Her voice choked with emotion, Rachel often repeated when we spoke, "G‑d is so good to me." Rachel was a Holocaust survivor who lived a life of tragedies and great challenges. Yet she always clung to her faith and was grateful for the blessings she had.

When she was two, her mother died, and several years later she was torn from her father and siblings by the hands of the brutal Nazis. Rachel was used in the quarters of the Nazis as a slave. She was forced to wash their clothing and did other menial chores, which caused her hands to ache and peel.

Rachel was a Holocaust survivor who lived a life of tragedies and great challengesAfter the war, Rachel married her husband, a survivor like herself. He was a devoted, helpful husband, and they loved each other dearly. However, Rachel's husband suffered extreme anxiety after the Holocaust. On Friday nights, he'd often leave the Shabbat table to eat his piece of bread in the corner, quiet and trembling. Their four little children used to beg their father, "Papa, come back to the table. Please join us." But Hitler, may his name be erased, had managed to kill a part of his spirit.

Rachel, though, remained strong and was a rock of support for her husband and children. She was devoted to him until the day he died, following a terrible illness. Rachel was only in her forties when she was widowed and left to raise her four young children on her own. She worked days and nights to support them single-handedly, and even managed to buy a home in California, where they were living. She sewed their clothing, and always made sure that there was food on the table. It meant so much to her that her children have a safe haven and a place to call home.

I met Rachel two years ago, and knew her well for the very last year of her life. She became an integral part of our family and left an impressionable mark on our hearts and souls. Rachel moved to Israel about two years before us and was delighted to fulfill her life's dream of living in the Holy Land. Her four children were in California, and she was here in Jerusalem on her own.

My husband and I moved to Baka, Jerusalem, several years ago to open a Chabad center for English speakers. We were planning our first communal Passover Seder for a group of thirty guests. Rachel insisted on coming over before the holiday to help out. I didn't know her well then, and wondered why a woman in her eighties would want to help when she could be relaxing at home. It was then that I began to truly appreciate the unique strength of character which Rachel possessed.

She came to our home, dressed conservatively, with a pretty beret covering her hair and a warm smile on her face. She worked efficiently for several hours, checking and drying the many heads of lettuce needed for our Seder. She did the job which most people dreaded, happily and with ease. When she finished, she insisted on continuing to help, and polished our Shabbat candlesticks, with vigor and love. That day the bond was formed.

Rachel returned almost every Friday afternoon after that to help with the Shabbat preparations, and then she'd leave after the Friday night meal. She cut salads, and especially loved holding the baby. She'd sing Yiddish songs to him, and it seemed to me that she reverted to a distant time and place as she hummed those haunting melodies. I often marveled at Rachel's diligence and willingness to work. I myself would have gladly been elsewhere during those hectic Friday afternoons, yet Rachel chose to join and was happy to be part of the rigorous preparations.

We talked as we worked, and after we lit candles, we sat together on the couch and prayed. Then we chatted some more as we set the table and finished the last preparations. Rachel's faith became crystal clear during our many conversations. She always told me, "G‑d is so good to me," with such conviction, as she cocked her head from side to side. The tone in her voice spoke of a connection so deep, like an only child speaking of her father's love for her.

I often marveled at Rachel's diligence and willingness to workThis line came in between one personal horror story and the next, which never ceased to amaze me. She chose to look at the miraculous, at the Hand of G‑d which was always there, despite the suffering and dark times. Throughout her day to day life, Rachel continued her mantra. When she found out that the arm she thought was broken was only sprained, she called me on the phone, "G‑d is so good to me!" she uttered those familiar words with the same warmth and conviction as always.

About six months ago Rachel insisted on taking a trip to California to spend time with her children. She kept insisting how important it was for her to see them. During that trip, and surrounded by her loving children, Rachel passed away. Those of us in the community of Baka are left with a void after Rachel's passing, but we are also left with her powerful legacy. A legacy of faith and positive spirit. "G‑d is so good to me," I now repeat to myself, hoping to emulate the remarkable faith of a remarkable woman. I am fortunate and blessed that my life's challenges pale next to Rachel's. But her attitude and conviction is something that will always remain a part of me. She taught me and everyone she knew the importance of seeing the positive and recognizing the goodness even in our most difficult times. There is no better way of remembering her and honoring that memory than when I allow myself to truly recognize, "G‑d is so good to me."