How did we get here?
There’s a verse in Eicha that carries unspeakable grief:
רְאֵה ה’ וְהַבִּיט לְמִי עוֹלַלְתָּ כֹּה
הֲתֹאכַלְנָה נָשִׁים פִּרְיָם, עֹלֲלֵי טִפֻּחִים
“Look, Hashem, and see – to whom have You done this?
Shall women eat their own children, the babies they lovingly raised?”
(Eicha 2:20)
This is one of the most haunting questions in all of Tanach. A description of the horrors of the siege on Jerusalem – mothers so starved and broken they did the unthinkable.
Rav Samson Raphael Hirsch explains that this idea is not only about physical famine. It’s about a deeper kind of collapse. When the moral fabric of a society unravels, what should come naturally can end up reversed. Mothers – once devoted to nurturing – begin to consume what they were meant to protect. Not out of cruelty – out of devastation. Out of a world that had stopped supporting them.
When love breaks down
The verse in Eicha about mothers eating their children is gut-wrenching—and it’s not just about physical starvation. The Malbim explains this as a metaphor for a deeper kind of famine: a spiritual hunger that breaks down love, care, and the natural bonds between parents and children. When a community is in exile, it’s not just bodies that suffer, but hearts and souls. The very instincts meant to nurture and protect start to fall apart (Malbim on Eicha 2:20).
The Midrash Eicha Rabbah paints a similarly stark picture, describing a society so shattered that even the most sacred relationship—between mother and child—is broken. This isn’t only about hunger; it’s a sign of how far people had fallen spiritually and the heavy cost of that fall (Eicha Rabbah 2:20).
Ibn Ezra adds that the verse captures a total collapse—famine, fear, and despair so intense that even family ties unravel. It’s a raw snapshot of a community losing the very things that keep it whole (Ibn Ezra on Eicha 2:20).
Together, these classical voices show us that this verse is not just a horrific historical event, but a powerful warning. It reveals what happens when spiritual foundations crumble and love and care are swallowed by despair.
The image of mothers eating their children in Eicha isn’t just an ancient horror story—it’s a mirror reflecting what happens when a society, and its parents, are overwhelmed and unsupported. Just like in the siege of Jerusalem, when basic needs are crushed and despair runs deep, parents today can feel trapped between impossible pressures.
When exhaustion, isolation, and relentless demands pile up, the natural instincts to nurture and connect can get overridden by survival mode. Parents may feel forced to “turn off” their intuition or ignore their baby’s signals—just to make it through the night. This modern-day breakdown echoes the spiritual famine described in Eicha: a world where the most sacred human bonds are stretched to the breaking point.
A society that devours its young
Let’s fast forward two thousand years. We currently live in a culture that tells parents
- Your worth is in your productivity.
- Your baby should be as low-maintenance as possible.
- Sleep is a measure of success.
- Don’t respond too quickly.
- Don’t let them depend on you too long.
Parents don’t buy into these beliefs because they don’t care. Parents are exhausted. Desperate for help. Pressured. Isolated. They’re doing their best with the little support they have.
They’re told they need to “fix” their baby before they fall apart.
But underneath that message is something deeper:
Parents are being asked – often without realizing it – to quiet their instincts in the name of “independence.”
Bit by bit, the natural rhythms of connection, responsiveness, and nurture are worn down by a world that encourages both parent and baby to detach, just to get through the day.
Parents are starving for support
The famine that struck Jerusalem during the siege wasn’t only a lack of food – it was the collapse of everything that supported life: safety, community, trust, and hope. Mothers and families were pushed to unimaginable despair. The hunger encompassed every area of life.
Today, parents face a different kind of famine – a famine of rest, support, and emotional safety.
Our modern society starves parents of what they most need:
- Paid parental leave that’s too short or unavailable.
- The village and community support that used to surround families has disappeared.
- A relentless mental and emotional load with little relief.
- Pressure to appear flawless: to look amazing, go back to work, adjust to the new realities of marriage after a new baby, maintain a spotless house, and have a infant who looks like a fashion icon by 8 weeks old.
This is a siege on families. There’s a starvation of the resources parents need to thrive and connect with their babies and themselves.
When things feels unstable and exhausting, parents do what any human would do in the face of scarcity: they reach for control. Because when you’re drowning, structure feels like a lifeline.
Many parents find hope and comfort in structured approaches to sleep, routines, or methods that promise rest and relief.
This is understandable – and it’s valid. Rest is essential, and finding ways to support better sleep is important. There’s nothing wrong with finding a sleep structure that works for your family and supports your baby’s well-being.
But too often, these tools are handed out in a vacuum, without acknowledging the famine that drives parents to cling to them so desperately.
