Broken.

Here is what it looks like when a community has its heart broken:

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It looks like a hundred kids standing together, singing songs and waving flags. And slowly slowly, it grows and grows until it’s not only those kids singing songs, but it is their friends who join them and their parents who stand behind them and their little siblings who don’t really understand what’s happening.

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And then we walk. We walk out of our small seemingly safe yishuv and turn left as we all do every day. And then we pass a memorial, hastily, lovingly achingly made and we keep walking.

This Shabbat was quiet. There were whispered stories of cars that made a right instead of a left in that moment. Of a girl in the back seat of Yakov’s car. Of cars that were shot at and cars that were spared.

And we keep walking and there is singing and dancing and hugging and crying. And kids wave their flags and speakers stand up to offer the brokenhearted some solace and strength. And one Rav, one neighbor gets up and he tells us to love every minute of life, because it is precious.

In that moment, surrounded by my broken community, surrounded by kids and parents and grandparents, I do love life.

The Don family lives five doors down from us. Sarah Don reminded me on Shabbat that the first time she met David and me we were a newly engaged couple in Toronto and they were there on shlichut. They were at our kiddush and thought, what a young cute couple. That feels like thousands of years ago. Look where we are now.

 

 

 

 

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