Empty Palace

This week ends searching for the oxygen that vanished from the air. That’s how we all were last Sunday, searching for light, seeking a shoulder to cry on and to find the strength to go on.

Standing with the flag, waiting for Hirsch Z’L’s family on their way to the cemetery for the funeral. It felt as if all of Jerusalem formed a human chain, asking for forgiveness.

I didn’t know Hirsch’s family, but like many, I felt we were part of the same community. A community is that voluntary circle we choose to belong to. A group that feels responsible for each other, even if we’re not friends or know each other well. A community means never being alone and knowing that it will always be there for you, just as you will be there for others.

Thousands stood with flags from their homes to the cemetery, and thousands more at the funeral, many who didn’t know him. Preparing food for Shabbat, the oxygen still hadn’t returned to our lungs. The six murdered have left us shattered. The 101 in Gaza don’t let us breathe, and those who still don’t understand that bringing back the kidnapped is the victory and prevent an agreement because they think continuing the war is the solution, destroy what little is left. The only victory is to bring them back. We can always fight, nobody is going anywhere.

Shabbat is about to begin in a few hours, the silence in the streets of Jerusalem is already noticeable, the hole in the heart doesn’t close, it only gets bigger. Abraham Joshua Heschel described Shabbat as a palace in time. And how do we describe time when there is no time? The hourglass shows its last grains. Without oxygen, without time, the palace is empty.

Rabbi Uri Ayalon

Jerusalem