The Sound

Just moments ago, the yearly siren sounded signaling the beginning of Yom HaZikaron, Israel's Memorial Day. I come from a place where Memorial Day means an extra 30% off at JCPenney. But tonight in Israel, Memorial Day takes on signficance - I feel the sobriety of the evening.

As I stood in the heavily fragrant (and for people of my immunological sensitivity, pollenated) night of Beit El, hearing the wail of the siren, I was reminded of a thought I've had many times before.

I've always wondered at the great sound that must be heard in Heaven throughout the course of the day. I'm not talking about the cars, construction sites, or squeaky shoes of the world. I mean the giant conglomeration of sound created by the thoughts, sighs, prayers and cries of man (and of course, I often think most specifically about how this pertains to the Jewish people), at all hours, in all places around the world. I've spent time trying to comprehend the magnitude of the collective sound, with predictably little real comprehension.

Tonight, I wondered to myself, "What a tremendous roar of sadness must be heard by G-d at this moment. Right now, right this second, the heartrending sobs of mothers and fathers, of wives and husbands, of children and siblings, the muffled tears of dear friends and comrades, and the silent sorrow of offspring who would never be must be rising up in such a rushing wave of pain - how can Heaven bear the magnitude of Jewish anguish and suffering this night? How can G-d stand to allow one more Jew to die for the sanctification of His name after such an explosion of pain?"

My great hope is that He won't, although I have prayed that prayer before. I believe that in moments, on days like this, G-d has mercy on His children, and is roused by the mightiness of our collective cries to save His people and crush those who hurt them. I pray that together we will raise a great noise to Heaven, that G-d will hear our cries, be overwhelmed by our sound, and redeem us.