When you’re starving for support, even the gentlest instincts can get overridden by exhaustion and fear. And in a world that rewards performance over presence, parents can be left wondering if the only way to survive is to silence their intuition and go against what feels right.
But what looks like a hunger for control is often a cry for help in a culture that has stopped nourishing the people who need it most.
A Siege on the Parent-Child Relationship
The challenges are immense.
When parents are exhausted and under pressure – both external and internal – it can often feel like they have to choose between meeting their own needs OR meeting their baby’s needs. Not both. Sometimes that means suppressing their own instincts or their baby’s signals just to get enough rest to function. When in reality, the ideal is a rhythm that honors both: where rest is possible and connection is protected. Where parents don’t have to shut down their hearts to survive the night. Where sleep support comes with support for the parent, too – emotionally, physically, and spiritually.
This is what Rav Hirsch is describing: when parents are forced by circumstances to override the natural, tender relationship they want to have with their child.
It’s not about blame or judgment. It’s about recognizing the spiritual and emotional toll this modern siege takes on our relationship with our precious children.
How we share sleep with our babies
Parents are often told: “You just need to be consistent.” Even if their baby is crying for hours. Even if their gut is screaming to stop. Even if something deep inside whispers, “This feels wrong.”
When exhaustion and desperation set in, parents reach for the only tools our modern society knows:
- Sleep training that ignores the baby.
- Pressure to push independence too early.
- Shame if their baby needs them “too much.”
They push through, because this is what parenting is supposed to look like.
But what’s really happening is this: parents often feel pressured to quiet their own intuition—and overlook their baby’s signals—in hopes of reaching a promised outcome.It’s a painful reflection of how upside down things have become.
When sleep becomes about performance rather than connection, parents are praised for “having a baby who sleeps through the night” – even if they had to go against everything that felt right to get there.
When parents are drowning—exhausted, unsupported, and just trying to cope—the baby’s needs can sometimes be overshadowed by the need for control, relief, or a sense of success.
It doesn’t come from selfishness. It comes from survival.
Rav Hirsch calls this a reversal of nature: when the nurturer, under pressure, ends up drawing from the one they’re meant to protect.
When a baby’s natural rhythms are seen as the enemy, the baby becomes a problem to fix instead of a person to understand. Parents learn: Don’t meet the need. Don’t hold. Don’t respond too much. Don’t let them depend on you.
But what actually happens is that the baby’s right to be dependent is stripped away – and the parent’s right to feel and follow their own instinct is lost.
We live in a society that demands adult-level sleep from babies, gives parents no support, then blames them for feeling torn when they must choose between sleep and responsiveness.
This is the collapse.
And in this collapse, parents are forced to silence the very instincts meant to protect their children – and themselves.
It’s not about cruelty.
It’s about survival in a broken system.
Sleep without silencing your soul
There is a common misconception that getting your baby to sleep well requires shutting down your instincts or ignoring your child’s needs.
We know that this is not only unnecessary but also harmful to the precious bond you are building. If you’re exhausted, overwhelmed, or feeling like you’re barely holding it together – I see you. I see the nights when your body aches but you still reach for your baby. I see the constant tug between your own desperate need for rest and your baby’s need for closeness and comfort. You weren’t meant to do this alone.
Parenting in today’s world is incredibly hard. The pressure to be everything – mother, wife, homemaker, daughter, sister, employee, friend – while barely sleeping is… crushing.
I want you to know that you don’t have to sacrifice your health, your peace of mind, or your connection with your child just to survive. There is a way forward – a way to find more rest while honoring your baby’s natural rhythms and your own heart.
Our philosophy honors the deep connection between parent and baby, recognizing that you are the best guide for your child’s unique rhythms and signals. Rather than forcing a strict plan or silencing your gut feelings, we encourage you to listen closely – to your baby and to yourself – and make gradual, compassionate adjustments that feel right for your family.
Emotionally safe sleep comes from nurturing trust and safety, not from pushing independence at any cost or adhering to rigid checklists. When you respond with presence and care, even amid exhaustion and pressure, you’re fostering a secure foundation for your child’s emotional and physical well-being. Sleep support is not about control or perfection; it’s about finding balance – supporting better rest while maintaining the loving connection that your baby needs.
You don’t have to choose between getting rest and honoring your relationship with your baby. With gentle guidance, understanding, and patience, it is possible to improve sleep in a way that feels sustainable, respectful, and healing for the whole family. Your intuition is your greatest resource, and when you trust it, you’re not just helping your baby sleep – you’re nurturing their whole being.
Mashiach is born on Tisha B’Av
The Talmud Yerushalmi teaches us that Mashiach is born on Tisha b’Av.
