Am Yisra'el United in Grief

On Tuesday afternoon, a few colleagues and I drove from Jerusalem to Modiin to attend the funeral for the three murdered Israeli teens - Eyal Yifrach, Gilad Shaar and Naftali Frenkel.  Given the enormous crowd, we needed to park several miles from the cemetery and walk to the site of the funeral along with throngs of people.

It appeared that the attendees were nearly all religiously observant and mostly in their teens and early twenties, the ages of my sons.  I felt surrounded by the next generation of Israelis, expressing their grief and their solidarity with the families of their peers.  It was quite hot and several people in our area fainted, requiring medics to be called over. 

A small group started to sing a slow, soulful melody and the entire crowd soon joined in.  “May God be merciful to our fellow Jews who wander over sea and land or who suffer persecution and imprisonment.  May God soon bring them relief from distress and deliver them from darkness to light, from subjugation to redemption.”  This was followed by Rabbi Shlomo Carlebach’s stirring setting for the dramatic verse from Psalm 23:  “Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I fear no harm, for You are with me.”  For half an hour, we sang songs of grief, hope and comfort.

The ceremony consisted of prayers recited by the Chief Ashkenazic and Sephardic Rabbis and speeches by Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu and President Shimon Peres.  I was especially moved by the eulogy given by the rabbi who leads the yeshiva that two of the teens attended.  He spoke about the boys' kindness and creativity, giving specific examples from their lives. Reflecting on the outpouring of support from the crowd, he said that while two Jews may have three opinions, they share one heart.

Following the ceremony, the families proceeded to a private burial and the crowd began to leave the cemetery. 

I will never forget that afternoon.  Though the size of the crowd exceeded people’s expectations, things never got unruly. There were no demonstrations, no violent incidents, no calls for revenge, just a sad, soulful, communal demonstration of unity and support.  Am Yisra’el showed up that afternoon to grieve the senseless deaths of three teens who will never attend university or have families of their own. 

Toward the end of his eulogy, the boys’ rabbi reflected on the importance of prayer when all other words fail us.  “The essence of prayer,” he said, “is the underlying belief that tomorrow can be better than today.” 

Surrounded by even larger crowds than I entered with, I left the cemetery praying that tomorrow would be better.