Shalom's 18th Yartzeit

My brother Shalom's 18th yartzeit is coming up. It's hard to wrap my head around this big number. A number that means life, when he is not alive with us. Sure, I believe he's living the most precious and beloved existence and his life is more real than the life we live in this world of falsehood. But my life feels so real to me. And I want to do something special to carry on his name and his life in a way that gives life to others. 

I'm knee deep in reading an incredible and inspiring book, 90 Seconds, about Eli Beer, the man who started United Hatzalah. This book speaks to me on so many levels. He was a teen who couldn't sit in class, got kicked out of school so many times and ended up leaving school for good, starting his own business ventures and initiatives just to keep busy. He volunteered for Magen David Adom which lead him to starting an organization whose goal is to reach each call for help within 90 seconds, by having volunteers in every part of Eretz Yisroel. It's a long story and worth the read and I want to do something to contribute towards his life saving efforts.

Here's my idea. I am looking for 18 people to commit to donating $18 (or more) to United Hatzalah, in memory of my brother Shalom whose 18th yartzeit is this Friday. To honor his life, and the 18 years since he was last present on this earth, let's help the organization that gives life and extends the lives of so many! And if you'd like to level up your donation, you can donate any amount not just once, but every month for the next 12 months.

I'm going to be the first!

Can you join me?

Click on this link to fill out a form if you're in: https://bit.ly/GiveLifeForShalom

L'ilui nishmas Shalom ben Chaim Nosson whose yartzeit is this Friday, August 4th, י"ז אב.

Thirteen Years

It's been thirteen years since I wrote this post. Thirteen years since the day my older brother Mordechai and his wife became parents to their (second) son on the day of my brother Shalom's yartzeit.

We held our breath for eight days until we heard the name they chose for this baby. They named him Shalom Baruch after the uncle he would never know. What a comforting feeling to know that someone would carry on the name of our brother was niftar at 15, before he was old enough to get married and have children of his own.

He wasnt the first to be named after Shalom a"h. My own son was born a little more than two months before and was given the same name. But he was the first and only boy to be born on the day his namesake was niftar.

Thirteen years.

I think about how much has happened in this little boy's life. Little milestones. Smiling, rolling over, crawling, baby teeth, waking, talking...

Other, more significant milestones. His upsherin. His first siddur. His first chumash. His first gemara.

And now...his bar mitzvah.

There's so much that happens in the first thirteen years of a child's life.

The second thirteen years are also pretty life changing.

Reaching the milestone of teenage hood and label of teenager. (I hope those years will be smooth for him!)

Growing up, maturing, learning and expanding-on the inside and outside. In ways that are visible and ways no one can see or know.

There's the possibility of marriage and the hope of starting a family too.

There's so much growth and change that happens in the next thirteen years of a child's life. It's the years they slowly transform from child to adult.

But what happens after that? What happens in the thirteen years that follow?

How much change actually happens then?

Am I stuck in my ways?

Am I changing and growing, learning and developing, stretching my muscles to do things that are hard for me?

Am I open to change the patterns I know need to change?

Are you?

As long as we are alive, we can. We have the time at this very moment to switch gears. To do something different. To make a move.

If we want to change patterns, if we want to look back in thirteen years from now and be proud of the person looking back at us in the mirror, we need to take a step, any small step, in the direction of change.

Find a book on the topic that you struggle most with.
Look for a lecture.
Commit to finding a therapist that can help you.
Ask a friend, "What is most annoying about me?"
Ask a family member, "If I could change one thing, what would you want it to be?"

Be brave.
Be bold.
Be courageous.
Be daring.
Be the change you want to see in your life by taking a step to change.
Do it now.

May it be a zechus for Shalom ben Chaim Nosson whose 17th yartzeit is today. 

To read the story behind Shalom's tragic and sudden death, click here. 

How Can it be?

The 15th yartzeit of my brother, Shalom ben Chaim Nosson, is tonight and tomorrow. It's hard to believe it's been so long, yet the emotions come back and we miss him so much. May all the actions we do for his neshama bring us comfort as his neshama continues to go higher and higher in gan eden.

