A Beacon of Light

This morning when I woke up to read the tragic news from Mumbai India, of how many people
had been killed, I felt the need to write on my blog, even though I have not yet caught up with
my encounters and happenings to date.

When terrorism strikes, it hits the hearts and lives of each and everyone of us, irrelevant of race,
ethnic, religion or nationality, for we inevitably stop to think 'it could happen to me, or to someone that I know'. This is especially true amongst Israeli and Jewish people, as we are a
nation that where ever we may travel or find ourselves in the world, we nine times out of ten,
end up meeting someone we know, or find a mutual contact, friend, long lost relative or some
other kind of relationship that arouses a sense of kinship and contact that may just me momentary or continue for a lifetime.

My heart and wishes, go out to all those who have been affected by this terror, but here I wish
to take a moment to think about the ones that I feel personally I know of. There, far from home,
a young couple took upon themselves to go out into the world and spread not the word only of
religion, but of love and care. Their Chabad home was open to everyone, Jew and non Jew
alike, as a place not only of learning, but of shelter.

I myself have known a time of not having enough food to feed my children and was unable for
my eldest son, to afford to make him a Bar Mitzvah. This is a ceremony that happens for a boy
when he reaches the age of 13. He needs to learn a passage from the Torah (the holy scrolls)
that is read out in the synagogue on Saturday morning and is called up and honored with
blessings and celebrations on this important occasion.

At the time of my eldest child's Bar Mitzvah day, I was going through a financial crisis; I was then
and still am, a single mother of 4 and was so short of money that even food had become a major
problem. At that time I was working in Tourism, at a Diamond facility in Jerusalem, when a
fellow colleague brought my predicament to the attention of our Human Resources Manager.
She went, without my knowledge, throughout the premises, from the showroom to the factory
enlisting the financial help of all who worked on those premises, to ensure that my son would
have his day.

The teaching of the passages was done voluntarily by the Chabad Rabbi of the village where
I lived, in Tzur Hadassah, just 40 minutes outside Jerusalem, but the lunch and celebration
following the service was provided by my colleagues and other members of staff at that
center. What was more was that they bought him new clothes, a prayer shawl and most
importantly Tefillin (these are two small boxes, attached to binding, that are worn at morning
prayers, by boys and men from the age of 13, as a remembrance that God is everywhere).
The passages that are found in these boxes, are hand written on parchment, by a scribe and
my son's were written especially for him.

It was a true day of celebration and dancing, surrounded by dear friends, a showing of love,
belief and friendship. That day has stayed in my heart as well as that of my family and in
addition to it, I would often find bags of food waiting for me, anonymously, as I left work
to ensure that my family would have enough food to enjoy the Sabbath (Friday night/Saturday)
as well as the rest of the week.

This morning, we woke up to the news of a young Rabbi and his wife, who were tragically killed
by terrorists, but gave their lives for bringing light and hope to others. They themselves
suffered in their short time in this world having lost a child previously some time ago. They
have left a young boy, who has is about to celebrate his third birthday, without his parents
standing at his side. In religious Judaism, the third birthday of a boy, is the first entry into the
role that he is to play as a man in later years. In some cases (tradition) the parents will grow
his hair until he is 3 and out of nappies. Then at his birthday there will be a special ceremony
of cutting the first locks. This is likened to the sapling of a tree, that is left to grow freely
till of age that we begin to trim and shape its growth.

A few months ago, in another tragic terrorist happening in Jerusalem, a young mother, in a car
near the busy market this Capital city, was about to be crushed by a tractor, in a moment of
clarity, that is so hard to fathom, but just wonder at her bravery, threw her young child out
of the window of her car, on to the road, in the hope that he would be saved and thankfully was,
even though his poor mother perished.

Today, as we stand in a moment of silence for the fallen, of all walks of life, a an extra minute
should be given to all parents everywhere who have lost, or who have the ability to continue
to embrace their children and loved ones, for these young people, who were a beacon of light
for all of us, have been taken back before the Jewish festival of Hanuka (the 8 candle lighting
festival, to commemorate the saving of the everlasting light of oil in the Jewish Temple), to be
the candles to light up the Menorah (candelabra of the holiday) in Heaven and continue to
shine their message of love and hope from afar. May they be blessed and remembered.