We all have tsuris (worry). This past month we’ve been focused on my personal trauma of the uncertainty of the possible death of my adult daughter. By many of your responses, these thoughts have resonated with you as well, in your cases relatable to dark times even if not as horrific as mine at the moment. As of this writing the DNA comparison result is still not known by me.

Mine is a bizarre scenario that most of you will never experience and I thank God for that! A parent outliving his or her child goes against all acceptable realities. Living in the uncertainty of that determination is additional torture.

I’m reading When We See You Again by Rachel Polin-Goldberg, the mother of Hersh Polin-Goldberg. Ms. Polin-Goldberg is a political activist best known for her work toward release of the hostages after the infamous October 7, 2023 Hamas attack.  (Thank you, Shayna, for the book).

I realized in reading it that now my perspective is not what it would have been before August 24^th  of this year, the day I met with the detective about the deceased Jane Doe who may be my daughter. Although Ms. Polin-Goldberg’s pain after the monstrous tragedy of the October 7^th slaughter is truly incomparable to my individual pain, we share a mother’s broken heart, which is what she writes about in this book.

The uncertainty of a child’s death intensifies the grief. Torture of a child is unspeakable. Even if not torture of the child, there is still indescribable torture of the parent caused by the uncertainty of whether a child is alive or dead. Not knowing adds indescribable pain to the suffering parent who already is grieving the possibility/probability of the death of their child.

When I read about the death of Hersh Polin-Goldberg in September 2024 I was deeply disturbed and greatly saddened. As I’m now reading of the events in Rachel’s book I’m walking in her shoes as the facts were revealed to her. The difference in my emotional reactions to this event then and now is significant.

The difference is a wake-up call to not just think world events suffering is about them, not us, or to become so conditioned to similar stories as this that we become deconditioned to its horror. Even though I was terribly emotionally disturbed by the crisis in Israel at the time, it still was not the intimacy I feel now, for as I read of Rachel’s walk, I feel as if in her shoes. I feel as a grieving parent, for I am one.

This difference is a reminder of the work we are here to do to love better, and hopefully by being made aware of this insight, to not have to undergo the trauma ourselves. We can learn to not touch a hot object without being burned. It takes awareness and willingness to improve our humanity.

We are being challenged to keep training our hearts, to work on our heart muscles as we would any other, to keep our hearts connected to all who suffer, each individual person, to be reminded that the other is us and we are they.

Just this week I read in the news about a new ransom note regarding the disappearance of Nancy Guthrie. The pain her family, especially her high profile daughter Savannah, continues to feel I’m sure is still excruciating. When I heard of this development this week, most likely a cruel hoax, I felt connection to the pain of others. Savannah’s pain is our pain. The challenge is to feel her pain more strongly than my pain.

Cold statistics are not just numbers. They are individual people with individual hearts and stories needing the healing touch of love, our hearts to actually feel for them even if they are unaware of that outpouring. Loving another is never lost. Loving another grows our hearts.

I lingered on the news article a little longer, allowed myself to really think, and feel, the Guthrie family’s pain, to recognize as I didn’t before that additional stab to the heart that is so painful in my life now as well, the not knowing.

For now, in my small world of pain, I’m recognizing the extraordinary capacity of our hearts in this journey, and challenge to love, which is our mission. A broken heart through its scars can still be vibrant. Someday when my own pain is less raw, perhaps my love muscles will have more ability to read Rachel’s book again from a perspective similar to that of a more typical reader who has not walked the horrific path of losing a child, the suffering of not knowing.

Perhaps the story will still make me cry personally as I remember these days, but I pray I will once again be able then to more fully enter into the shoes of another co-sufferer with strength, not just identify with her but be able to feel her pain more disassociated from my own. The story will hit home but my heart will have more to give than just receive, and I will be grateful for having been given the knowledge of what this kind of suffering really feels like. That will be my journey.

Compassion and empathy are the fruit of a rehabilitated heart with intent and desire to love. To be able to share such nurturing love we must have hearts in shape to do so. That’s the work we’re here to do. As my heart heals I look forward to being able to take the first step.

The good news is I know Yeshua and He is the Good News. He is holding my hand on that first step and always. Through prayer and time with Him He is strengthening me and showing me that all I have to do is be reminded He is in it with me. There’s really no heavy lifting for me to do, just for Him to lift the heaviness from my heart. I know I cannot do this without Him.

Shabbat shalom.

Diane