Finding Spiritual Strength Amidst Israel’s Darkness

How the tragedy of Oct. 7 allowed a mother who grieved for years over the loss of her young daughter to make space for the sadness of the Jewish people today.

Dear Reader,

Today, Nov. 7, marks the Shloshim (30th day) since the massacre of some 1,400 Israelis, mostly innocent men, women and children, on Simchat Torah. It is an official day of mourning in Israel, where a moment of silence will be held in the morning, and citizens are being asked to light a memorial candle in memory of those who were slain.

May their memory be a blessing.

I asked a friend in Jerusalem, Hindel Swerdlov, to write about how she as a religious woman has dealt with this tragedy. I am honored to post her poignant essay, below.

By Hindel Swerdlov

Jerusalem – Fourteen years ago, I buried a child in the earth of a Jerusalem cemetery. It wasn’t some glorified or romanticized death for the sake of Land or Nation. Shula was killed in a freak traffic accident. She was three years old.

A week after Oct. 7, on Shula’s 14th yahrtzeit, I posted a note on Facebook to say I felt fortunate my daughter did not die the horrific way children did on Simchat Torah.  Within a few minutes, seven bereaved moms reached out and shared their similar thoughts of breathing a sigh of relief -- albeit through guilty breaths- that their child died, as children sometimes do, through sudden death or illness, not tortured or kidnapped by barbarians.

After Oct. 7, Shula’s death suddenly felt like a less heavy burden for me to carry. I transferred the pity and grieving card over to making space for the sadness that has washed over the Jewish people, especially here in Israel.

My husband and I moved here at the end of 1996 from America because it was an adventure and we loved Israeli life. We had enough cash for six months while we both worked full time for our shekels. Every six months we reevaluated how much longer we could survive our tight budgeting in Jerusalem. Seven kids and 26 years later, both of us working full time for years, we have now given our souls (and one body) to this land. 

We are a Chabad couple so we’ve both been taught by our mentor, the Lubavitcher Rebbe, to do good deeds and teach others to do the same. And we still try to do that. We believe anything God does is good, even if it doesn’t appear that way. Though the good may not be revealed to me, my faith is deep and I know God loves me and is good.

I don’t have a child in the IDF, I was not a victim on Oct. 7, and I don’t live in the south of Israel or in the north.  And yet the pain is so deep. The amount of tears we cry looking into the eyes of all the photos of the murdered brings me back to the first year after my daughter died, and the valley of tears I cried. 

I cry now for the innocence and security of childhood lost to a young generation. I cry for a society so unprepared for the loss of 1,400 souls that first week when we were all in shock. I cried for my teenage son who attended funerals of Lone Soldiers, to ensure there would be a minyan at the services. I cried for my little ones who wanted to know if I can stockpile snacks as well as the toilet bucket in their hiding place behind the movable bookshelves in their toy room, which also serves as our “safe room.” And  I cried for my youngest who, while I put him to bed, asked if his stuffed toy Torah, on top of his stuffed toy tiger, could protect him if he was shot in the stomach by a terrorist. 

It took me a full two weeks to gather strength to renew my faith in the Holy One so as not to fall into despair, into the abyss from which it feels impossible to climb out. I worked on my spiritual muscles of prayer, striving to do acts of goodness and kindness for others. I understood that while I can’t sling a gun on the battlefield, this war needed to be won on two fronts – spiritual as well as physical. 

I started teaching again, sharing holy and encouraging words on two podcasts, and helped our family members of all ages mobilize. We raised funds for the IDF and for displaced families, now refugees in their own country. We baked cookies, rented cars and borrowed armed cars for long rides to military bases, both north and south. My sons were couriers in the war zones for shopping and bringing tactical gear along with letters of love and courage. 

Somehow, after those two long, hard weeks, I found myself telling my young child not to worry about terrorists, to know he is safe in God’s hands, and I assured him that with the courage of our soldiers and our efforts to bring light into this world, we can push away all darkness. 

I convinced myself as well. I no longer prepare sneakers near my bed in case I’m taken prisoner. I no longer sleep with a knife under my pillow. I’ve learned how to do Qigong breathwork every morning so that I get a powerful start to my day. 

I help the relief efforts my husband and his team have been working on through major donations of friends of Israel. We’ve gone through and donated tons of books from our “Shula’s Library” to the hotels nearby that house displaced families, including 700 children.  

By sharing the light of Torah, I teach that this is not a war of revenge. It is a fight Israel has taken on behalf of humanity to eradicate evil, even while much of the world remains silent.  

“Never again” is now. 

I wouldn’t want to be anyone else or anywhere else than a momma of seven in Jerusalem today.

Hindel Swerlov lives in Jerusalem with her family and is a teacher of Chasidic philosophy, motivational speaker and dating coach. She is also the CEO of Shula’s Library.

A Final Note: Looking For Graduates of Write On For Israel

If you are one of the 850 alums of Write On For Israel — the program sponsored by The Jewish Week from 2002 to 2023, educating high school students about the Mideast conflict — and are interested in re-connecting now to share ideas and information about how to respond to the current conflict, please contact me at rosenblattgary25@gmail.com