The mourning after

Judaism, for those who observe it, comes with a very clear set of rules of how to mourn the loss of a family member. Seven days of shiva, 30 days of the shlosim and a year of avelut. Each has its own set of restrictions and behaviours that, in their own way, bring great comfort to the mourners.

But what does one do when the mourning is not for a family member, yet not a stranger either? This is the situation in which many Israelis find themselves right now.

We are not the immediate families of the three kidnapped boys who were discovered dead outside Hevron last week. But we are also far, far, far from being complete strangers. Many of us feel like they were the next best thing to our own sons and the situation in which they found themselves could have been the horrifying situation in which any one of us might have found ourselves. Emotionally, it hit waaaaaayyyyyyyy to close to home even though we never met them. We all have children, friends, or friends of friends, who did.

We can't help ourselves when we read every last morsel of news that might shed some clarifying light on the situation. It's not because we are voyeurs but rather because we are trying to understand how something like this could happen. Many of us have cried ourselves dry of tears with each new piece of information.

Even the Jews outside of Israel, who were originally saddened by the turn of  events, have gone back to their routines. You can't blame them. It wasn't their loss. But it was ours.

Personally, I feel uncomfortable about getting back to my blog routine. Normally -- when innocent Israeli blood isn't being shed -- I have more than enough happy and funny content to fill these pages at least once a week. Life here never ceases to amaze me.

This past week, as we all continued to do our best to be happy at the simchas we attended and with the guests around our Shabbat tables, the conversation was never more than 30 seconds away from the boys and the predicament in which we, Israeli Jews, find ourselves right now.

It's not like we can discuss it with others outside our little world. As I said last week, no one really cares or cares to understand.

This past Shabbat I bumped into the daughter-in-law of my neighbours. She, her husband and their very cute little baby live in the Arab quarter of the Old City -- a risky and idealistic venture at the best of times. The riots of the past week have left them homeless. They went out for a quick dinner with the baby (thank heavens) and literally could not get back to their home -- at least not alive. So here they are, stuck in Middle Israel, with the clothes on their backs, a roof over their heads, and not much else.

It's really not time to stop mourning yet.