Living near the ocean increases my awareness of the moon. I locate it more frequently in the sky than I do when I’m living in the city. Here on island, I’ve been awakened by the moon in the morning; sometimes even in the middle of the night. I’ve been writing and reading about it, meditating on it, and working its powerful presence within me. And still—bam!—without fail, the shock of Tammuz shakes my world every summer

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Most of us anticipate the coming of summer with excitement: more free time, longer days, fun adventures, travel, swimming, barbecues, and more. Right?!

Yet, on the 17th of Tammuz, a couple days after the full moon, all the fantasies of carefree summer fun most likely end up at the beach without you. The heat of Tammuz is the harbinger of challenging times, not frivolous ones. Tammuz begins an inward expedition into the narrow straits of deepest healing, where chambers of concern, fear, breached integrity, and lamentable action open for viewing.

Sometimes the tour of emotion is earth shaking. Sometimes you’re able to perceive it from a tolerable distance. But rarely will you completely avoid it. Tammuz begins a three-moon-cycle journey, which includes the coming moons of Av and Elul, and leads us into the Jewish High Holidays (Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur). You may feel the earthquakes of Tammuz emotion as small tremors or as giant 8.9s on the Richter scale. But you will feel them. Don’t despair. Notice with compassionate awareness what arises when you feel the disruptions, fear, and intensity of Tammuz.

According to the Tammuz permutation H-V-H-Y of the four-letter Divine Name, there is a lot of emotional intensity to what unfolds in your life this month. Approach it with courage, steadfast alignment, patience, and trust. What is happening isn’t within your control; but you do have some say in how you feel and breathe your way through it.

I’ve been tracking these first two weeks of the Tammuz moon cycle the way our ancestors used to—by looking up into the sky. For the past two weeks (and all of Tammuz, thus far), my family of four was on a “no-screens vacation” in the South Shore of Maui. No computer, no phone, no email—we even decided not to take many pictures. Consciously, we stepped away from the insistence of being technologically connected at all times. No artificial clicking, beeping, or tapping.

Instead, we fell into love and deeper levels of connection. We played at the beach, camped in the rainforest, swam in lava caves, and watched the sun set and rise. Conversations took more time. The texture and colors of our experiences, observations, and emotions were more palpable. We made baskets from palm trees. We made music from coconut shells.

Friends Jenny and Noah made this basket from fallen palm trees.

Of course, unplugging is easier to do while vacationing in Hawai’i, but still.

Many times, my six-year-old girl asked for my iPhone. “I have to look something up,” she’d emphatically say.

“Ask somebody,” I responded again and again, emphasizing the power of people knowledge. Not surprisingly, someone always knew what to feed a slug, how to fix a spool-knitting project, and could confirm whether violet and purple were, in fact, the same color. Who needs technology?!

We took more walks, colored more pages, laughed harder, and definitely snuggled more. The children’s courage rose; our interdynamics intensified. We noticed nature more and talked about it.

Everyone noticed the moon.

On our last night of vacation, Tammuz's glow on the Pacific woke me from sleep. (I took this picture off the lanai of our condo.)

“Hey, Mom/Jueli/Honey/Sweetie,” someone would say, pointing to the sky. “There’s the moon.”

My heart would smile first, as I followed the angle of their finger. And then my mouth would spread wide. There was Tammuz slowing growing in the sky.

In days long past, before any technology, people tracked the passage of time by following the moon cycles. In fact, the first commandment given to the Jewish people as they left Egypt as slaves was to keep track of time by the moon (Exodus 12:1-2). To be in charge of your own time is a sign of freedom.

Try keeping track of time by watching the moon this month. On Wednesday, its fullness will beam down on the eve of Independence Day, when the United States was birthed into freedom. Then, as the moon wanes down to a quarter and then sliver again, the month is coming to a close. You’ll know Rosh Chodesh Av (the moon of the coming month of Av) has begun when you see a new crescent moon hanging in the sky. And the cycle then begins again

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You don’t need to look anything up on the Internet; you just need to look up in the sky.

Aloha! I’m writing from the South shore of Maui, Hawai’i where I’m vacationing with my family of four.  We’re in paradise. Palm trees, lapping ocean waves, pink morning clouds, orange and yellow evening sunsets. And heat. We wake up to seventy-degree weather, and by mid morning we’re already baking under high eighty-degree temperatures.

But the environment in Hawai’i isn’t the only thing heating up this week. My children, too, have higher emotional intensity than usual. First, I blamed it on the time adjustment: They’re screaming because they’re tired, I said to myself. Then, I pointed my internal finger at the change of environment: My boy just shoved his sister because he’s cooped up in an unfamiliar (and smaller than usual) condominium. Next, I blamed the excitement: They’re over stimulated, I justified.

Then this morning, at 4 a.m. local time (three hours earlier then my usual West Coast time zone) it hit me: TAMMUZ! It’s the new moon of Tammuz, when everything heats up—not just the weather, but emotions, too. During the Tammuz moon cycle, the level of internal tumult dials up a notch.

So, be aware. When you (or others) start feeling thunderous during the start of summer, you’ll know why. Summer masquerades as a carefree season of pure fun and adventure; and then, BAM! Tammuz’s inner intensity often is concealed until you’re tumbling in its swirl.

Use the power of your breath and blessing to stay centered this moon cycle. Both will allow a moment of respite, a pause in your typical stride, that may stoke awareness instead of your fire. As you feel yourself pulled into the heat of reactivity, inhale and exhale a deep belly breath. Whatever you see right in front of you—be with it. Don’t act it out. Don’t yell. Don’t blame. Just observe and be with your intensity. Ten seconds, that’s all it takes. (Maybe ten seconds, ten times, but still…)

If you can muster a moment of gratitude—simply for being alive in the moment that you are in—practice saying that aloud to yourself. “Thank God for this moment.”  “I’m grateful to be alive experiencing [whatever you are feeling] right now.” It’s a powerful and simple practice that creates space within the experiences of your day. Space that allows you to pause, to land in your moment, in your life.

The sensory area of healing during Tammuz is sight, according to the Sefer Yetzirah. So look around. See what actually is in front of you. During Tammuz, do not pay attention to what you think about your experience; instead, use your vision to be within the glory of details that surround you. For example, if my kids wake up and start nudging each other, I can breath and pause. Taking a look around, I’ll use my sight to see their sweet eyes, their ruffled hair, the space between my boy’s front teeth, the freckles on my girl’s cheek. I will breathe, inhaling, and bring my attention to what I see: the palms moving in the wind, the flowers on the table, the colors against the sky, the small purple jewel from yesterday’s art project.

I am grateful to be alive. To have to two healthy young children, both of whom are vulnerable and sensitive

. I am grateful to be on vacation here in the heat of Maui’s south shore, here in the heat of Tammuz.