Dear Friend, The last remnants of snow are melting away, making place for fresh shrubs and greenery. The winter gear starts to lose its allure when we know that spring is getting ready for its grand debut. Spring, in our homes, is a code-word for Pesach. Amidst the frenzied preparations, we gird ourselves with the vision of our Seder table – pristine, royal and perfectly turned out. As you picture the scenario in your mind’s eye, all you might think of is what you have lost. You may only notice your empty arms, where a smiling baby should have been nestled. You may think of all the challenges you have experience. You may grapple with the many questions you have and cannot answer. The roar of emptiness and silence overpowers the sounds of celebration, excitement and holiday, and you find yourself dreading the scene which will once again highlight what you are experiencing. You are not alone. Your fears and feelings may be yours alone, yet they are shared by many who have traveled the same path. In ancient times, a king once had a large boulder placed in the middle of a central roadway. He hid at the side of the road, waiting to see if anyone would exert himself to remove this large obstacle. With mounting frustration, he watched several of his wealthiest merchants and most trusted advisors making their way along the busy road. Most of them simply circumvented the large rock, intent on reaching their destinations without delay. Others muttered angrily, blaming the king for not keeping the roads clear. But they did nothing about it. Then a simple peasant reached the roadblock. He was carrying a heavy load of vegetables on his back. When he saw the boulder, he laid down his burden and tried to move the rock to the side of the road. He pushed and grunted and strained until he managed to roll the mammoth boulder out of the way. Smiling in satisfaction, he picked up his vegetable sack and…that’s when he saw it. A purse full of gold coins lay in the groove where the rock had sat. The attached note was addressed To he who removes the large obstacle: This gift is for you – an endowment from the king. I placed an obstacle on the road to see who will recognize my presence despite the difficulty. You did not suffice with merely blaming my negligence or ignoring the hurdle. You struggled to overcome it, knowing that there must be a good reason for the inconvenience. The gift is yours as a token of admiration. Life is comprised of moments – snippets in time molded by our Father, the King of kings. Some of these moments are painful. They pierce your heart and tear the fabric upon which you stitched your hopes and dreams. Yet it is precisely during those moments that Hashem stands near you, watching and protecting. He placed the large boulder in your path and He is there to support you as you push it aside. The attempts are difficult – painfully so. Yet He is there, watching and waiting and giving you the tools to persevere. The Belzer Rebbe, R’ Yissochor Dov of Belz, questioned the medrash on the words of ישיר אז. The medrash explains that these words are said in the future tense, to indicate that in the times of Moshiach Klal Yisroel will stand on a mountaintop outside of Eretz Yisroel and they will sing shira. The Belzer Rebbe asks, “Why will we sing shira on a mountain outside of Eretz Yisroel? Why wouldn’t we enter the land and sing shira once we are already there?” His answer is profound in its simplicity. In galus, we have the opportunity to serve Hashem on the foundations of emunah. Our lives are difficult, shadowed with challenges and hardship. We must seek to find Hashem’s presence and guiding hand. Therefore, when we serve Hashem with pure faith and trust, we are accomplishing an astounding feat. This feat will become obsolete once we enter Eretz Yisroel with Moshiach’s arrival. Therefore, we will choose to remain on a mountaintop outside of our land for one last opportunity – one last moment in time – when we will be able to serve Hashem amidst challenge and darkness. We will want to utilize that very last moment to reap the rewards of true emunah. This observation brings to mind a mashal told by Rav Shimshon Pincus z”l. An ambitious medical intern was finally granted the chance to serve in the Intensive Care Unit of a prestigious hospital. The Chief Doctor informed him that he would be presiding over the ward for an entire night. “Unfortunately,” the Chief Doctor intoned, “the hospital staff has gone on strike. You will be the only doctor on call tonight.” The young intern nodded his assent, thrilled with the opportunity to put his extensive training into practice. “This is the ICU,” the Chief Doctor said. “You will be dealing with emergencies. You cannot afford even a moment of off-time. I am giving you my personal contact number. If you see that you are not managing on your own, give me a call. I will rush to your assistance.” The Chief Doctor left and the young intern was on his own. He spent the night running from one bed to the other, adjusting oxygen levels, administering medication and performing CPR. His eyelids were gritty with fatigue, but he could not allow himself to relax. Even a cup of coffee would be an unforgivable luxury. At one point, when the night was finally beginning to wane, the doctor was resuscitating a post-operative patient. An elderly patient called for help, but he could not get there until several minutes later. At that point, it was too late. The elderly patient had suffered irreversible damage. When the intern was charged with negligence, he vehemently denied the claim. “I was running myself ragged all night!” he exclaimed. “I had not a spare moment to breathe! No one could say that I was negligent in any way. It was simply impossible to be in two places at once!” The Chief Doctor stood somberly at the side, his disappointment evident. “You are mistaken,” he said earnestly. “I gave you my contact information before the night began. I told you to call me. I told you to reach out to me if the going got tough. You weren’t meant to do this on your own! You should have called. Did you forget that I was waiting to hear from you?” At times, you may feel like that young intern, thrust into a situation way bigger than yourself. Pain washes over you in waves and you wonder how long you can continue struggling, how long you can keep your head above the water. The void created by the loss of a life is greater than you are. The emptiness formed by the loss of a future is sucking you into a pit of despair, and it seems impossible to avoid its grip. But Hashem has given you His contact information. He is there, waiting for your call. If you close your eyes tightly and listen well, you can hear His message. “My child, you are not meant to do this alone. I know it’s hard. I know it hurts. But I am here for you. I am waiting for you to reach out to Me!” When our forebears were in Mitzrayim, the pain and emptiness was beyond anything we can imagine. They were alone. They felt abandoned. It seemed they were destined to a life of servitude and drudgery. But they couldn’t take it anymore. They couldn’t handle the degradation, the emptiness, the hopelessness of their lives. ונצעק – they cried out. They couldn’t even articulate their pain and they didn’t know Whom they were calling – but they cried out. And in immediate response – אלקים וידע. Hashem knew. He heard their cry and He lifted them out of their miserable existence. Amidst the Pesach preparations, allow yourself to mourn that which will not be. Give yourself time to picture the Seder table and to feel the emptiness where a little neshama’la has left its mark, unseen and unheard, but definitely there. And when the words of Vanitzak swim before your eyes – grab onto them and don’t let go. Call out to our Father, our King. He is there, waiting to hear your cry. Your cry will join the cries of generations and open the portals of geulah, individually and communally. Chag Kosher v’Sameach, Mrs. M. Klaristenfeld Knafayim, Founder