I recently spent a week surrounded by beautiful landscapes and views, in the warmth of the “winter” of Tucson, Arizona (a short vacation with my children, visiting a friend). Reading a book while gazing at the surrounding mountains, sitting silently in the quiet of the desert in summer clothing, I was interrupted by painful and difficult news from Israel and wondered how it is possible to hold both the beauty and the horrors that surround us.
As Israel has received, identified, and buried the bodies of Oded Lifshitz and Shiri, Ariel, and Kfir Bibas, who were murdered in captivity, my heart cries. Oded was 85 years old, an elderly man; Ariel and Kfir were the youngest children taken into captivity; Shiri, the boys’ loving mother.
Last September, Maayan Snapir, granddaughter of Oded Lifshitz, spoke at TBZ. She spoke powerfully about her grandfather and his vision of peace, her own belief that there is good in the world, and her insistence that we don’t give up. Last November, she sent me a note as we marked 400 days since October 7, sending a “big loving hug” to our community. “I know,” she wrote, “we’re changing the world, making it a better place, even though it takes time and is sometimes hard to see. But people like your community allow this change to happen.” As I read back her words, I am reminded of Maayan’s beautiful soul and trust in a world where there is good and beauty, in the midst of the worst. (I have written to Maayan and offered any support from our community.)
Margaret Renkl, in an op-ed in The New York Times (you can read it here with a gift article) called “Tenderness as an Act of Resistance,” writes about this moment of despair in our country and the fury we may feel, day after day, sometimes hour after hour. But Renkl reminds us to not let fury be our only guide: “But in these days of fury, I am also trying to keep my own heart soft…and let it be broken. I am trying to set anger aside and give myself over to the simplicity of grief.”
She quotes internationally renowned children’s author Kate DiCamillo, whom she asked about letting herself be heartbroken without becoming broken forever. DiCamillo’s answer offers a way to hold both the horror and the beauty:
“I fall into the mineshaft of despair over and over again, and over and over again something (the moon, an eagle, the snow) or someone (a kid who tells me that Despereaux makes them feel brave, a stranger who looks me in the eye and smiles, a grandparent who tells me about reading aloud to their grandchild), will reach down to pull me out,” she wrote. “I’ve learned to not resist these handholds. I’ve learned to let the beauty of the world and the bravery of other people pull me up and out of the despair.”
In these shadowed moments of despair, when horror weighs heavy upon our hearts, we are called to remember that we do not surrender the sacred duty of Torah — to build a just society, for all.
In the stillness, we turn to prayer, to God, and to one another, seeking the strength to journey forward, step by fragile step.
And we open our eyes to the beauty that still surrounds us, even in the darkest of times.
May the memories of baby Kfir, Ariel, Shiri, and Oded be of blessing and may we work for a world that does not allow these and any other horrors to continue.
May the Bibas and Lifshitz families find some comfort and feel the love we send their way.
May those working for peace be granted the strength and courage to continue their sacred work, and may we soon witness peace and dignity for Israelis and Palestinians and all who dwell in this beautiful and messy world.
With hearts bruised yet unyielding, may we continue to see the light, and in its glow, may we find the courage to build a better world.
This was originally shared with the TBZ community on Feb. 20, 2025. Read the full version here.
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