Community Calendar

Profound Pain

Reflections from the Streets of Yerushalayim

BY UDI LIEBERMAN

Isit here trying to put my thoughts and feelings into words, and all I can feel is the physical ache in my heart and the tears begin to flow once again. If tears could write we’d have volumes…

It’s been a little over 72 hours, and the final body of the 45 karbanos (Avraham Daniel Ambon, z”l, from Argentina) was put to rest this morning on Har HaMenuchos. It’s over. I feel the void. I feel the pain of every mother, father, wife, child, sibling, relative and friend of each and every one, plus one, plus one, plus one that equals forty-five. I daven for a refuah for those who are desperately waiting to emerge from darkness. And I try to backtrack and review what feels like a nightmare.

I am privileged to have spent numerous Lag B’Omers in Meron in the past. It’s electric. You feel the excitement, the spirituality, the love, and the achdus in your bones. This year we stayed in Yerushalaym, and went to the local fire hosted by the Iriyah (municipality). The street was full of men, women, and children; Chassidish, Litvish, Sefardi and Ashkenazi. There was an enormous screen with a live hook-up to Meron and a band playing “Bar Yochai.” It was beautiful and moving as well. As I looked into the fire that night, I prayed for the spark of Yiddishkeit and the blaze of Torah to be ever-present in my home, and I begged Hashem that every man, woman, and child should return safely home that night.

As I was dozing off, I started seeing messages, first from my nephew and then from my husband’s talmidim letting me know they were OK. I realized something happen. After checking the news, I said Tehillim and called my close friend who had two kids in Meron that night. She said that her son, who is a chosson, went to learn in a tent and figured before he heads home, he would go do one last dance at Toldos Aharon. He walked in and got nervous from the crowd and left. That was about ten minutes before the tragedy. After saying Tehillim, I drifted to what you can maybe call sleep. About an hour later, my husband came into the room and told me what really happened in Meron.

I cried. I davened. I begged Hashem that no mother should have to make two levayos. And then we waited. We waited and davened for all the cholim, for all the families, for all of Am Yisrael. I davened. I cried. I woke up my children one by one, bracing myself for how I would break the news to each of them on their level. At 7 a.m., when the supermarket opened, I ran to buy potatoes and stock up on kugels. Who

knows who’s going to need what this Shabbos? I got my cooking underway. Who knows which levayos we will have to attend today?

And then the names started coming ever so slowly. Three names and pictures. A young avrech. A father of six, Shragee Gestetner, z”l, from the U.S. who came special to daven at Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai’s kever. I tried getting myself together. I told myself, Just don’t collapse, keep cooking, stay calm and daven.

It’s 10:30 a.m., I can’t bear it anymore. I dial one friend whose son I knew went up to Meron. She tells me that, baruch Hashem, he is OK and how he missed it by a few minutes. I hesitate. Should I call my chassidishe friend, a mother of 15 whose grandson was having a chalakah in Meron? I dial as I say Tehillim. Baruch Hashem, they are all OK other than stranded. She tells me about a coworker of ours whose 21-year-old nephew is missing. I daven some more. I’m peeking my head out my door waiting to see my neighbors. I tell my kids to run and ask them if their father came home from Meron. As the day goes on, more names and more pictures come in. More mothers left bereft, more almanos, more yesomim. A father of 9, a chosson, a father of 10, a new father of a 2-week-old, bochurim, boys, heartbreak. And then if it couldn’t get worse, two sets of brothers, two bochurim who were yesomim. Each picture is a world. I looked at their beautiful faces. I saw their chein shining through. Those eyes, that smile, that depth – each one looked so holy and special. It slowly started sinking in. No, I did not know any one of them, yet I was reeling in pain. I felt paralyzed. Just keep going, this is only the beginning, the first twenty, thirty of the karbanos.

We all felt despair. How can we grasp such pain? Yidden who go to daven by Reb Shimon, a place known for miracles? This just can’t be. No sense can be made of this. The world seems black.

And then the stories of miracles started coming in. A neighbor of mine’s son was there; he just came home from the hospital, hodu L’Hashem. He doesn’t know how he survived. Another neighbor’s relative was in surgery on Friday, hoping to save his leg – a miracle he’s alive. Another neighbor lifted (the dead) bodies off his face so he can gasp for air – he survived. A 14-year-old boy from up the road, thrown up in the air, it saved his life. Another story of a petite bochur thrown in the air, survived. Hearing everyone describe what went on, they weren’t able to move their shoulders. Who threw these boys up? Was Rabbi Shimon performing miracles? Maybe.