Here's the poem I wrote this year.

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How can it be?

It's been 15 years since that fateful day,

When you climbed that tall tree that took your life away,

Our family was so shocked when we were told,

Shalom, you were too young to die, you weren't yet 16 years old!

How can it be?

You lived your life according to the way you were raised,

At your levaya, for all your special qualities you were praised,

You looked out for others, helping before you were asked,

And now, up in heaven, in the pleasure of the שכינה your soul does bask.

How can it be?

We continue to talk about your unique qualities,

Sharing stories with our friends and family,

How your sense of humor and love of animals is what made you you,

And now your nephew, with your name is so similar too!

How can it be?

He loves to climb trees, wishes he could live on a farm,

Is so gentle with animals, won't cause them any harm,

Chess is a game he loves to play,

And now for a label machine, with his own money he wants to pay.

How can it be?

I miss you more than words can express,

I became stronger and more sensitive through this huge test,

I wish I could see you one more time,

Give you a hug and share thoughts that are mine.

How can it be?

So many milestones in my life that you haven't shared,

Moments of joy and times I was scared,

I often wonder what my life would be like if you were still here,

Shalom, how much I treasure you - in your lifetime were you aware?

How can it be?

Near my shabbos candles stands your picture in a frame,

Your face so calm, your demeanor so tame,

I think about you so much, I never dreamed,

That your loss would affect me so strongly.

How can it be?

As Jews we live with אמונה that's constantly put to the test,

That Hashem has a plan for our נשמה and He knows what's best,

He puts us through challenges that refine our soul,

So through our time on this earth, we become better, more whole.

That's how it can be.

We accept that this too, was for our good,

Even when we feel weak and question how this could

Be for our benefit, we still know deep inside,

That Hashem put us on this journey and He is our guide.

That's how it should be. 

To make a donation in memory of my brother, you can go to my personal fundraising page here and help us continue to run programs that bring non-affiliated college students closer to Torah and Mitzvos!

To read more about Shalom and his story, click on the following links: 

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Shalom-A New Poem

How could it be that 13 years have passed?

How could it be it's been so long since I saw u last?

Your memory lives on, you're always on my mind,

I think about what made you special and your good qualities all the time.

How sweet and caring and simply good you were as a brother,

How much I learned from your short life, a life like no other.

You utilized your time, filling your days with good deeds,

Sharing your good heart with others and planting deep rooted seeds.

You taught me to take note of the simple things,

Being aware of people's preferences and the happiness it brings,

Like when you overheard a boy in camp asking for staples for his staple gun,

You called me on the phone and asked me to send you some,

You gave them to this boy who expressed his surprise and delight,

You found a way to get them for him even though he never asked you for them outright!

Or the time when Baila left a book at home and had gone out to babysit, 

You warmed up her favorite potato knish and eagerly went to deliver it,

You knew it would mean so much more and so you took an extra step,

And these are the things that each of us will never ever forget.

It's these little things you did that were such a big deal,

They showed who you were inside, someone who cared for real.

Because in life it's not the big flashy things, it's the things you tend to hide,

The small everyday actions show who you really are inside.

And inside you were a shining soul, a neshama filled with light, a special glow,

Yearning and learning until your last moments in our midst, you only wanted to grow.

You knew what was important and you shared it with your friends,

Dancing with such joy the night before your petira, you were so happy and content.

We discovered this when we developed the film from the camera that fell along with you,

We saw you in your pajamas, payos down and a na nach yarmulka, you looked so happy and cute!

The simcha on your face was visible and you shared it with everyone you knew,

And now our job is to pass that on, to be joyous in our own lives too.

There's so much more to say, so much more to write,

As we reach another year, another yartzeit.

As much as we remember, the pain comes back because we miss you so,

And now our job is to use this pain as a way to grow,

In our closeness to Hashem and our connection to our family,

Shalom, you showed us that what matters most are the things we cannot ever see.

The way we use our time and try to fill our days with meaningful acts,

Utilizing every moment here because we never know which day will be our last.

