Broken But Not Crushed

By the time my ten year old son returned home from school, late yesterday afternoon, the situation for Rabbi Gavriel and Rivka Holtzberg, the beloved directors of Chabad of Mumbai, was not looking good. Conflicting reports were circulating but it was confirmed that their two year old son, Moshe, had been rescued by his nanny who managed to escape with him in blood splattered clothes while both his parents were reportedly lying unconscious, still hostages to the terrorists.

For the entire evening as well as this morning, our minds and hearts were consumed with thoughts and prayers for the Holtzbergs. But while we all prayed and hoped beyond hope, a little voice in the back of my mind asserted that the situation did not bode well. Reality was sadly reality and the more time that expired the worse it looked.

From the moment that my son came home, he, like Jews the world over, was consumed with the situation. He mentioned how his class had recited Psalms for over two hours that day. But that didn't prevent him from immediately beginning to recite some more…And more…And then patiently trying to convince his four year old sister to repeat just another chapter together with him.

Later, I noticed him slip some of his money in the pushka. He also asked if he could bring me a tea, or do a chore. Any chore. It was clear that he was trying to gather as many positive deeds in the Holtzberg's merit.

Like the rest of us, my son was glued to the news sites on the computer, for any shred of good news about this family. At one point, he mentioned to me how he had heard that Moshe had cried for his parents in the middle of the night. He was visibly affected by this image.

"But," he assured me confidently, "tonight is Rosh Chodesh (the new month of) Kislev, the day that the Rebbe recovered from his heart attack. And tonight," at this point his voice rose slightly, "we'll also hear how the Holtzbergs will be saved. It will be good!"

I listened and I nodded. "G‑d willing," I replied.

And yet that little voice in the back of my head once again wondered if perhaps I should warn my sensitive child that things didn't always turn out for the good. Perhaps I should prepare him for what we hoped we would never hear, but that was still a definite possibility.

My son went to sleep last night only after asking that if we heard the good news (that he was sure we would hear), we should please wake him immediately. And when I woke up very early this morning, I found him curled up on my bedroom floor, clearly wanting the comfort of his parents nearby.

As the unfolding situation became more and more grim and I saw my son still reciting extra prayers this morning, I once again wondered, should I perhaps warn my child that we live in the "real" world, where things don't always turn out the way they are supposed to? A world where prayers and good deeds aren't always answered. A world where darkness often obscures light.

No, I didn't say anything to my son.

Because I came to realize that it was he who had the right perspective on the situation and not I.

As I write these words, we all know that unfortunately no miracle happened. I, like all of you, am consumed by such sadness, such grief for the life that could have been… for Gavriel and Rivka…grief for little Moshe…and grief for the terrible pain that their families must be enduring.

I am plagued by questions too.

How could this have happened? How could all of our prayers and good deeds not have weighed in?

How could evil gain such control over our world? And over such good people whose sole life's preoccupation was bringing light, joy and meaning to our world? How could goodness be so vanquished?

Heavy, unbearable, haunting questions.

But I realize too, that if I succumb to that little voice in the back of my head, to this perspective of doubt, pain, and immobility, I'll only be giving greater power to the evil around us.

We can't remain crushed, afraid, and unable to move forward.

Because now is the time to fight—not with doubt and questions, but with the innocent faith of my child, with unity and love towards one another, and with as many rational and irrational good deeds that we can muster.

For the sake of Gavriel and Rivka.

For the sake of little Moshe.

And for the sake of good in our world.