Repair our hearts

I don’t know how many times a heart can break. I think the bigger question is, how many times can a heart repair? I hope the answer to that question is infinity. I really hope so.

The week of Hannukah was really hard. Instead of celebration for the miracle, it was an immersive experience in what came before the miracle. Like a modern day 2.0 version, a redo of the original from 2,000 years ago. This time we are the cast. But its not a movie script. Its another chapter of Jewish history, written with us inside it. Hannukah is the story of the heroic Maccabees. The few who overcame the mighty. This time we have too many heroes to count.

It was also one of deep reflection.

I reflected on how much loss we’ve experienced. Loss of loved ones. Loss of home and livelihood. Loss of security. Loss of friends. Lots of loss.

I reflected on heroism. Our hero’s in the IDF, their courageous families waiting for them at home. Not sleeping. Raising families, putting meals on the table. Dreading that knock on the door. Praying for a phone call. Watching the news non-stop. I know. My daughter is there. I’m one of those families.

I reflected on pain and heartache. And healing. Healing feels like something impossible right now. Each time we think it’s going to get better, another tragedy falls on us.

In a single day last week we lost 10 soldiers. Each of them died saving lives with the most extraordinary courage and the ultimate sacrifice.

2 soldiers were killed in a hostage rescue. The hostages were killed too. We lost 4 that day.

So far every hostage we’ve discovered has been found dead. Badly beaten. Abused. Tortured. The stories from the hostages that returned continue to haunt us. And the worst has not been told.

We still have more than 120 hostages who are suffering. Elderly without life saving medication. Women who are being abused sexually, physically, emotionally and mentally. Men who were severely injured during the massacre. Missing limbs. And our babies. Our beautiful red head babies and their mom and dad.

A soldier who was killed in action on Thursday has a three week old baby. He got to see her once. One of the hostages has a child born after he was kidnapped. Stolen from his family. His wife had a baby alone. And he doesn’t even know.

In the worst tragedy imaginable, fighting their way out of an ambush, the IDF killed 3 hostages trying to escape. There was chaos. Booby traps. Hamas set up dolls, played tapes of children talking in Hebrew. It was all rigged. Terrorists strapped in suicide bombs were waiting. It’s perfectly understandable that hostages would not be recognizable in all that. And absolutely heart wrenching for everyone. I don’t know how to say “it’s going to be okay” to anyone after that.

And antisemitism continues to surround us wherever we are.

Yet here we are. 73 terrible, horrible, no good, very bad days and nights later. Enduring. Broken hearted. Strong in spirit.

We are not ok. But we will not be broken.