Just before Shabbat, on my recent trip to Israel, I received a message on Facebook from a man I’d never met. It arrived without preamble, without any attempt at persuasion. It was simply there, waiting for me. He wrote of the loss of his daughter. Of grief, yes, but also of something more difficult to describe: the strange, suspended condition that follows such a loss, when the world continues in its ordinary way while yours has been permanently altered. He wrote of the difficult, necessary work of continuing on in its aftermath. Not moving on. Continuing on.

His words carried that unmistakable quality........

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