These have been most difficult days for our nation. Here we are, six months later. That Black Shabbos remains, sitting in the part of our heart reserved for grief and sadness. The loss of those who have given their lives and limbs for Eretz Yisrael, the shock of seeing how deep the sewage of antisemitism runs throughout the world, and the feeling of helplessness as we contemplate ‘what next,’ brings us all to a place where darkness lurks.
Did he really just say that? Take your pick, choose a name, and fill in the blank with all the outrageous statements proclaimed against us. Most tragically, even from our very own!
And yet, amidst the darkness we find a crack of light. The bravery, the heroism, the courageous spirit of our people allows us to keep hope alive. After all, if she can be so daring, then so can I.
I have watched so many women standing tall in the face of death, sacrifice, and the wounding of their loved ones. These are the women whom you meet on the train, driving carpool, or sitting behind an office desk. They push baby strollers, make dinner, do laundry, and carry the world on their shoulders.
I am in awe.
I listen as one woman, Chaya, as she is being interviewed about her twin brother, Arnon. She describes how on October 7, her brother was not called up. He simply went to the Gaza border when he heard what had happened. ‘But you have no ammunition! You were not yet called!’ he was told. He insisted on joining the battle. ‘I’m going in. Give me ammunition or I’ll find some on my own.’ For two months he fought for Eretz Yisrael. Zayin Kislev he fell.
“This is our DNA. It is the DNA within each of us. We cannot remain silent when our land is in trouble,” Chaya says.
“Seven a.m. that day, I am home. There is a knock at the door. I hear constant knocking. I looked out and saw. I knew what they were coming to tell me. Don’t come in! I shout. You can’t come in! I have children here. I cannot open the door. So I took the children upstairs. I knew they had to come in. Which brother is it?”
“The officers come in. Do Ema and Savta know? No! You can’t tell them! It is dor shlishi… pesach haki’ev maschil…the opening of pain begins.”
“What is dor shlishi? They ask me.”
Chaya explains that her saba was killed in the Yom Kippur War. Her uncle was killed in the Lebanon War. Her savta lost her husband and son. Her mother lost her abba and brother. And now Arnon, the third generation. It is dor shlishi!”
The officers begin to cry along with her. Chaya asks them to wait a bit before they go to her savta and ema. She wants them to have their lasts breaths of life in this world without pain.
“And now what?” Chaya is asked. “How do you go on?”
What does this young woman respond?
“Ani lo mivenah lamah zeh tov li aval zeh tov li. Ani mamshicha im emunah – I do not know why this is good for me but it is. I will continue to live with faith. I decided that night that I must continue with strength. Here’s my message to all of you hearing my words: I live with pain but with faith. There are no words to describe the pain of Ema and Savta. Three generations. But without faith you stay in your bed all day. With faith, we know who we are. We know our life mission. I am a different person today. It is my faith that holds me.”
The day after her mother got up from shiva, she made schnitzel for the chayalim who are fighting in the north.
“They are my sons too,” she said. “We must take care of each other, love each other. If you are hurting, the best medicine in the world is called faith.”
We have been witness to the living proof of the spirit of our nation. We have watched the greatest of our nation stand up in their moment. How blessed we are.
Now it is your moment to make a difference for your people. What is your mission? What is your life legacy? There is no mitzvah, no chesed, and no tefillah that goes to waste. Your nation is counting on you.