We learned so much from your life and from your death even more,

We know we will stay strong until Hashem is ready to open the door,

To a new reality, a time of geula and redemption,

When the world will reach its purpose and achieve completion.

We don't know when and what will be, but we know it will be good,

Until then we try and pray (and cry) and do the best we could.

While you're up there in a place of clarity and peace I have just one request,

Please daven and ask Hashem to keep me strong and help me pass life's tests.

I miss you more than words can express, of course you know that's true,

I never said it enough so now I will...Shalom, I love you.

Always

Why?

Why do I always think about you…write about you…and talk about you?

Not just when it’s your yartzeit or when we bench Rosh Chodesh Tammuz and I feel it in the air. That it’s coming closer again.

All the time.

Whenever I had to write an assignment, it went back to…Shalom. When I had to write a paper for college, it was on the topic of…Shalom. When I had to give a five minute presentation to my class-sociology of all topics, it also was about you, Shalom.

I talked about the color orange and how it is a unique blend of two colors. I explained that orange combines the passion of red with the warmth of yellow.

I spoke about the research done and that orange represents strength during difficult times. And then I said that it was your favorite color.

It’s mine too.

What did it mean for you?

It was THE color that spoke for the Jewish residents of Gaza who were expelled from their homes. The orange ribbons that adorned your bunkhouse that summer were symbolic; they showed that you cared about these unfortunate Jews. Your heart was with them in the summer of 2005. You hoped and prayed the expulsion of Gush Katif would not take place.

You cared about them-even though they didn’t look like you on the outside.

Shalom a”h, the yeshiva boy who always looked neat, in a clean white shirt, black hat and jacket, cared for the Jewish people in Gush Katif. Even though they dressed in shorts and colored shirts and wore sandals and those famous orange t-shirts.

You didn’t care about the outside. You cared about them because they were yidden-our brothers and sisters.

Did you know how much we cared about you? Did you know how much losing you would affect us? It still affects us…even twelve years later.

We will never forget you.

And maybe that’s why, no matter where I go or what place I’m in, it always goes back to…Shalom.

I write about you.

I talk about you.

I think about you.

I care about you.

I love you…and I miss you.

And I’ll never, ever forget you.

I make sure of that by always bringing you up. When I have an opportunity to inspire others by the special stories about you, I share them. And they are touched and moved.

This past Shabbos, I was away with my family and overheard another woman talking about her birthday. When we got together for a Pirkei Avos shiur, she seemed to be somewhat sad about her age and shared some of her feelings with the women gathered there. I couldn’t resist. I opened my mouth and I spoke.

I spoke about how lucky she is to be able to celebrate another birthday and that not everybody gets to reach her age. R’ Avigdor Miller zt”l says that every birthday is a reason to celebrate and we should thank Hashem for another year of life.

And then I told my story…how my brother only lived until the age of fifteen and was niftar two weeks before his sixteenth birthday.

I talked about how it happened and I talked about (some of) the things that made you special.

I said how you cleaned up on motzei Shabbos nachamu after the dancing was over so that everyone would come to a clean, orderly bais medrash the following morning-only a few hours after you went to sleep.

I talked about how you did chessed in a quiet way, asking me to send staples for a staple gun after you overheard another kid in camp saying he needed one.

I was reminded of the time you broke your hand when you fell off your bike so you wouldn’t hurt a bird that was in your way. And I shared that story too…with the lesson of how we should be careful with the feelings of others.

There were plenty of stories I didn’t share.

But talking about you left a mark on a group of women who never met you.

Your life continues to inspire other people, even though you are no longer here.

And that is what I hope to continue to do. To inspire. To motivate. To encourage others that they too can achieve greatness-through the little things they do.

It’s the twelfth yartzeit but somehow, it’s hard to believe twelve years have passed since you were here in this world.

A lot happened in these twelve years.

Yet, thinking about you makes me feel like I just saw you. I just waved goodbye to you on that last visiting day we spent together.

The memories are so vivid; they are so clear.

So, while I wish you were still here with all of us, I keep reminding myself that this is all part of Hashem’s plan. A plan we cannot understand.

But it’s for the best.

