Who Will Wipe Away Our Tears?

by Rabbi Uriel Vigler, Director of the Chabad Israel Center of the Upper East Side, NY

A tragedy beyond comprehension, beyond words, but not beyond tears: the ruthless and determined murder of four innocent civilians, among them three young children. A teenager remains in critical condition, may he recover fully and speedily. We, worldwide Jewry, wept with our French brethren as the horrific details of the Toulouse massacre emerged.

Rabbi Jonathan Sandler, 29, shot dead with his two sons, Gabriel and Arieh, ages 4 and 6. An infant daughter who will never know her father and brothers. Who can fathom the pain of Mrs. Sandler, bereft of her husband and two children in just minutes? Her grief, her pain, her sorrow, her loss – we are all asking, How could this happen? How can this be?

Beautiful, eight-year-old Miriam Monsonego, merrily on her way to school to play with her friends, to study, to laugh – like any other morning. Brutally murdered, the heinous terrorist actually checked to make sure she had stopped breathing, then shot several more bullets into her small, delicate body just “to be sure.” Her father, Rabbi Yaacov Monsonego, principal of the school, forced to grapple with the tragedy on two fronts: personal and communal.

What can we do but cry?

As I faced this week’s chilling events, I was reminded of a story one of my congregants, Edith, recently shared:

At the age of 57, her aunt had a stroke and became unable to see to her own basic care. She was placed in a nursing home and on one particular visit, Edith noticed a beautiful young woman, also a resident in the home. She began to converse with her, and discovered that the young woman was paralyzed from the neck down. Her cognitive functioning was not affected in any way, but she had been more or less abandoned by those around her. She expressed her difficulty needing to ask for help to eat and bathe and dress; all the things we take for granted.

Edith asked her point blank, “Why don’t you cry?’

The woman responded, “If I cry, who will wipe away my tears?”

Forty-five years later, Edith still tears up when she tells the story.

Sixty-eight years ago, on May 18th 1944, my grandfather was deported from Hungary with his wife and two daughters, Esti, 4, and Zlata, 7. Pushed out of the cattle cars at Auschwitz, Dr. Joseph Mengel immediately sent the children to the left and their parents to the right. Their mother refused to part with her children and within hours the three of them had been murdered: gassed and cremated.

My grandfather survived the war a broken man. He married a fellow survivor and together they had three children, one of whom is my mother.

My grandfather never spoke about his experiences at Auschwitz. I never saw him cry. I never saw a tear on his face. I know he had vivid memories 50 years later because I used to hear him scream in his sleep. The suffering he experienced is indescribable, his grief inconsolable, his misery unspeakable.

This week my brother, Dovid Vigler, a Chabad Rabbi in Florida, dedicated a new Torah to the shul. The Torah was written and dedicated in memory of my mother’s two half-sisters, Esti and Zlata, who perished in the holocaust years before my mother was born.

I watched my mother cry as the Torah was dedicated. But I also watched her wipe away her tears. She cried for those two little girls, whose lives were so brutally and prematurely ended. She cried for their mother who preferred to die with her children than live without them. And she cried for my grandfather who was left alone; shattered and devastated. She cried for the tears he never shed in his lifetime.

This Torah represents the ultimate and meaningful wiping away of my grandfather’s tears. A Torah, the holiest item in Jewish practice, a scroll which will be used weekly, used to perform Mitzvot and bring more light into the world, this is how we helped wipe away those tears.

And while we can never truly wipe away the tears of our French brethren, of Mrs. Sandler and Rabbi and Mrs. Monsonego, of their family and friends – the only answer in the face of such monstrosity, is love and good deeds. The only way to combat the dark forces of evil, is to bring extra light into the world. Each mitzvah we perform, each resolution we make, will help begin to wipe our tears.

Where better to start than with a prayer for the young man still fighting for his life, Aharon ben Leah, and for the emotional recovery of all the Toulouse children and families. Let’s keep them in our hearts and minds, let’s pray for them and dedicate our mitzvoth to their recovery.

May we merit to see the coming of Moshiach right now!