A Mother’s Plea

As we continue to count sefirah, we must not lose sight of what Chazal tell us about this period of time. Namely, the importance of being extremely careful with relationships bein adam lachaveiro.

We live in a time of unprecedented challenges from within and without. Klal Yisrael continues to grapple with a range of serious issues, and many individuals are experiencing a crisis in their personal lives. We are in desperate need of the zchus of ahavas chinam.

This week Israel commemorated Yom Hazikaron, honoring all those who fell in defense of the Land of Israel since the 19th century, as well as victims of terror attacks. This is an extremely painful day for the families of the fallen. It is also a day which has been used time and again by the secular  against the chareidim to prove how disconnected they are from Israeli society.

We are not going to argue about the veracity of the facts. That would be ridiculous.

We are not even going to focus on the issue of how many, unfortunately, lost their lives due to the blatant irresponsibility of political and military leadership.

This is neither the time nor the place to discuss these points, but it is our duty to clarify these issues at a later time.

We are here to try to make our readers aware of the indescribable pain of tens of thousands of our brothers and sisters.

The poem which appears below speaks for itself.

If it will bring a measure of understanding to even a small percentage of our readers and will ease the pain of even one mother or father, it will have served its purpose.

V’hayah zeh sechareinu.

Dear Friend,

No. It doesn’t matter if my name is Sarah or Liat

No. It doesn’t matter if my last name is familiar or known, if its Berkowitz or Abutbul,

No, it doesn’t matter if I live in Yerushalayim, Ashkelon or the Golan Heights.

No, it doesn’t matter if I was born in Israel, U.S., if I made aliyah from Morocco or the former USSR.

It doesn’t even matter if I am religious, traditional or chareidi.

I am a Jewish mother.

I am a mother to a son who stayed  with a smile always, always young.

He never aged, he didn’t turn gray, he didn’t gain weight. He is young forever.

His address?

The local cemetery, all over Eretz Yisrael.

There are many like him, not one, not two,

23,085 other Jewish soldiers.

Jewish children.

Children to mothers like me.

They left behind families,

Wives

Children

Babies

Fathers

Mothers

Brothers and sisters.

I am one of them.

One day a year, in the name of all

Of us mothers,

I want to ask you for a favor,

Something simple, not too
complicated.

Please stop for a minute

To try and understand

Our terrible pain

That accompanies us,

Day and night, all year around

No, I won’t ask too much.

It’s too late to ask you to daven

For my son,

As Hashem took him.

No, I can’t expect

You to understand the depth

Of the terrible pain

Every day, all year around.

All I am asking is

Only one little prayer,

One chapter Tehillim

L’iluy Nishmaso.

– Ima

This article appeared in print on page D42 of the April 17th, 2013 edition of Hamodia.