That, along with the fact that the ripples of your life continue to spread, is what gives me comfort.

L’ilui nishmas Shalom ben Chaim Nosson

Shalom and Shalom Baruch

It's that time of year again. Shalom's yartzheit.

I see his face wherever I go, wherever I am. Everything is a trigger. Anything I see makes me think of him.

I remember his favorite cookies (Kitov softbites), his favorite chocolate (mekupelet) and our favorite treat (cheese snack-we shared it when we were kids and best friends).

I walk outside and notice a discarded matchbook. (No, not a Macbook :). No one throws out something like that.) You know, the little cardboard folder that has a strip to strike the match on one side...

And that made me remember that whenever Shalom a"h would find one of those while he was out, he wouldn't just throw it out. He would strike and destroy every single match to make sure it was not usable. He didn't want anyone to ever find it and be able to use the matches to light a cigarette.

I look at my son Shalom Baruch who carries on his name. At this time of year, he gets to hear a lot of stories about the uncle he never knew. He even reminds me of some of the stories he heard last year that I didn't repeat.

And then I think of the similarities between Shalom a"h and Shalom Baruch.

First, my big boy loves to climb...anything and everything. When we moved to our new house with a big tree in front of it, it wasn't long before Shalom Baruch climbed right up. One day, he sat on one of the branches eating sorbet with his legs crossed, chilling as if he's relaxing on the beach drinking iced tea.

It's a delicate balance for me. I need to let my child do what he is good at without panicking when he stretches his daring, adventurous muscles. I need to ensure that he stays safe and doesn't do anything dangerous. At the same time, when he is doing something that reminds me of my brother, I cannot let my memories get in the way. There was a time where he sat on a branch that was too thin and I watched it crack right off the tree. It was scary for me. Baruch Hashem he was supported by another strong branch. Although the fall would have been minimal, watching it unfold was enough to make my heart race.

During the nine days and until the yartzheit itself, I did not let him climb our tree. Since this is an unfavorable time in the Jewish calendar as well as in my emotional calendar, I didn't, I couldn't let. But he will be right back at it as soon as he has another opportunity. And it's okay. It is a safe tree to climb. It's easy for him to get up and the branches are big, they're strong. I just have to breath deeply and let go. I have to leave the rest up to Hashem.

Shalom Baruch also loves to take things apart, to figure out how things work. From the flashlight he took apart when he was less than twenty months old to the clicking pen with four colors that he reassembled this tisha b'av, learning about the inner workings of everything around him always fascinated him. He was wide-eyed when I told him about the time when Shalom a"h asked my mother if he could keep the blender she was going to throw out one Pesach. With her permission, he took it to his room and got to work. Shalom a"h separated the wires and buttons from the outside plastic it was made of and had a field day putting it back together and creating something of his own. He turned it into...an alarm clock! And he attached it to a timer so when it was time for him to wake up, the whole thing made a loud, whirring noise and spun all around the room! He had to actually get out of bed to turn it off!

The look on Shalom Baruch's face when he heard all this was priceless. "How did he do it??" he asked incredulously. He looked like he wished he could have asked Shalom a"h himself. But he can't.

He takes after him though.

Just like Shalom a"h, he is very musical. Not just with his voice, but with his ability to follow the beat of a song. His friend recently taught him how to beat box and it is the coolest thing ever. It's the drum behind the song. And that's what Shalom loved to do (although I wonder if he knew what beat boxing was! :)) I remember a game we used to play on Friday night at the meal. Shalom would drum his fingers to the beat of a song or zemer and each of us would have to guess which song it was. He was so good at it, that we were able to figure out the song just by listening to his fingers drumming on the table! When it was our turn, we would hum the tune of a song and everyone would easily guess.

Shalom Baruch loves chess. I taught it to him slowly when I saw he was ready for a challenging game, a game that would stimulate his brain and keep him thinking. He's a smart kid and can think a few steps ahead. Right now I let him win every time but I don't always make it too easy for him. I want him to think. I like watching his head at work and I'm sometimes amazed by his brain and the way he plans his next move.

