Every heartbreaking moment sets the stage for a story of mesirus nefesh

IN everyday life, I’m a history teacher.

But I can reassure you that I don’t make anyone memorize ancient dates or names of long-deceased kings. My teaching focuses on the stories that showcase our glorious past and the beauty of our heritage. I also lead group tours in Poland and frequently lecture on the Holocaust.

What inspires me most is the unbroken thread that runs through our history: In every tragic chapter, there are points of light. Every heartbreaking moment sets the stage for a story of mesirus nefesh.

And then one day, without any warning, our distant and painful history landed on our doorstep. A harsh decree, a devastating tragedy — but at the same time, stories of kiddush Hashem and unwavering faith. Our enemies displayed horrific, barbaric cruelty, while among our own, people risked their lives to save others or to perform chesed shel emes. In an instant, the illusion of control shattered and a wave of emunah swept across the land. As anti-Semitism reared its ugly head around the world, Jews all over began to reconnect with their identity and strengthen their ties to their heritage.

On Motzaei Simchas Torah of 5784, all of Am Yisrael was engulfed in pain and shock. Everyone personally knew someone who’d been hurt, kidnapped, murdered — or who had miraculously survived. For reasons known only to Hashem, there was one sector of society — the chareidim — that was not as deeply affected by the events. Yet Hashem had other plans for me: He drew me into this saga, allowing me to stand alongside the families of the hostages in their darkest hours, to visit the destroyed communities, to comfort the mourners, and later, to participate in shabbatons and other events for hostage families, organized by Kesher Yehudi.

I attended the first shabbaton alone — I had no idea what to expect. Approaching so much pain was overwhelming. I decided not to bring my children, for both emotional and spiritual reasons. Who could know what such a Shabbos would be like — halachically, spiritually, emotionally?

Before the second shabbaton, Kesher Yehudi urged me to bring my family. “They need to see a real Shabbos table,” they told me. “They need to see a family. To see chinuch.”