
They’re usually highly structured, often acrostics, where the first letter of each line spells something. If you remember fourth grade literature arts class. And they’re often written in a more elevated Hebrew than you would normally encounter. Sometimes even people who are fluent in Hebrew can struggle to understand this.
Think of reading Shakespeare.
If possible, it’s best to read them with a commentary to help you understand what’s going on.
If you’re a conversion candidate or convert, here’s your permission slip.
You don’t need to understand every word to be present and feel grief.
You’re allowed to feel lost, weird, sad, moved, or nothing at all.
Sit with the feelings you have. Those are the right feelings for you today, this year. Next year will probably feel totally different.
You don’t have to take on the full fast of Tisha B’Av or all of the practices
if you’re new to this or you’re disabled or you have other limitations.
Judaism’s highest rule is pikuach nefesh, saving a life. Do not put yourself in danger because you think you have to fast. If you medically should not be fasting, don’t fast.
Engage with the themes instead.
Reflect on your own sense of grief, loss, exile.
This is a season about not belonging and conversion candidates and converts get that in a soul deep way.
If you’re new to fasting and you wanna try it out, start with skipping one meal. Start only skipping after sunset until you go to bed, or go as long as you can after waking up. It doesn’t have to be all or nothing. It’s a muscle. It takes time to build. This is the hardest fast of the year because it’s also during the hot season when you’re more likely to become really severely dehydrated.
Pay attention to warning signs of dehydration or other sickness.
There’s no requirement to make yourself sick.
What if this all feels just too weird or too much? Totally valid. Tisha B’Av isn’t about proving you’re serious enough.
It is about remembering brokenness, personal and collective,
And if that resonates even in a messy kind of way, you’re already participating.
You don’t need to be perfectly Jewish to mourn with the Jewish people.
In short, you are not behind. You are not outside. You are not alone.
The season is built for broken hearts.
This season, from the quiet ache of the Three Weeks to the deep mourning of Tisha B’Av,
is an invitation
to feel, reflect and reconnect.
Converts carry exile in our bones,
so when the calendar names that pain, it can hit different.
And that’s not a mistake,
that’s a place for a sacred start.
If this is your first time observing this part of the Jewish calendar, I’d love to hear how it’s landing. What’s speaking to you? What’s confusing?
Let’s hold this space together.
So drop a comment below. Grab your free resource guide at Building a Jewish Life.com.
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