Shalom a"h also loved chess. He was a good player and he thought before his moves too (on a more mature level). There was a point when every Friday night he'd sit down to a game of chess with my mother. All the kids would crowd around, watch them play, then someone would interject with a good move or a warning, and then there would be a loud announcement/reminder that no one is allowed to help either side...it was all good, solid and happy fun. 

I often wonder what it would be like if Shalom a"h were still alive. What would our relationship be like? Would we still be the best friends we were when we were kids? Would I be really close to him? I know he'd go crazy over my kids. He always loved kids. (Besides, everyone goes crazy over my kids :-P. And I'm not just saying that because I'm their mommy. Ke"h they are delicious and have a special chein.)

But...as much as I wonder and as much as I think about it, it was not meant to be. Shalom's place is in gan eden, close to Hashem, close to the other boys who were niftar at a young age. And they are lucky. They fulfilled their tafkid in the time they had in this world. The rest of us are left here to grope in the dark, to try to make sense of the senseless...and ultimately hold on to that belief that every single thing Hashem puts us through has a purpose and is for our benefit. We may not see it now, but we need to work on instilling that belief deep into our consciousness.

And one day, we will actually be able to see it, to understand it. It wont just be belief. We will have clarity. We will recognize that every event in our lives was carefully planned by our Creator and it was all for our good. 

May that day come so very soon! And until then, may we be able to work on our emunah, internalizing our belief that every single thing we go through has a purpose. Every single thing Hashem puts us through is for our ultimate benefit. 

Let us continue to do good and spread goodness wherever we go. My brother cannot do that anymore. Yet, by sharing this with others who can be inspired, his neshama will continue to rise higher in gan eden. 

May this be a zechus for Shalom ben Chaim Nosson whose 11th yartzheit was yesterday.

A Special Connection

It was over seven years since I had seen her last. But as soon as we met up and hugged, it was as if we just spoke yesterday. Well, almost. We had a lot to catch up on...my seminary roommate and I. But we connected instantly. The closeness we shared was right back there; the moment we began talking we felt it.

There's something unique about someone you room with for close to a year when you're away from home, independent...and...vulnerable. Your roommate gets to see the parts of you that no one else in your seminary does. What you're like when you wake up in the morning, how you react to stresses, what you do when your shabbos plans fall through on Friday morning and how you deal with the disappointments you don't necessarily carry with you outside your dorm room. She also gets to see you when you're tired and hyper and silly and giddy and sad and tired and emotional and...did I mention tired? :) She honestly gets to see every part of you. Every emotion, every mood, everything.

It's kind of like a sibling. 

The connection formed with my seminary roommates was unique. I got to Eretz Yisroel two and a half weeks after my younger brother, Shalom a"h was niftar. It was also a couple of days after my older brother got engaged. I was flying high, excited to be in the holy land, just as happy as everyone else...and showing off family pictures from my brother's vort to all who came to see. But inside, my heart was crying. I was holding a secret, a big, difficult secret in there.

I remember the shailos I had to ask during those first few weeks. I was in middle of my brother's shloshim. Was I allowed to watch a slideshow together with the rest of the seminary if there was music playing in the background? (I had to wear earplugs. And sit in the back-a little to the side-because an avel is not allowed to be part of a large group that is gathering together.)What should I do if I was studying with friends and they put music on? (That was okay because they didn't put it on for me. But it hurt because I knew I wasn't allowed to listen and the music was on and I loved it but I didn't want to hear it. And because I was carrying this heavy secret and I was sure that if these girls knew they'd never turn the music on when I was around.)

Then came the shloshim. With incredible bravery, I got up to speak in front of the entire seminary. I got sick that day and took off from class because I was so nervous, but I did it. I had to tell my roommates the night before-one who knew about it and one who was in total shock. We talked for a long time and comforted each other. 

Throughout the year, my one close friend who was in my seminary was there for me when I needed. While the rest of the girls were complaining about how they missed their families, I was on a whole different plane. I missed my brother! I knew I wasn't seeing him again. My family? Of course, one never knows what will be, but I knew that when I get home at the end of the year, I'll get to see my family, alive and well. I didn't miss them with the same intensity as I missed my brother-who was in the olam ha'emes, who was in my thoughts and my heart...but nowhere else. Who I only remembered as someone who was. Who I could only talk about in the past tense...

