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. 

Hug

I went to daven at my brother's kever yesterday. 

On the way, I was feeling very emotional, of course. I had music on and I was crying and I was thinking, I really need a hug right now. Hashem, can you please send someone to give me a hug? I was hoping maybe I'd meet someone I know at the cemetery but honestly, what are the chances? 

I got to the cemetery and I didn't see any people or any cars. Just lots and lots of tombstones. I davened and cried a lot and unloaded a lot of emotions. 

On my way out, I stopped at the administration building to wash my hands and use the bathroom. I saw another car there with 4 women inside. They were stopping for the bathroom on their way into the cemetery. I asked them if there's anything special about today and they said it's their mother's yartzeit. So I said, "Can I give you a hug? I'm giving out free hugs." and proceeded to hug each one of them. Some of them felt a little awkward, I could tell from the way they accepted the hugs lol...then I told one of them, I asked Hashem for a hug today. So she said, now here's a hug for you! And she gave me a tight, all embracing hug. It was just what I needed.

Hashem has the power and ability to answer us, even when it seems unlikely for us to get what we asked for!

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.

un

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

Windows

I look up
At the clouds
With the sun peeking through
And I seem to see
Windows
Windows to the heavens
And I wonder...
What is going on
Up there
In the heavens?
What happens?
Up high?
Beyond the clouds
Beyond the sun
Beyond all
We can see
What is going on?
Beyond the windows
If only I can see
Through the clouds
Through the shining rays
Understand the days
And nights
Of life.
Yet I cannot
Understand
I cannot fathom
God's ways
I have tried
But I haven't ever
Been able to 
Understand
His plan.
I look up
At what seems like
Windows
And I wish
I wish I could scream
And let my voice pierce 
The heavens
Let my voice reach
The highest heights
And then 
Like a silent whisper
Ask one question
Can I see my brother?
Can I speak to him?
Can I encounter him?
Can I approach him?
Can I spend time with him?
I have so much to ask him
So much to tell him
So much to share with him
So much to do with him
He is gone for so long
But he is not gone
He is in my heart
Never gone
I wish for so much
Wish we could talk
Wish we could spend
Time forever together 
So instead
He's in my head
All the time
And that's where
We spend time together
I think about him
I fantasize about him
About life
My life
With him in it.
He's certainly in my life
But not in the way
I dream of.
He's just in my dreams
But not in my reality
Sure, in reality
He's here
In my son's name
In the stories we share
About him
But it's just in
Our imagination 
I look up once more
Just to be sure
I can't pierce through the heavens
Through the windows above
That look so ready
To be penetrated
With the welcoming rays
Of the sun
I can't see
What's happening
Up there
I can only imagine
And live
The life I'm meant to live
Down here 
In this world of confusion 
Sometimes darkness
Sometimes light
I hold on tight
With all my might
As I continue to forge ahead
Knowing in my head
That Hashem knows
What's best
And He decided 
It's best for me
To be down here
While my brother 
Was taken
To a place up there
A better place 
A place of light
A place of peace
I have made peace
With it
As I pray for 
The ability
And strength 
To continue 
Living
And giving
With light
And love
And help from Above 
With strength 
And peace 
As long as 
I live.
I miss you
Shalom
More than I ever knew I could
I miss you
Shalom
Even though I believe this is for the good
You are in my thoughts
In my breath
In my heart
And in my mind
All the time
I hope I can
Give hope to those
Who have lost hope
Give strength to those
Who have lost their strength
It's through you
And your story
That I hope
I'll be able 
To give
So much
To those
Who need 
So much. 

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.

The Story Behind the Picture

The shabbos before my brother Shalom a"h was niftar was shabbos nachamu. That year, my sister and her husband were planning to go with their little daughter to Los Angeles, California for shabbos. They tried to make arrangements but in the end, it did not work out. They still wanted to go away for shabbos, so instead, they went upstate.

That year, Visiting Day came out on Tisha B'av. Some camps scheduled their Visiting Day for the Sunday before Tisha B'av and other camps pushed it off to the Sunday after Tisha B'av. Shalom's camp, Camp Stolin, pushed it off a week. Since the boys were scheduled to come home a week and a few days later, my mother did not go visit him. Our family did not have a car and it was hard to find a ride to his camp; it was further out than most other camps. "I'll see him in another week," she thought to herself. 

That Sunday, my sister and her husband went along with their baby and visited Shalom. They met up with my other brother and went out for pizza. While they were there, my sister decided that she wanted to take pictures. However, she left the camera in her car and it was parked quite far away. After all, it was Visiting Day and even when only half the camps have Visiting Day, the small lot gets full quickly. At first, her husband didn't want to hike to the car just to get the camera. But after nudging him a bit, he took the trip.

He came back with the camera and they took some pictures. Pictures of Shalom holding their little gorgeous baby. 

You can see Shalom's gentle touch in the way my niece has her little fingers wrapped around his. You can see the serenity in Shalom's face. You just see it. 

They also took some pictures together. My sister, her husband, her baby and my two brothers.

The last picture was one of Shalom with a huge laughing smile on his face, his lips spread so wide from the joke he had just made. The person taking the pictures was a friend of Chaya Sara. When she said that Shalom looks like Chaya Sara, he chuckled and said, "Which part? The beard?" And everyone burst into a fresh round of laughter while she quickly took that shot. That's the last picture taken of him on that camera.

He passed away the following day.

We didn't know these would be the last pictures we'd have of him. We didn't even know about them until after he passed away. That's when my brother in law ran to develop those pictures. We had them during the shiva and were able to show them to people who came to be menachem avel.

Those pictures were so comforting for us. They still are. Those pictures showed us how happy he was on the day before his neshama was taken from us. There is a certain calm on his face. An inner calm. A happiness and contentment that you could see on his face. It is visible in his smile. It is there.

If my sister had gone to California for that shabbos, we would not have those pictures. We would not have that comfort. Additionally, she would have missed his levaya. We know this because another relative of ours who was in California was unable to make it to New York in time for the levaya. 

So we see that there was a plan. There is comfort in the pain. Even though it was time for my brother's neshama to leave this world, Hashem did it with gentleness to our family. He left us with these pictures and they give us some measure of comfort. Seeing his picture is like a soft cream upon a delicate wound. The wound hurts from time to time, but the cream makes it easier to bear.

We know he left this world happy and at peace with where he was in his life. We can see it on his face. In the last pictures we have of him.

You can read more about Shalom a"h and the story behind his sudden death. Click here for Part 1, here for Part 2 and here for Part 3.

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

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.