וַיֹּ֤אמֶר יְהֹוָה֙ אֵלָ֔ו עֲבֹר֙ בְּת֣וֹךְ הָעִ֔יר בְּת֖וֹךְ יְרוּשָׁלָ֑͏ִם וְהִתְוִ֨יתָ תָּ֜ו עַל־מִצְח֣וֹת הָאֲנָשִׁ֗ים
-Ezekiel 9:4
Dear God,
It’s been a while since I wrote to You.
But there is something on my mind.
I cannot shake the image of everyone praying to You on Rosh Hashana, that Holiest of Holy Days. Each person stood in synagogue, every man wrapped in his tallit, fringes swaying, as Your children, members of Your beloved nation, bowed before you. They held their machzor and they beat their breasts and they asked you, God, to seal them in the Book of Life. They met their wives, children and friends with smiles on their lips, and they said, “May you be written and sealed in the Book of Life.”
The children were happy and laughing. And perhaps, also kids who tantrumed and screamed. They ate their slices of apple dipped in honey. They greedily plucked out pomegranate seeds, the jewel-like fruit slipping between their lips. They sang songs about a tapuach and devash. They told their parents what they had learned in school.
Then Sukkot came. They erected sukkot in their backyards. Decorated them with colorful paper chains. Held the lulav and esrog in their hands. Smelled the lemon citrus scent of the bright yellow fruit. They went on Chol Hamoed trips or hikes. Sukkot is Zeman Simchaseinu, the time of our joy. The time of our happiness.
And all along, like a dark, feral drumbeat, there was a sound in the background.
It was faint. They could not hear it. And even had they heard it, they would not have known what it meant.
It was the sound of their fate.
The darkness encroaching.
There, sung in the deep voice of the chazaan, richocheting off the vaulted ceiling, or echoing sweetly in the small beit midrash, the words were echoing, stirring, restless, waiting, only waiting, to mark the foreheads of the people who had been selected. The letter tav dripped blood, and they did not know.
בְּרֹאשׁ הַשָּׁנָה יִכָּתֵבוּן, וּבְיוֹם צוֹם כִּפּוּר יֵחָתֵמוּן. כַּמָּה יַעַבְרוּן, וְכַמָּה יִבָּרֵאוּן, מִי יִחְיֶה, וּמִי יָמוּת, מִי בְקִצּוֹ, וּמִי לֹא בְּקִצּוֹ, מִי בַמַּיִם, וּמִי בָאֵשׁ, מִי בַחֶרֶב, וּמִי בַחַיָּה, מִי בָרָעָב, וּמִי בַצָּמָא, מִי בָרַעַשׁ, וּמִי בַמַּגֵּפָה, מִי בַחֲנִיקָה, וּמִי בַסְּקִילָה, מִי יָנוּחַ, וּמִי יָנוּעַ, מִי יִשָּׁקֵט, וּמִי יְטֹּרֵף, מִי יִשָּׁלֵו, וּמִי יִתְיַסָּר, מִי יַעֲנִי, וּמִי יַעֲשִׁיר, מִי יֻשְׁפַּל, וּמִי יָרוּם. וּתְשׁוּבָה וּתְפִלָּה וּצְדָקָה מַעֲבִירִין אֶת רֹעַ הַגְּזֵרָה.
How many shall pass away.
How many shall be born.
Who will live.
And who will die.
Who in the right time.
And who before their time.
Who by water.
And who by fire.
Who by sword.
And who by wild beast.
Who by famine.
And who by thirst.
Who by earthquake.
And who by plague.
Who by strangulation.
Who by stoning.
Who shall have rest.
And who shall wander.
Who shall be at peace.
And who shall be pursued.
Who shall be serene.
Who will be tormented.
Who shall be poor.
Who shall be wealthy.
Who shall be cast down.
And who will be uplifted.
And as those husbands kissed their wives, and as those children played, all along, God, You knew that horrible things would happen to them. You knew this would be their last holiday. Their last seudah, festive meal. That the words they prayed would not be accepted. That they would not be sealed in the Book of Life. Instead, You planned terrible deaths for them, deaths by burning, by smoke asphyxiation, by bullet, by mutilation, by knife, by a wild beast wearing a human form.
You knew, God, and You did not stop it.
You let it happen.
I see it in my mind’s eye. There’s golden light and the twinkling of a small, sparkling metal bird, attached to a sukkah with silver twine. It twinkles and spins in the wind. Then blood spatters the bird and I hear a child’s scream. It’s high and plaintive. It rings in my ears.
Even if the adults had displeased You, the children were innocent.
Why did You allow this judgment?
I know it’s the soul that matters. I know all these people died al kiddush Hashem, for the sanctification of Your holy name. I know their souls have ascended and are close to you, that in one moment they acquired Olam HaBa. I know we grieve for ourselves, for our loss, more than for theirs. Because they have come back to You, and is that not where every soul longs to be? They are close to You and we are left here, bewildered.
And yet.
It was cruel.
They believed themselves forgiven. They believed they had been sealed in the Book of Life. They planned for a year of prosperity, of hope, of watching their children grow up, and if they were children, of receiving their first Siddur, Chumash and the like. Or of eating their favorite sufganiyah. Performing a piece of music. Visiting a grandparent.
But they were robbed of all of that. And they suffered as they died. They died painfully, they died sobbing, they died missing their parents and family members, they died scared. They died in such awful ways that thinking about it makes me cry, and I wasn’t even there.
I’ve read about the Holocaust. I’ve read kinnot on Tisha B’av. I am aware of the many, varied ways in which Jews have been tortured and murdered. But it’s the disconnect that bothers me. They thought they had been sealed in the Book of Life. They were celebrating a time of joy.
And that’s when You killed them.
I don’t understand why You allowed it. I don’t understand Your plan. It seems cruel.
They were not prepared. They were not prepared to die.
If they had known, if they had been prepared, if they had made their peace with it, if they had had a sign…if, if, if.
I hope You have gathered all of them close to You. I hope You have explained to them, as You have not explained to me, why You did this. I hope they are happy with You even as we struggle down below.
I am very sad.
I think the children should have been allowed to eat their apple slices dipped in honey. To hold their plush Sifrei Torah and dance with them. To grow up and experience Kabbalat Siddur. To live.
I hope one day I understand Your ways.
Right now they are incomprehensible.
Yours,
Chana
(This is Death from ‘The Sound of Her Wings’ in Sandman. Watch this scene. You will cry.)