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MAY 6, 2021 | The Jewish Home OCTOBER 29, 2015 | The Jewish Home
Profound Pain Reflections from the Streets of Yerushalayim BY UDI LIEBERMAN
I
sit 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
