That’s what we say when the month of Purim begins.
Yet, sometimes it’s a challenge to stay happy. Eleven years ago, as the month
was just beginning, an Arab gunman entered the Mercaz HaRav Yeshiva and
murdered eight students, among them my neighbor, sixteen-year-old Yonaton Yitzhak
Eldar, hy’d. Eight years ago, as we were celebrating the birth of my grandson,
two Arab terrorists infiltrated the village of Itamar, entered a house five
doors down from my children’s home, and stabbed to death a mother, father, two
children, and an infant, most of the Fogel family, hy’d.
Last Thursday, as we were celebrating the new month, I
took time out to join others at the Shilo cemetery to honor Yonaton. My grandson just had his birthday so I know
that the Fogel’s yahrzeit is this week. Once again I wonder how we can be
joyful when the sorrow of these deaths surrounds us.
As always, I look to my faith for answers and I found
some in what I wrote eight years earlier. Now I share it with you:
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| At my grandson's Brit Milah |
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