‘We are now all walking around with an invisible tear in our clothes’

Last week, I sat in a circle of friends listening to Rabbi Dr Ariel Burger tell us a story by Rabbi Nachman of Breslev about two birds, the last two birds of their species, separated, lost from each other, wailing to each other every night from their nests across the skies.

Burger encouraged us to think of what this reminded us of, pop culture references included. I thought of Feivel and Tanya Mousekewitz in An American Tail,  singing for each other beneath the pale moonlight. And of course, my own family searching for each other after the Holocaust. Hope and grief. Grief and hope.

Days later, so many of us watched Hersh Goldberg-Polin’s mother Rachel, and other hostages’ family members, running to the gates at the Gaza border, howling their children's names through a megaphone across the lonely plains. “Hersh, Hersh, it’s mama!” cried Rachel, our biblical matriarch, our mother of mothers, our womb of wombs. Rachel, the Hebrew name of my own mother.