I’d like to think that our drive to hear, see, read the news, stems from our nation’s deep sense of connection
I was standing at my kitchen counter this Shabbos morning, cutting up a salad, when my son and husband walked in from shul. “They must be so nervous,” my son was saying. “They have a few kids living in Neve Yaakov, right?”
My husband nodded grimly.
“What? What are you talking about?” I said.
I’m not sure exactly how the Shabbos news network functions. I think it relies on Hatzalah volunteers, non-Jewish workers in local institutions, and bochurim who seem genetically wired to hear and spread news updates. In this case, our insular, fully shomer Shabbos neighborhood managed to learn the basic details of Friday night’s terror attack long before Havdalah.
“Basic details” means you know but don’t really know, and it’s a strange state to be in. We all tried to mask that queasy feeling as the hours ticked by, investing extra feeling in the singing, keeping the conversation positive and happy, holding tight to the security blanket afforded by Shabbos. As Shalosh Seudos faded to an end, we wavered between savoring the peace of not quite knowing and dreading the inevitable moment when the vague rumors would take on numbers and names and faces.
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