When I saw my roommate for the first time in over seven years, when I gave her a hug and we connected so instantly, I was hit with a powerful feeling. It didn't shake me until later that night, but I realized how a person-to-person friendship is so much more meaningful. And so much more real. It's nice to talk on the phone and it's nice to text and chat and email...and even to think about someone in your thoughts...but when you see someone, when you can give them a hug, look into their eyes, hold their hand and squeeze it tight, you have something deeper. You have a real relationship.

And although I had not seen her in so many years, the moment we saw each other, we connected. The bond was still there. The soul connection was there. Her warmth and sweetness was there. She was still the same...inside.

And I know that when techiyas hameisim will happen (although I do not know when that will be...), when I see my brother once again, I will feel that same strong bond. The connection of siblings that is so strong. We won't have to talk that much. We'll just look at each other and I'll see his smiling face. I will feel his warmth. I will look into his eyes and we will connect. 

It's a connection that never goes away. And although I can't text or chat, email or call him, he is in my heart and in my thoughts. We are still so very close...even though he seems so far away.

It's the day of his yartzeit that reminds me how much I miss him. It's this day that serves as a reminder to how temporary life is. How we must take advantage of our time here and appreciate those closest to us while they are still alive. Our children, our parents, our grandparents, our spouses, our friends. No one wants to look back one day and say how I wish I would have...Now's the time! You still can...connect, reach out, make up, open up, share, inspire, live and love.

And while I daven for the day when we will be reunited, I take the time to reflect on the messages of the day. On how this day inspires me to look at myself in a clearer mirror so I can work on myself to become better and stronger. 

May the neshama of Shalom a"h ben Chaim Nosson whose 9th yartzeit is tomorrow, Wednesday, yud zayin av, have an aliya.

Shalom, I know you are looking from your special place on high and are so proud of your nephews who carry on your name. I know how much you would have loved to spend time with all of them and I daven that my Shalom Baruch, who never got to meet you, carry on your legacy and be as special as you. He is already hearing stories about you...and I hope and pray that one day it wont be just stories...that we will all be reunited together...and he will say...this is the Shalom you always tell me about!

To read about Shalom a"h and the story, click here, here and here.

Triggers

With the weeks and then days leading up to my brother's 9th yartzeit, there are times I am easily triggered. 

It doesn't take that much. It can be a thought, a conversation, a memory...and I am brought back. I think about my brother and I miss him. 

I know this was meant to be and I accepted this as Hashem's will, but that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt sometimes.

I think about what it would be like if he would be alive today. Would he be married? Would he have kids? Would we still be as close as we were when he was alive? What kind of things would I share with him? Would our relationship be more superficial? Would we chat about our daily schedule? The kids? Or would we talk about real things?

And I can only imagine...

I think back to the last time I saw Shalom and I can't help but cry. I remember saying goodbye to him on Visiting Day, not knowing that this would be the last time I would see him. The last time in my life. How I wish I could just have another few minutes with him, say a real, proper goodbye, a goodbye I would have said with an all encompassing embrace...had I known.

But I didn't know. 

I wasn't meant to know.

I snap back to reality. 

Life goes on. 

I'm in an elevator. I hear two young mothers talking about what it's like to have their kids in camp. 

"My sister says having her sons in camp is like a full-time job. All day she's busy sending packages with this one and finding rides with that one... And when the girls are in another camp on the other side of the mountains, oh boy does it get tough!"

And I want to scream. 

But of course, I don't say a word.

I walk out of the elevator and my heart is screaming.

Do you realize how lucky you are to have kids in camp?? Do you realize how lucky you are to be able to send packages to them and yes, to be busy with that? 

And I think back to the last summer of my brother's life. When for the first time since any of us kids went to camp, my mother sent packages to Shalom. In the beginning of each week, she would go to the grocery and buy nosh and treats. I always told her to buy the Softbite cookies because I knew those were his favorite. (We could eat them together so quickly-we'd finish half the package on erev shabbos after we had pizza for lunch and the rest would be gone by shabbos afternoon!) When the box was full, my mother would take it next door to my grandmother's office and she'd ship it to him in camp.

