I don’t know what to say.
I don’t know how to put the loss of this moment into words, into sounds.
The painful cries of mourning broadcast to the world.
The anguished chants of protestors filling the streets of Israel.
The arrogance of talking heads who claim to know better.
The brave march of soldiers carrying out their duty.
The angry shouts of those who feel betrayed.
The sigh of one last exhale when life leaves an innocent.
The gunshot.
The techno of NOVA insisting that We Will Dance Again.
The strains of Hatikvah reminding us to hope against hope against hope against hope.
The preciousness of our loved ones’ voices made dearer against the backdrop of loss and pain.
The chant of Bring Them Home.
The horrific irony of Rachel Goldberg-Polin’s eulogy: “finally, my sweet sweet boy, finally, finally, finally, finally you are FREE!”
If only I had her faith perhaps I would have the words to meet this moment.
So instead of my words, I’ll offer the words of our tradition, a sacred vessel into which I pour the storm of feelings in my heart:
זכרונם לברכה
May their memory be a blessing
