it is clear

She is sitting by herself in the empty room with the bare white walls. She relives the moment over and over, that one moment when her destiny changed. That one moment when she was called to do something else, to be someone else. But the terror of that moment is too much for her and she pinches her arm, coming back to the reality of the room. She is safe. She is fine. And though there will be a permanent mark, on her body and on her soul from this experience, something reminding her and the world she lives in of the tragedy of this day, she feels like she is alone. There is no one else who has lived through what she has, not in the same way. In one moment she has been robbed of her body and even part of her heart. There is no promise that she will move on, no promise that she will be strong enough to get past this. There is no promise that the world will lend her an understanding shoulder to cry on, or at least a sympathetic one. How can she be so different and yet look so much the same? How has this miracle, this beauty that can create a level of love beyond our understanding and even create life, have been taken from her in what seems like a second? How can that have been allowed? By G-d, by man?

The plastic pane that has been inserted into the hospital wall is smudged. Perhaps from the many parents and families that have stood here watching their babies and wishing they could touch them. Sticking out their hands, for a moment forgetting there is a wall between them and their child. And she looks at the two babies, who only a day ago were hooked up to more machines that most people depend on in a lifetime, and she starts to cry. Slow beautiful tears of joy and thanks to G-d. For today they are coming home. Today they are healthy, their little baby legs kicking into the air and their eyes open and staring at the bare white walls of the room. One has a name, a name of strength and wisdom, of dance and song. One will now, thank G-d, be allowed to officially join the Jewish nation. He will soon have a name, and a permanent mark on his body reminding him of his bind to G-d and his people. She sees their small perfect faces and wonders how something so physical and so flawed could create something of so much beauty. And she sees G-d so much stronger in the world.

The laughing becomes distant, even though it is coming from the girl right next to her. The ringing of a cell phone is droned out and the fork she holds in her hand is placed gently on her plate. The chocolate cake in her mouth melts and she swallows it, savoring the warm taste. It is her friends birthday, or it was, and this party is a small and late celebration. The other families in the restaurant join in when they sing happy birthday, and with this little song they have been allowed to join something bigger than a night free from cooking. They have just joined in a miracle. A miracle of birth, of great beginnings, of searching and finding, of starting something and finishing it and then starting something else, of trying and then trying again. Of life. And of something bigger than that: G-d.

The strong wood of the aron hakodesh seem to beckon to her. She can feel the soft velvet of the drapes even from her place in the back of the room. There is no one else in the shul anymore, they have all gone home. But she is here, she is here to feel G-d. So she walks over to the aron and opens up its holy wood doors. Sliding them apart until she is faced with the greatest miracle she will ever see. The two sifrei torah look at her, with looks more piercing than any stare and love more penetrating that any hug. They wear their crowns proudly, knowing that they encompass G-d who is everything. Her hand strokes their stomachs and she feels the words written on them entering her and bringing her closer. And her lips start moving, uttering the words of the last perek of tehilim. We will praise G-d with horns and trumpets, with our voices and our music, we will sing for Him and give Him honor. And our souls will be the last to sing His praise. For even at the last moments of our physical lives, and forever in our spiritual ones, our souls will sing His praise and honor His name. And perhaps that is the greatest miracle.

Teach your children not to hate. Teach them to only see the good. Teach them to control their anger for anger is only denying G-d and His master plan. Teach them the power of kindness and patience. Teach them that G-d is the only one and the only reason for how they live. Teach them logic and reason and teach them emotions and faith. Teach them to look at their own plate and see the amount of good they have, do not ever let them measure against another's. Teach them to love and to share. Teach them to see without being told and to understand from a power stronger than their minds.

Show your children G-d in everything from toothpaste to the chumash. Show them how He is found from the dirt on the ground to the clouds in the sky, and even the planets beyond that. Show them that life is good, that living is a gift not to be wasted. That morals are not just words but they are little parts of G-d that make their way into your minds and teach you how to live. Show them how to live and show them how to die when your time comes.
Show them G-d and perhaps they will show it to other people too. Show them kindness and they will pass it on. Show them encouragement and they will hand it to the one next in line. Show them faith and they will show it the world. Show them how and they will show you results. Show them love and they will love back stronger.

Why do people hate? Why do they cause pain? Why do they lie and cheat and embarrass? Why do they kill with their hands and why do they kill with their words? Why is the most common known Hebrew word oozi: my strength, for a gun and not shalom: peace?
Why does she keep going, keep taking another breath? Why does she smile even though she is dying on the inside? Why does she attempt to heal the damage?
Because she has G-d. Because she knows that He will decide, that He knows what is right, and that He was watching over her in a situation where she seemed alone.
Why do you believe in G-d?
Because it is real. Because G-d stood on a mountain and told us these words. Because He said these things to me and to you, and because He has never come back to tell us otherwise.
And because she is here. Despite the bad and even the good she is here and she is smiling.

"Gam zu l'tova." We know that to be true. Now please G-d, let us see it.