With the murder of six hostages by Hamas, many of us have felt hope slipping away. Hersh’s parents publicly traveled the world to advocate for their son. One couldn’t help but think (perhaps naively) that their actions and their voices and their rigor would lead to bringing him home. Bringing all of them home. If anyone’s actions could do it, it would have been theirs. They tried so very hard.
Over the past few days, the common refrain has been, “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.” It wasn’t. Not for these six. Not for the other murdered hostages and slain soldiers. Not for those murdered on October 7th. Not for any of them.
But now we are faced with a reality in which hope doesn’t feel as close as it did, which means we must engage in a practice that rebuilds hope. In each generation, there have been hope rebuilders.
After the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem, Rabbi Akiva and his colleagues look at the desolation and destruction and while they begin to cry, he begins to laugh. He explains that the prophet Zechariah said that one day, “Zion would be plowed like a field.” But the same prophecy explained that so too, “Elderly women and men would one day be in the squares of Jerusalem.” And in response to his conclusion, the other sages said, “Akiva, you have comforted us.” Rabbi Akiva was a hope rebuilder.
The memories of the murdered and the requests of their families are serving as my hope rebuilders. There are stories that Carmel Gat taught yoga to children in the tunnels of Gaza to help ease their fears. Ori Danino had initially left the Nova Festival only to return in order to try to save more people. Hersh’s father was touched by the memorial in New York City in which the crowd sang, “Ani vatah nishaneh et haolam.” Translated: “You and I will change the world.” Hersh’s father believes Hersh has changed the world. He believes Hersh is still changing the world.
Hope rebuilders.
We must fulfill what it means for someone’s memory to be a blessing. Take a memory, story, challenge, and request from one of the murdered or their families and in honoring their lives, hope will return. It is now up to each of us, in their memory, to change the world.
And in doing so, one day, as we forever hold the memories and fulfill the wishes of the slain, I pray that we will turn to each other, weeping and laughing and say, “We are comforted. And hope has returned yet again.”
Shabbat Shalom
In partnership with The Jewish Journal, you can also find Rabbi Guzik’s blog post HERE.