And when he got his package, he didn't keep it all to himself. He generously shared it with his friends. And when Shalom picked up on the cues from a friend that he needed certain staples for a staple gun so he could fix something, he asked me to send it in his next package. No details as to why...but I sent it to him...and he gave it to the surprised boy-who never asked for them in the first place! He had just mentioned in passing that he needed those staples and next thing he knew, he had them in his hands a couple of days later!

I think back to those packages...and I am comforted. I remember spending so much time making a collage of the pictures of my nieces and nephews, fitting them all in onto just two pages, printing them out on colored paper and sending them to Shalom. I know that I did mine. I know how happy he was to see those pictures...because he loved each niece and nephew with all his heart. He loved to play with them when they came over. He loved little babies. He loved kids. And he loved having those pictures...the last he got to see of them. It feels good to know that I was the one who sent him those pictures...in one of those weekly packages my mother sent him during his last summer in camp.

It's those little things that can trigger so much inside of me. 

Snippets of a conversation between two mothers and look...look what it brought back for me.

I think about our Beis Hamikdosh...I think about my own personal loss...and I am sad. 

Where are our triggers?

We have no triggers.

We have no memories.

Just stories.

We are so far away.

So, so far away.

We have to force ourselves to feel. To make the churban seem real to us.

It has been so many years.

Too many years.

There is nothing that can bring on memories of that awesome time. We didn't live to see the avodah in the Bais Hamikdosh, the Levi'im singing shira, the smoke of the Korban Tamid. We never experienced a Yom Kippur, watching the red string turn white, coming out of that incredible day with the knowledge that our sins were forgiven.

We didn't experience life with the glory of Hashem's presence felt in Yerushalayim.

We didn't live to feel the churban.

The devastation. 

The deaths and the losses.

We are so far away from it all.

But we have our own losses. 

Our own personal challenges that help us feel that we are in galus.

So although we can't be triggered and we aren't close enough to the time of the Beis Hamikdosh to feel real pain over what happened so many years ago, we still have this one day a year where we can try. 

We can try to go back...try to dig deep inside ourselves and see...what touches us. 

What makes us cry. 

What are we sad about?

What do we want to change?

And remember that we are in galus.

We need to daven to Hashem...for change.

For redemption. 

For the ultimate Yeshuah.

May the day come when we have no memories of galus...when galus is such a foreign concept that nothing can trigger a thought about what the time away from the Shechina, away from the Kedusha was all about!

Have an easy and meaningful Tisha B'av.

Today-Yud Aleph Cheshvan

I posted the following thought in the past, but I want to share it with you again and add a little more to it this time.

Today, Yud Aleph Cheshvan is Rachel Imeinu's yartzeit. It is a very powerful day, a day when our tefillos can be accepted on a deeper level.
I remember learning the following in 10th grade from my teacher, Reb. Slomowitz…(b’shem omro, I hope it brings the geulah real quick because we really need it!)

When we speak about Rachel Imeinu, we say, “Kol B’ramah nishma…Rachel mivaka al baneha ki eineinu…” a voice is heard on high…Rachel is crying about her children…

The word mivaka seems to be grammatically incorrect. The definition of mivaka is to cause someone else to cry. The question is, why do we use this term for cry? If Rachel is crying for us on high, (as we know that Hashem says that her tears are going to bring the geula, not the tears of any of the avos) why is the term "causing to cry" used?! It should probably say, Rachel boche, Rachel "is crying" because she is constantly crying for us to come out of galus!

The answer is, that Rachel Imeinu is crying because we Jews are not crying! She is trying to get us to cry out of the pain of galus because we seem to forget where we are. Hashem puts us through so much pain and suffering in galus and our job is to cry out to Him and BEG Him to take us out! But instead, we try to ignore the pain we are in and try to run away from it by using all sorts of escapes and distractions. We forget that we are in galus by making ourselves comfortable here. We try to enjoy life to the fullest instead of remembering that we are supposed to be davening to come out. What we have to do now is cry out to Hashem and beg and plead for Him to take us out!

