Silence

Bsd

I've been silent

no prayers,

no poems,

silent and lost in my own world

attempting to locate the next step

and take it.

I've been tempted

to break my silence

to speak out

about things that entertain me

                                worry me

                               annoy me

                                comfort me. 

I haven't. 

But this?

How can I not speak?

I spent the first night that I knew what happened

alone.

In a place where no one spoke.

Surrounded by Jews,

all of whom owe so much to Chabad,

and they were silent.

They were silent?

They were silent!

How can I not speak?

Tears rolling down my cheeks

hurting so much 

wanting only to move on

return to the petty, silly distractions

that had silenced me before. 

Ignore it like a paper cut. 

But this is no superficial wound. 

This is my family. 

I held a soft and lively baby this Shabbos. 

I read about a baby whose pants were soaked in his parents' blood.

My nephew's age. 

I read about a woman covered in a tallis.

The last act of a loving husband. 

Covering his slaughtered wife's body. 

How could this happen?

How could this happen,

and I remain silent?

Silent not only in word,

but in deed. 

All the pain in the world I express 

will do nothing for a mother

prematurely torn from her children.

For families bereaved. 

For a community destroyed. 

Gabi and Rivka don't care if I write a poem. 

The silence they wish me to break 

is far deeper than that of words. 

In memory of Rabbi Gabriel and Rivka Holtzberg, in their zechus, so that we may greet Moshaich this year, and reunite parents and children, I take upon myself to daven every day.