There are as many correct spiritual responses to a tragedy as there are people
It is the morning after, and there are no words.
What can one write in a space dedicated to words on a day when there are no words? This week, I don’t write words for others. This week, im l’vavi asichah (Tehillim 77:7), I speak to myself, with myself.
I sit here in New York on Erev Shabbos, while across the world, my brothers are being given a hurried kavod acharon. They are being hastily brought to menuchas olamim as the sun sets and the yom menuchah u’kedushah descends. Fathers of children, and children of fathers. Talmidei chachamim and anshei ma’aseh. Flourishing young bnei Torah in midflight.
And brothers, little ones, unsullied by sin.
It was at Matan Torah that Nadav and Avihu were destined to have been taken from This World, but HaKadosh Baruch Hu deferred the tragedy of their deaths until a later time so as not to mar the celebration of receiving the Torah (Rashi, Shemos 24:10). And when, on the joyous inauguration day of the Mishkan, they were suddenly struck down, Moshe turned to Aharon and said, “I knew from Hashem’s words that the Mishkan would be sanctified by the passing of those close to Him, but I thought it would be me or you. Now I know that your sons were bigger than both of us” (Rashi, Vayikra 10:3).
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