My children are saddened, solemn. But they’re not horrified. It’s 2024

The Holtzbergs were mentioned in my house this week, may G-d avenge their blood. Because of their relationship to Rav Zvi Kogan, may G-d avenge his blood. And my teens wanted to know what happened to the Holtzbergs.

So I told them.

I wanted them to know about the couple who loved spreading light and goodness and giving. About little Moshe, the two-year-old who survived.

I spoke freely, unaware that I’d stumbled into a time warp — my body in 2024, my words rooted firmly in 2008. Unaware that my lips moved and my vocal cords thrummed and my brain formulated sentences transmitted from another age. Sixteen years ago — plus a thousand more. When I was a young mother with the luxury to fully grieve the murder of two Jews I’d never met, and now never would.

And while I spoke from that archaic place, I watched my children’s eyes.

Before you start judging, they did nothing wrong, okay?

They responded the way they were supposed to, with, “Oh, that’s so sad,” heads tilting side to side, faces pinched in solemnity, a completely appropriate reaction.

But they weren’t horrified.