Yesterday, at the 4th Azkara, memorial for Shmuel Yerushalmi, HaYa"D, my friend and I puzzled about the weather. It was muggy. That's not the norm for the hills of Shiloh, especially in July.
In memory of Shmuel, Gila Kessler, HaYa"D, and the other victims of that terror attack, I'm going to post what I wrote four years ago (pre-blogging days):
Musings #1
June 23, 2002
The 13th of Tammuz
Not Amusing Musings
Social Calendar
Just last Sunday, with the announcement of five engagements in Shiloh in addition to a number of up-coming weddings, the talk was on how to prevent two weddings on one night, or “too many” within a couple of days. Such problems, such pressure…
Late Wednesday night, after midnight, I sat in the home of the grandparents of a classmate of one of the brides. Her grandmother and aunt were anxious to prevent a scheduling conflict, not of a wedding date, but of a probable funeral. Gila’s grandfather, mother and uncles were in Abu Kabir (Israeli forensic center) along with the father of Shmuel from next door. An Arab terrorist blew them up just a few hours before.
Gila, once considered an Israeli Olympic hope in gymnastics leapt onto the front page, not as a medal winner, but as a victim of a perverse, sadistic terrorist. Shmuel, the second child of gentle, modest educators, who just three weeks before impressed one and all as he eulogized his best friend, Avi Siton, (haya”d), was permanently silenced by that same Arab bomber.
The Draught
Chazal (the Sages) say that G-d gives us rain (in the Land of Israel) according to our spiritual level. We have been suffering from drought for the past few years. The politicians keep lowering the “red line” rather than taking ecological or spiritual measures. The people aren’t fooled, and neither is G-d.
So much water is being wasted. I pray to G-d to take our tears, all the tears at these recent funerals of our holy terror victims, the best of their generation, these young people of such potential. So many tears have been shed. Take all the tears shed over these lives cut down too soon, and add them to the rain.
The draught should certainly be over.
A Good Team
Gretta, who made aliya to Israel from the USSR over ten years ago with her elderly parents and married daughter, and I are good friends. We make a good team, but last Friday morning at 9am when we found ourselves teamed up together again, it was not a happy time. Just three weeks before from 9-11 am we helped at the Siton home, since the family was sitting shiva (mourning) for their son and brother, Avi, murdered in his high school by an Arab terrorist. And there we were again, just a few houses down the same street, again putting pretzels in bowls, throwing out used cups, seeing that there were bottles of cold drinks for the visitors and something hot for the bereaved parents of his best friend and classmate, Shmuel.
The first time it was strange, a very uncomfortable job, taking over someone’s kitchen, because they are not supposed to take care of any of their own physical needs during the mourning period. In our two hour shift, we easily established routines.
The second time there was a new element. Tragedy was becoming routine. No one should be an expert in such a task.
After eleven we were relieved by two neighbors; one born in Holland and the second one in France. That’s Shiloh—the ingathering of the Exiles, where Joshua took the Jewish nation after wandering for forty years, after slavery—to Shiloh. The Jewish People as a nation began in Shiloh, the first capital, for 369 years. After that King David and Jerusalem.
We are on our way. It is a long and painful process. We are impatient, but we see the light in the far end of the tunnel.
Shavua Tov, Have a Good Week,
Batya
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