Does the grass know? Do the dandelions whisper the memory of the restless souls of the departed? The beauty of nature holds the space for their stories. When the birds sing their song, is it a prayer for the dead, or do they give voice to the spirits of those who could not be broken but who held their heads and souls high as they returned to God? Do they sing of the unbreakable spirit of the Jewish heart…the mother who comforted her babe and still smiled as she knew what awaited? Is the beauty of this place its own form of resistance? Is it a monument of the resplendence that could not be killed? The trees planted to conceal evil now seem to shelter memory’s existence, shrouding it with God’s most beautiful symbol of LIFE- The Tree – whose roots go deep and are fed by those who remain here.
How does one walk bravely into death – not go gently into that good night?
The agony on the faces of the dead? Is it pain or disbelief?
Where can one run? Into nothing? Is nothing better than certain demise?
When did the detachment occur? How does one retain a connection to anything human when he must crush the bones of his brother? Was it mercy that one’s soul disconnected from his physical self? The war between holding on and letting go? The reconciliation to oneself delayed until the transition to the after?
And yet there’s joy. Shalom. Still with singing and dancing. And I’d like to think that’s the resilience of the Jewish people. A people of deep faith…of hope…of peace.
