We’re in galus. We know it intellectually, particularly during the music-less weeks and milchig days of summer when we’re meant to be mourning the loss of the spiritual fulcrum of our nation.

Yet often, that knowledge doesn’t seep in; we know it, but we don’t feel it. Until something happens. It can be a tragedy that shatters our lives, it can be a single image — but in that moment, galus become personal, real, internal.

Six women share their galus moment, while two others teach us how to yearn and what to yearn for

Feeling the Connection

Mishpacha Contributors

 At times, the scenery is confusing. We’re in galus. There are tragedies and heartbreak, and the feeling of being far away. But there’s also friendship and joy and children’s laughter.

How do we inject a feeling of yearning into our lives?

Brachi Weissfish, a speaker and facilitator in Nefesh Yehudi, conducts workshops that focus on spiritual growth. She sketches a path that stirs the distant heart.

“From my professional position in informal education, and from my knowledge of kiruv, I’ve learned that the greatest gift you can give girls and women is an inner connection.

“We’re used to thinking that people who are distant from Torah and mitzvos need to be given knowledge. But just like it’s important to have knowldge, it’s important to have that inner grasp of Truth. I want to lead people to the place where we’re all connected.” (Excerpted from Family First, Issue 601)

The Blinding Summer

Elana Rothberg

Everything was different in Moscow.

A bright sun greeted us as we camp counselors turned in for the night, after 3 a.m. The early sunrise was an introduction to an even more bizarrely timed sunset; could still daven Minchah after 10 p.m. The days were endless, while the nights seemed to be over before they had the chance to begin.

It was ironic, as the spiritual reality of this place was the diametric opposite. Our physical campsite made this impossible to forget: Our living quarters were cold, gray, concrete buildings, walls covered in murals of hammer and sickle, the red star now symbolizing nothing but darkness. And oh, how void of light that summer was. (Excerpted from Family First, Issue 601)

Failure

Chani Z.

“In a perfect world, your daughter would be at the top of her class.” The sentiment should sound stale after hearing it from teachers for five years straight, but coming from the principal, it’s different.

“We need to think about your daughter’s future.” Dramatic pause. “High school, shidduchim…” She lets the word linger.

I blink away my shock — my daughter is not yet 11. I quickly agree to more tutoring, another evaluation.

In the days that follow, her words ping pong through my brain. I realize her focus on the future was as normal as it was outlandish, because the truth is — my daughter is failing fifth grade. High schools look at applicants’ grades starting from sixth. And the fallout for girls who don’t get into a normal high school is enormous. (Excerpted from Family First, Issue 601)

Enemies, Not Brothers

Yehudis Eidelman

A few weeks ago, I saw a picture in the news; the setting was the narrow streets of Meah Shearim. The photo: a Jewish policeman hitting Jewish bystanders. Jew against Jew. Enemies instead of brothers.

I stared at the picture and couldn’t stop the tears that came to my eyes. I don’t know the context, or why each side acted as they did. But I do know one thing: It’s the opposite of what we’re meant to be as a nation. (Excerpted from Family First, Issue 601)

Final Solution

1. R.

“Oy, we need Mashiach,” my friend Rivky would groan. Her life was filled with pain, and that was the only way out she could imagine.

I’d nod sympathetically, but inside I’d sort of roll my eyes in pity. Mashiach? Not the most practical thing to daven for. Millions of people over thousands of years have waited for him. I didn’t feel like adding myself to that statistic by crying in vain. I’d rather just beg Hashem to send yeshuos to all those who need them… now.

Then my grandfather became so, so weak. Tears of terror and desperation rolled down my face as I sat near his bed and held his hand. I’d stumble out in a daze, trying to find a way out of something that has no escape. I davened for healing. I davened for more time. But how much time does mortal man have? (Excerpted from Family First, Issue 601)

Lost Children

Gila Eagle

When I see teenagers who are straying, who are living lives devoid of anything eternal, who are lost, so lost that they don’t even realize that they’re lost, I cry for them. And for all of us. (Excerpted from Family First, Issue 601)

Broken Glass

Ahuva Cohen

Around a table, on chairs festooned with satin covers, we sit. It’s a simchah overlaid with a million layers of emotion: deep joy, shadowed pain, every shade of hope. The kallah glows, two stars for eyes, and years of suffering, hospital stays, treatments, and side effects fade in the dawning of dreams.

When the chassan stepped on the glass that afternoon, everyone cried.

And we, the kallah’s friends and comrades-in-arms, we cried too. Mindy has come directly from the hospital, from stark-lit corridors and unrelenting nausea, plastering makeup over a wan face to share her friend’s simchah. Next to her is Suri, five years her senior, in remission since her 25th birthday, still feeling like she’s missed the boat. Laya, whose younger sister got married just two weeks ago. And I. (Excerpted from Family First, Issue 601)

A Picture of Glory

Mishpacha Contributors

 For Chavi Strauss, images of the Beis Hamikdash permeate her home. When she makes challah with her young son, she explains what it was like to take challah and bring it to a Kohein.

“I tell him, ‘If we’d have the Beis Hamikdash now, I’d take this piece of dough, put it on a nice plate, and you would go and knock on our neighbor’s door and ask, ‘Are you Kohanim?’ And if they’d say, ‘No, we’re not Kohanim,’ you’d go to another neighbor and another one and another one… until you’d find someone who’d say to you, ‘Yes, we’re Kohanim!’ And then you’d give them the plate with the dough and say, ‘My mother made dough and sent you challah!’ ”

(Excerpted from Family First, Issue 601)