It is so painful. We, as believing Jews, know that everything Hashem does is for the good. In this world, there are no answers, and in the next world, there are no questions. Keep going. I am torn. Levayos around the corner. I want to be there. I want to share in the pain of each one of these families. I also want to light candles for Shabbos on time and pray. And the little niggling voice…there is more to come…there will be plenty of levayos on Motzei Shabbos, r”l.

Late erev Shabbos, and the news still comes in. Ben Shalom found, dead. Dovi Steinmetz found, dead. Yossi Cohen found, dead. Donny Morris found, dead. There was little hope of those who still haven’t found their loved ones. Searches were on for a young boy, his mother hoping he was just drained and fell asleep somewhere. But no, Eliezer Yitzchok Koltai, dead. The horror, the tragedy, the heartache.

As I lit the Shabbos candles, I davened and cried and davened and cried. It’s Shabbos. We are not allowed to cry. Let’s be upbeat. And then our guests walked in for the seudah. White like ghosts sitting on the couch. Each one telling us their story. One bochur was holding onto the wall for dear life. Trying to jump and climb it and luckily, with

Those eyes, that smile, that depth – each one looked so holy and special.

the help of a police officer, got out. Another one describing someone right near him had died over his shoulder. He was sure he was next and said Shema. He was carried out on a stretcher and miraculously was fine a few minutes later. Stories of friends who miraculously made it out. And stories of friends who did not.

We had a beautiful shalosh seudos on Shabbos with twelve bochurim who were doing what Yidden do, keeping Shabbos and singing and hoping and davening. I was scared to check the news on Motzei Shabbos. More levayos.

I went to the levaya of a bochur, a chosson, Menachem Knoblowitz, z”l. A levaya without family, who will be there? I got there and had just missed it. There was a big crowd that was melave him. So many people came and were asking, did I miss the levaya of Menachem Knoblowitz? I was sure they were relatives or friends. I asked if they knew him, and they said no. No family, yet one huge family, Yidden of all types, and the crowd kept growing as the levayos continued.

Next, the levaya of a 16-year-old boy (Eliyahu Cohen, z”l, from Beitar) and then the levaya of Elazar Gepner, 52, son, husband, and father of a large family.

The next levaya at 12:30 a.m., a newly married English man, Moshe Bergman, 24. Location: Rechov Zichron Yaakov, that very same street that Thursday night we were all standing by the fire and singing and dancing to the live hook-up in Meron. Once again, the street was blocked off, this time for a levaya. There were thousands of people standing there. So many men and lots of women. Some who were friends, some who were relatives, and so many strangers. It was so surreal. I felt the vibe of achdus once again that I felt on Lag B’Omer. As we were waiting, the crowd was saying Tehillim – what a powerful moment it was. And then the levaya. More heartbreak. More greatness. Another incredible Jew I never knew. It’s 3:00 a.m. and tomorrow is another day of mourning.

Sunday, the levayos of the American bochurim, Dovi, Yossi, and Donny. I had my own family to tend to and a family simcha so I joined the other levayos via livestream. It was so painful and so moving. Hearing about each one’s greatness. I was alternating between two screens at once, the levaya of Yossi Cohen, z”l, and Donny Morris, z”l, happening at the same time. Trying to soak in the messages of what each one stood for. It’s so great, it’s beyond us. We can only try.

As the day goes on, more and more stories are coming to the surface. More and more miracles of survivors. Stories of Hashem’s people, acting as angels trying to save others.

It was so moving watching the crowds sing, “Ani ma’amin…b’vias haMoshiach” at Meron moments before the catastrophe happened. And then hearing it sung by friends outside the Shamgar funeral home during the tahara of Yossi Cohen. And the third time on Har Hazeisim at the commencement of Donny Morris’s burial. It’s so painful. It’s overwhelming. Yet we are resilient, more resilient than we know. It’s OK to feel this pain. It hurts. But let’s fill ourselves with hope. Hope for the future of Am Yisroel, hope for Moshiach.

Tragedy has an interesting way of bringing us together. As I look at the pictures of each korban, I see the chein, the beauty in each soul. I wish I can be there with those families that are mourning and hug them and be with them. Then I wonder, had I seen this boy before would I have noticed him? Had I seen this man would I have noticed him? Every Jew has that chein of their neshama shining through. Sometimes it’s hard to see because my own glasses are dirty and sometimes it’s hard to see because they are covered in dirt, but it’s there.

I don’t know what Hashem wants from us and we each have to do our own introspection as to “L’mah? for what,” rather than “Lamah? Why.” But what I do know for certain is that if we make something of this tragedy and don’t let it slip us by, then we are closer the geulah, to techiyas hameisim, when families can be reunited, may it be soon in our days.