I realized today...how often do we think about this? How often does the fact that we are in galus cross our mind?

Not too often, probably.

We cry out to Hashem to help us deal with our personal problems, we ask Him to bring yeshuos, refuos, give parnassah and bless us with peace and happiness. But do we remember to ask Him to redeem us?

So today, let's take a minute to think about it, really think about it. 

And daven. And ask. 

Rachel is trying to get us to cry, to feel uncomfortable in galus. If you've ever been at her kever, you will experience yourself what it means to see people come there and cry out to their mother-as if she is their real mother. People daven, beg and plead for their personal yeshuah to come. They cry on her kever as if it is their mother's shoulder. I've seen it. I've done it too. It is a special feeling...a feeling of close connection and love and...something that's hard to describe in words. To come out of there feeling as if you unburdened yourself and left a part of you with Someone who heard is incredible. 

Although we cannot be there today, let's take the message of this day into our hearts and daven to Hashem to take us out of this galus.

It's time...don't you think?!

One day-hopefully soon-Hashem will tell Rachel Imeinu, “Minee koleich m’bechee v’einayich midim’ah,” Rachel, you can stop crying, because “v’shavu banim ligevulam,” Bnei Yisroel will return to their boundaries!

May we all have the zechus to see these very words come true!

Number Eight

Another yartzeit is approaching.

Another year to reflect and remember. 

Another reminder.

A reminder...that life is short.

A reminder...that life goes on.

A reminder...that although there are so many paradoxes in life, they are intertwined. They are connected. Yes, life is short. Yes, losing the life of a loved one is difficult. Yes, the yartzeit is painful. But life does go on. And along with all that, this one day is a powerful tool, a tool that can be used for connection and introspection.

Every year, my family gathers together at the kever of my brother and we daven together. With a minyan of men, kaddish is said and someone makes a siyum.

I always read and reread the words on my brother's tombstone and it strikes me every time I see it. Those words are so true.

Shalom...kishmo kein hu, oheiv v'rodeif shalom.

Shalom...he was like his name, he loved and pursued peace.

I think about life...and how at the end of life all that is left is the mitzvos and good deeds we have done. How sometimes we get distracted and we pursue things that are fleeting...but in the end, all that matters is what kind of person we became, how we have helped those closest to us, what kindness we have done, whose lives we have enriched by touching them...and...what we pursued.

Do we pursue peace?

Do we do what it takes to keep things peaceful? At home? At school? At work? With our neighbors?

What do we pursue? What do we run after?

What are we busy with?

How do we spend our time?

Time...the most precious thing given to us on earth.

Time...we can never get it back.

Time...once a second has passed, it is over.

The only thing left of the time we have here is how we utilize it.

Every year, something new hits me and I take a new message from the yartzeit.

But there are certain messages that are constant, certain reminders that will always be there.

There is so much we want to accomplish in the short time we have in this world. 

And we never know when our last day will be.

Shalom a"h never knew. Did he ever dream that after climbing up the tree, he would fall...and it would be over? Did he ever imagine that this would be the last fun thing he did with his friends...before his soul left him?

He didn't know...and we never know. 

That is not to say that we should live with a constant fear of the unknown, on the contrary, we should try to appreciate the time we have while we have it, the people close to us and whatever we have been blessed with...before it is taken away.

We are here to accomplish, to become better while we are in this world. The biggest message we can take from all of this is-use your time wisely, while the clock ticks, while the heart beats. 

Like R' Scheinberg zt"l said, "You need to cover ground before the ground covers you." 

How powerful.

How true.

May you be able to use the time you have in this world to the fullest, doing good things and making those around you happier. May you be able to grow in your avodas Hashem, in your emunah, in your connection to Hashem and may He give you many opportunities to do mitzvos and good things!

To read more about Shalom a"h whose 8th yartzeit is tomorrow, Wednesday, Yud Zayin Av, click here and here and here.

L'ilui nishmas Shalom ben Chaim Nosson