I know not to ask you how you are this Mother’s Day. Or any other day. Because every day, all year long, for eternity, you remain Hersh’s mother. That is how and who you are.

You were presciently named. Like the Rachel before you, you have emerged as a matriarch to the entire Jewish world — a beacon in a time of confusing darkness. You have given shape to the miasma that has plagued us since October 7th. You step forward and teach us how to breathe. Hersh is the vector through which you became our people’s hero — first you birthed him, and then he rebirthed you as his emissary in this world.

We met briefly at Hersh’s shiva. My husband Zvi and I arrived carrying a duffel bag overflowing with handwritten notes from our Teaneck community — hundreds of friends and neighbors whose anguish had no other outlet but words on paper, offered to you. As we sat in the shiva tent waiting our turn, Jon looked up and did a subtle double-take, mistaking Zvi for his lookalike brother Noam,........

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)