A Letter to Rivka Holtzberg

Dear Rivka,

Two weeks ago, I did not know you and you did not know me. Now, I am searching your beautiful face in pictures, reading about you everywhere, haunted that a Jewish sister was murdered because of who she was, and the goodness she did. A Jew, reaching out to fellow Jews, offering them spiritual and physical sustenance in the warmth of your home. And perhaps, as your soul looks down from heaven, you know me and many others in a way you did not know before, as we grieve over your tragic, untimely departure from this world, and for your little orphaned son, Moishele.

When you tragically left him after two short years, there was already a healthy seed of identity planted deep into Moishele's little mind and heart I learned about the shining legacy you gave him, imparting your values through daily existence. In the way you spiritually and physically strengthened his little being daily, with his favorite Kosher foods. In the way you expanded his family daily, including Jews from all walks of life, looking to connect. In the way you lit the candles every Friday evening, ushering into your home the peaceful glow of Shabbat. In the way you sang the Shema prayer every night when you lovingly tucked him into bed. Your primal love as a mother, the basic necessities in a child's day, and your Jewish values, were not compartmentalized parts. You infused your love and your tending with these values, creating a loving, spiritual whole. So that when you tragically left him after two short years, there was already a healthy seed of identity planted deep into Moishele's little mind and heart that will continue to grow as his loving family relatives will nourish it, fully immortalizing your incredible, meaningful work.

You have joined the immortalized millions of dedicated Jewish mothers, many who did not know they would be tragically leaving their children so abruptly. And yet, from the pogroms of Poland to the ashes of Auschwitz, the values that they left with their children transcended the destruction of their bodies, living on and on for generations and generations, decades and centuries later—in the young mothers that are still making Shabbat meals, still singing the Shema to their little ones... In the parents that are still infusing their natural love for their children with Jewish ideals.

The largeness of your death, and the life in little Moishele's soulful eyes, beg me to ask myself: How am I expressing my values in my daily existence? What are we proudly, definitively, giving our children – beyond their inborn eyes, lips, distinct laughs that resemble our own – that will fade with every mingling of new genes and generations? Beyond their skills and schooling? With every new era, much of these academics and skills will change, or perhaps become obsolete with the winds of time. Are we giving them the eternal values that give meaning to their lives and hold them during their sorrows?

From the pogroms of Poland to the ashes of Auschwitz, the values that they left with their children transcended the destruction of their bodiesIn educating and involving ourselves in Judaism, and living it with our children, who will then live it with our grandchildren, and our great-grandchildren, and all the nameless souls that will be, we, too, are giving our children a great gift. We, too, are part of this long, immortal chain.

Dear great-grandmothers, grandmothers, and mothers.

Dear Rivka.

We will live what you died for.

With an aching but hopeful heart,

A Fellow Jewish Sister and Mother