אָמַר רַבִּי אַבָּהוּ, בַּשָּׁעָה שֶׁחָרַב בֵּית הַמִּקְדָּשׁ נוֹלַד מְשִׁיחַ.
(ירושלמי ברכות ב:ד)
“Rabbi Abahu said: At the very moment the Beit HaMikdash was destroyed, Mashiach was born.
This means that on Tisha B’Av, the day of our deepest mourning, the day the Temple fell – the redeemer entered the world as a fragile, vulnerable baby.
This is incredibly powerful. Redemption doesn’t come first as a grand, blazing event. It begins quietly, tenderly, at the lowest point of despair, in the form of a helpless baby.
We often expect geulah to be dramatic – lightning, trumpets, and fanfare. But Tisha B’Av teaches us that the real breakthrough begins in the dark, in the cracks, in what seems so small and powerless.
Just like parenting. It’s the quiet moments at 2 a.m., when your baby cries and your body aches and your mind is running on empty. It’s the moment you choose to pick up your baby again, to go to them, to soothe them, despite the fatigue and pressure to “just let them cry it out.” Those tiny acts of presence feel invisible are actually building trust, safety, and deep connection.
In these moments, you’re not just “getting through the night.” You’re doing something sacred and holy. You’re participating in the very process of repairing, healing, and rebuilding the future – bit by bit.
If you’ve ever felt like your sleepless nights are meaningless or that your exhaustion means you’re failing, I want you to remember this. Your steadfast presence is the beginning of redemption. This is where the healing starts – not in grand gestures, but in the tender, consistent care only a parent can give.
When the sages say Mashiach was born on Tisha B’Av, they’re reminding us that the greatest hope often starts in the darkest times, in the smallest hands, and in the softest cries. As a parent, your care in the night is the light breaking through exile.
The Shechina returns through nurture
In kabbalistic thought, the Shechinah represents Mother: the aspect of Hashem that nurtures and empathizes. When the Beis HaMikdash was destroyed, it wasn’t just a national tragedy – it was the exile of the Shechinah itself, the Divine Mother.
The force of nurture, warmth, and closeness in the world was driven out. And when that mothering energy disappears from a society, what’s left is survival. Disconnect. Parents pushed past their limits. Babies treated like problems. The sacred bond between parent and child begins to fray.
But just as the Shechinah went into exile, she will one day be redeemed – and the only way out is to rebuild what was lost.
Through mothering itself.
Every time you listen to your baby’s needs…
Every time you pick up your crying child instead of pushing them away…
Every time you choose to show up, even when it’s hard…
You’re bringing back the Shechinah. The Divine Mother.
As the Zohar says
כָּל מַאן דְּאַשְׁתַּדַּל בִּבְנַיְיהוּ דְּיִשְׂרָאֵל, כְּאִילוּ אִשְׁתַּדַּל בִּשְׁכִינְתָּא
“Anyone who puts effort into the children of Israel, it is as if they are supporting the Shechinah.”
— Zohar, Volume II, 128a
The world may feel broken. The system is harsh. And every small act of nurture – every moment of showing up – is an act of redemption.
Mothering is how the Shechinah returns.
It’s gonna be the little kinderlach
The Lubavitcher Rebbe teaches that it will be the kinderlach – the little children – who bring Mashiach.
Children represent new beginnings: pure, full of potential, and reminders that Hashem still believes in us. In their innocence, children naturally live in a state of geulah, where connection and closeness to Hashem are the default. Children don’t question their worth; they simply are.
And in the presence of our children, we soften too. An innocent question, pure prayer, or raw emotion can stir something buried deep in the adult heart. That’s how Mashiach comes – not through force, but through tenderness. Through softness.
Rabbi Shais Taub explains that parenting is a redemptive act. Drawing from the Talmud’s teaching that Mashiach won’t come until all souls have descended (Yevamot 62a), he teaches that every child we lovingly raise brings us closer to redemption.
Parenting isn’t just a job – it’s the spiritual engine of geulah. Sleepless nights and moments of presence aren’t just sacrifices; they’re holy work that mirror divine nurture.
Every time you respond to your baby’s cries, choose presence over perfection and honor their rhythms, you’re bringing redemption.
By parenting with tenderness and trusting your instincts, you’re not only shaping your child’s world – you’re actively bringing Mashiach. Your love is healing the world.
Parenting is hard. The world may push you toward detachment or independence. But true healing comes from honoring your baby’s humanity – and your own.
So in the dark and sleepless nights, when you wonder if your love and effort matter, remember this:
Redemption begins in the smallest and most vulnerable places. With every soothing touch and gentle response, you are bringing redemption closer – bit by bit, moment by moment.
This is the real hope of parenting: building a future where love endures, even in the hardest times – and connection survives every storm.
Comments +