We are living in incredible times. Great miracles have happened before our very eyes. After October 7 the world was ready to proclaim that our nation was weakened and chas v’shalom, lost its strength. Our haters, shouting for the ‘global intifada’, believed that the axis of evil would finally rally against our Jewish nation. Haman has come back to life with his intense animosity for Am Yisrael. “Lehashmid, leharog u’leabed es kol hayehudim.” Who could imagine the courageous lion of Israel that has risen up and roared?
At the same time, we are sitting in tza’ar. How many families still grieving, looking at empty chairs in disbelief? Destroyed homes reduced to rubble as the newly homeless must figure out where to go now. The many sirens that have pierced the skies of Eretz Yisrael and the many pounding hearts that heeded the calls to find shelter. We cannot forget this long painful war. The wounded, whose new reality may feel burdensome and complicated. The shattered, the sleepless, the children who must grapple with knowledge of deadly missiles and war instead of blowing bubbles in the park and riding bikes carefree in the wind.
Amidst all this, we enter the month of Tammuz. Soon we will be arriving to the Three Weeks and Tisha B’Av, when we mourn the loss of our Beis HaMikdash and the exile of our people. We are living in a world of chaos, never sure what tomorrow brings. As I write these words it is impossible for me to know what our days will look like by the time you read my message.
We are grappling with so much uncertainty. The unknown looms above us.
But there is one known factor that we can all think about.
It is in times like these that we see what we are made of. How strong is my emunah muscle? Do I possess the bitachon needed to make it through the darkness? Do I live inspired? Am I a proud Jew? Does resilience dwell within me? Does my neshama connect to my people and my land? Do I feel the pain of Am Yisrael or have I turned the page and gone back to the ‘same old, same old?’
We call this a ‘legacy’. The spiritual inheritance we leave in this world. Greater than any financial gifts, it is the strength that I bequeath, the faith under fire that I bequest, to my future generations and to my nation.
Last week my granddaughter called me from Yerushalayim. As we spoke, my daughter-in-law texted me. She wrote that she just received an alert. A siren will be going off shortly and they will have to run to their shelter which was a block away from their home. For this five-year-old little girl, the sudden waking up in middle of the night, the loud wails of warning in the air, the hurried rushing along with her little siblings, and the time spent in the shelter, was all taking its toll.
“Mommy, can you speak to Rachel for a few, before all the noise starts?”
I told my sweet granddaughter that I know it is not easy and the sirens can be loud and scary but that I find good feeling when I sing if I am feeling frightened. What would you like to sing? I asked.
My granddaughter responded that she would like to sing Am Yisrael Chai. And as I began to sing, softly at first, I heard the loud piercing wails of the sirens in the background. We sang, joined together across the ocean. The sound of her soft child voice brought me to tears. They reached the miklat and the phone cut off. I was left to sing on my own, only imagining where they could be and what they were feeling.
These days will never be brought back again. What we do in this time becomes our life legacy. One day, I hope my granddaughter remembers our singing to discover calm and peace in a world gone mad. A bubby’s legacy in a moment of fear.
Am Yisrael Chai!
