Monday, December 1, 2008

Mumbai

Mumbai - Outrage. Anger. Pain. Tears.
No words.
What can we even say?
How can we fathom a two-year-old who won't see Ima again ad ki yavo Shilo?
How can we comprehend two ehrliche mashgichim catching a simple maariv on business who will never come home?
And how can we even begin to understand the loss of the kedoshim, Rabbi and Rebbetzin Gavriel and Rivkah Holtzberg, who lost their own lives after a holy career of giving of their own lives? And before 30?
Ribbono shel Olam…
Today, we are all Toldos Avrahom Yitzchok Chasidim. Today, we are all Jews. Today, we are all Chabad. No distinctions. Just Jews.
Perhaps an even bigger tragedy is that it took this tragedy to bring us together.
We might not know what to say. But now we know what to do. Stick together.
Because there was a little house, in a corner of the world most of us never heard of, where Ahavas Yisroel (Love for a fellow Jew) lived.
Now, that Ahavas Yisroel lives on. In our houses. In our hearts. It must. The victims would have it no other way.
What to do? Carry on.
Because if we become afraid, they won. If we are crushed, they won. If we remain depressed, they won. If we let this destroy our lives, they won.
If we do the opposite, we win. And they lose.
So let's win. Let's continue. Let's march forward. Let's continue doing everything we always did.
But let's do more than that. Let's give more tzedakah. Let's learn more Torah. Women and girls Light Shabbat Candles. Call someone you haven't spoken to for a while. Let's be more tolerant, less dismissive, of each other.
Let's fight darkness with light.
We did it for the past two days. We can, we must, continue.
Above all, let us not be afraid. Let us hold our heads high. Let us walk the streets victorious. We are Jews. We are one. We are proud. And they can never destroy us.
They have death. We have life. They await the Gates of Hell. We embrace the gifts of Heaven.
They have Al Qaeda. We have "al tira" (DON'T FEAR).
Forward! March!
Good Shabbos
Rabbi Yossi and Chanie Jacobson