Dear readers,

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about love, no doubt inspired by planning for the shul’s upcoming luncheon for members and friends to celebrate Tu B’Av on Wednesday, August 2. I hope you’re planning to be there. Sisterhood president Adrianne Greenberg is in charge of provisions, and the program is shaping up as a love-ly event for what has been called a “Jewish Valentine’s Day.”

Tu B’Av may be a new celebration to many, as it was to me, but its roots, I’ve learned, are age-old, based on the 15th day of the Jewish month of Av and the full moon that appears, giving off  positive vibes for romance. So, before there was JDate and JSwipe, there was Tu B’Av.

I don’t know about you, but my thoughts about love have changed. It used to make me crazy when people threw around the word love with no more thought behind it than “We should do lunch.” People didn’t like. They didn’t regard. They weren’t fond of. They didn’t care for. They just loved — loved her, loved him, loved that, loved when that happened, loved to do that. They loved what people were wearing, where they’re going, how they’re going to get there, and what they were going to do when they arrived. People would “heart” New York and the breeds of their dogs, and advertise their choices on stickers pasted on the rear windows of their cars so that perfect strangers in passing vehicles would know.

What did all that professed love mean?

Remember Hurricane Sandy? A devastatingly destructive storm, Sandy knocked out power to most of the Northeast, sent coastal floodwaters roaring through the heart of towns and outlying villages, and virtually shut down New York City. Out here, the storm uprooted huge trees and brought down utility wiring, plunging many of us into darkness.

At our house, the only means of communication with the outside world was a small kitchen radio — no television, no Internet and, for a while, no telephone. The wireless models were dead; neither Bruce’s cell phone nor mine would connect. But then he remembered an old phone at his workbench in the basement. He brought it upstairs, apologized for its paint-spattered shell and especially the duct tape that held it together, plugged it into the phone jack in the kitchen, and it worked. To us, the sound of the dial tone resonated as powerfully as a performance of Beethoven’s “Ninth.”

While still in the throes of ecstasy over the dial tone, the thing rang. News of the storm having been reported all over the country, visions of the Bloom family afloat in nearby Southold Bay stirred immediate responses — the children checking in anxiously on their aging parents, relatives and friends in California, Ohio, the Carolinas, upstate New York, Washington State, Arizona, Florida — all calling to see if we were okay, safe, again and again as the days without power stretched on.

In all that time, no one actually said, “I love you.” They didn’t have to. I felt that love in a way I have never experienced love before. I-love-you’s unspoken, but understood.

As you can tell, I truly have been thinking a lot about love lately. And these days, I think about it differently than I did then. Yes, I know, there are many levels of love — romantic love, sexual love, familial love, love of good friends, and yes, love of those struggling against the prevailing human condition. And why not broadcast that love if it is truly felt? People can express love in many ways. Some convey it through deeds and favors; others are more vocal about their sentimentalities, their emotional responses. If you love it, or him, or her, let it be known, I say. I’m open to it. Love, in all its many magical forms, truly is a welcome thing, always and ever.

Come, let’s celebrate Tu B’Av together on Wednesday, August 2 — when the shul will profess its love for all of us with a gift we’re calling “Lunch and Love.” We, in turn, will bring stories, poems, photos and tokens, and share with each other what symbolizes love for us. I’ll see you there.

Love, Sara