May Hersh’s memory be a blessing…

9.1.2024

Dear Rachel and Jon,

We woke up this morning feeling gutted.  Our hearts are heavy and shattered following your absolutely devastating news of Hersh’s murder. Images of you standing on the Israeli/Gaza border this week with a convoy of hostage families, blessing your beloved son, shouting reassurances of your steadfast efforts to secure his return and most importantly, your endless love, left me in a pile of tears. I don’t personally know you, but I feel like I do. As you shouted from the corner of your world, praying Hersh could hear you in the unimaginable hell of a world he’d been living in, I was awestruck. A barbed wire fence and so much hatred separated you from your son. So close, but also so painfully far. The imagery was another powerful reminder that you are in fact living on another planet, as you have said. 

It has been your eloquent words and unwavering strength that we have relied on to see hope and light amidst anguish, darkness and despair. It has been your daily reminder, with numbers on masking tape, that since the brutal massacre by Hamas terrorists on October 7th, the passage of time is not just a number, it is the pain of parents displaying the minutes you have had to endure without your child. The increasing count displayed on your hearts, a subtle yet bold reminder to everyone. It is your example of pleas for diplomacy and prioritization of rescuing the hostages that attempted to guide leaders when they needed to be reminded this is not a war of casualties measured in numbers because we are counting someone’s child. I don’t know how you did it. Truly.

Your determination to save Hersh and the other hostages, each one a beloved son, daughter, mother and father, empowered all of us to join your crusade. I hope you felt the love from strangers around the world, desperate to support you in any way. As parents, we see Hersh in all of our children; his electric smile, love of music, inquisitive thirst for travel and sparkle in his eye compelled us to share your fight and join your prayers. We have lit Shabbat candles, reserved empty chairs at our table and advocated as you advised. We tried so hard to help bring Hersh home, it felt like we were so close, but ultimately we failed you. So many people failed you. 

Rachel, when speaking to the UN in December 2023, you shared an original poem for the first time and I have re-read the words many times since. And every time, I am deeply moved. Emotions of heartache, and sadness are easy to feel, but it is your overwhelming message of hope that is so powerful. I imagined your heart as you spoke; a compilation of shattered, empty and heavy, but also aspirational. That is the moment you became a biblical pillar in my eyes. A prophetic, wise, powerful and humble teacher, propelled by her role as a mother. You embody your namesake in our faith. Scholars share that Rachel’s cries for her children in exile are a major theme in Judaism. Specifically, it is taught that Rachel personifies the cry for the spiritual and physical return of all Jews. She refuses to be comforted until the suffering of all the children of Israel around the world comes to an end. While Jews have been hearing these cries for thousands of years, it is different when they belong to you, our modern day mother of Judaism. 

As you begin the official mourning period of shiva, I hold your family in my heart and embrace you from afar. Once strangers, we are now forever connected. While there are no words to ease the unspeakable devastation of the loss of your son, all I can say is: May Hersh’s memory be a blessing. No doubt, your voices will ensure that. 

Hersh, Almog, Alex, Carmel, Eden and Ori remind us that time is running out to save the remaining 101 hostages from these vicious savages. BRING THEM HOME NOW!

Note: These are Rachel’s words below. I encourage us all to read them, treasure them and aspire to live them. 

There is a lullaby that says your mother will cry a thousand tears before you grow to be a man.

I have cried a million tears in the last 67 days.

We all have.

And I know that way over there

there’s another woman

who looks just like me

because we are all so very similar

and she has also been crying.

All those tears, a sea of tears

they all taste the same.

Can we take them

gather them up,

remove the salt

and pour them over our desert of despair

and plant one tiny seed.

A seed wrapped in fear,

trauma, pain,

war and hope

and see what grows?

Could it be

that this woman

so very like me

that she and I could be sitting together in 50 years

laughing without teeth

because we have drunk so much sweet tea together

and now we are so very old

and our faces are creased

like worn-out brown paper bags.

And our sons

have their own grandchildren

and our sons have long lives

One of them without an arm

But who needs two arms anyway?

Is it all a dream?

A fantasy? A prophecy?

One tiny seed.