When I heard the news Thursday morning that more Jews were murdered when an Arab blew up a crowded bus in Rechavia, in the heart of Jerusalem, I was as angry and sickened, as I normally am when I hear of a horror like this. Then, when I see that at the very same time, Israel has made a 'deal' and is releasing 400 other Arab terrorists, I am mortified, outraged. Then, when I see the usual lack of meaningful response by the government, even as Yasser Arafat's Fatah says they blew up the bus, killing and maiming five dozen Jews traveling to work and school, I can only scream out to Hashem to destroy that monster and the rest of our enemies, now.
Then, a couple of hours later, I received an email from Nefesh, the organization of Torah-observant mental health professionals, of which I am a member. The subject line said, "Chezi Goldberg, z"l".
Oh, no. No.
Chezi Goldberg was murdered on the #19 bus in Jerusalem.
I had just presented a program together with Chezi, and other colleagues at the Nefesh International Conference in Jerusalem just eight days earlier, on psychological and family issues regarding aliyah. I met Chezi for the first time the morning of our presentation, and I was impressed with him immediately. I also liked him immediately. He was a special soul, a guy who said it straight, but who said it with humor and with the deep knowledge of someone who worked for years in the trenches, with kids who were so lost there was no hope left for them to come back. I sensed he had a power to touch many people, and by doing so, to help them immeasurably.
I knew that Chezi Goldberg wrote the "Lifeline" column in the Jewish Press, which provided fearless and critical discussion of the epidemic problem of frum teens dropping out of yeshiva, dropping out of their families, taking drugs, many of them wasting away, some of them dying. During our program eight days before his death, Chezi painted the frightening picture of these kids who have fallen away.
Chezi has always been there, for the last ten years, since he made aliyah from New York via Toronto. He has been there, working as a street caseworker, walking the beat in Kikar Tzion at three o'clock in the morning. He connected with kids who didn't make it in yeshiva, who were abused, who were discarded by their families. He understood them, spoke their language, took the time to find out where they came from, and in many cases, saved their lives.
I saw all of this in only eight days, simply because Chezi exuded this through the sheer force of his personality and his neshama. As I was moderating the Nefesh program, Chezi glanced at the introduction and bio I had written for him. When I wasn't looking, he added a couple of lines that almost caused me to laugh out loud while addressing the 50 other clinicians in the audience.
Chezi struck me as someone who knew what he could do, who knew how to use the gift that Hashem had given him, but at the same time could laugh at himself with self-deprecating humor and humility.
We ate lunch together at the conference, and afterwards, we emailed each other and thanked one another for assisting each other at our program. Then, Chezi emailed: "I love it when I meet a new friend that I like. Don't worry, you'll do fine here, just give it time, friend."
Those words meant a lot to me when I read them for the first time, just days ago. Now, they mean even more. If I could feel this way, just eight days after meeting the man, I don't know what to say about his wife and seven children, including a baby and a 16-year-old. I don't know what to say about the dozens of teenagers he was in the midst of saving, who looked to him like a father or like a big brother, or the hundreds of parents and kids who read his weekly guidance column. I only know there must be a void so big that I am afraid to look at it.
I can only scream out the words we say every Shabbos:
"Av Harachamim, Who dwells on high, in His powerful compassion may He recall with compassion the devout, the upright, and the perfect ones; the holy congregations who gave their lives for the Sanctification of the Name - who were beloved and pleasant in their lifetime and in their death were not parted from God.
"May He, before our eyes, exact retribution for the spilled blood of His servants, as is written in the Torah of Moses, the man of God: '...for He will avenge the blood of His servants and He will bring retribution upon His foes; and He will appease His land and his people.'"
Cain y'hi rotzon. Now.
Then, a couple of hours later, I received an email from Nefesh, the organization of Torah-observant mental health professionals, of which I am a member. The subject line said, "Chezi Goldberg, z"l".
Oh, no. No.
Chezi Goldberg was murdered on the #19 bus in Jerusalem.
I had just presented a program together with Chezi, and other colleagues at the Nefesh International Conference in Jerusalem just eight days earlier, on psychological and family issues regarding aliyah. I met Chezi for the first time the morning of our presentation, and I was impressed with him immediately. I also liked him immediately. He was a special soul, a guy who said it straight, but who said it with humor and with the deep knowledge of someone who worked for years in the trenches, with kids who were so lost there was no hope left for them to come back. I sensed he had a power to touch many people, and by doing so, to help them immeasurably.
I knew that Chezi Goldberg wrote the "Lifeline" column in the Jewish Press, which provided fearless and critical discussion of the epidemic problem of frum teens dropping out of yeshiva, dropping out of their families, taking drugs, many of them wasting away, some of them dying. During our program eight days before his death, Chezi painted the frightening picture of these kids who have fallen away.
Chezi has always been there, for the last ten years, since he made aliyah from New York via Toronto. He has been there, working as a street caseworker, walking the beat in Kikar Tzion at three o'clock in the morning. He connected with kids who didn't make it in yeshiva, who were abused, who were discarded by their families. He understood them, spoke their language, took the time to find out where they came from, and in many cases, saved their lives.
I saw all of this in only eight days, simply because Chezi exuded this through the sheer force of his personality and his neshama. As I was moderating the Nefesh program, Chezi glanced at the introduction and bio I had written for him. When I wasn't looking, he added a couple of lines that almost caused me to laugh out loud while addressing the 50 other clinicians in the audience.
Chezi struck me as someone who knew what he could do, who knew how to use the gift that Hashem had given him, but at the same time could laugh at himself with self-deprecating humor and humility.
We ate lunch together at the conference, and afterwards, we emailed each other and thanked one another for assisting each other at our program. Then, Chezi emailed: "I love it when I meet a new friend that I like. Don't worry, you'll do fine here, just give it time, friend."
Those words meant a lot to me when I read them for the first time, just days ago. Now, they mean even more. If I could feel this way, just eight days after meeting the man, I don't know what to say about his wife and seven children, including a baby and a 16-year-old. I don't know what to say about the dozens of teenagers he was in the midst of saving, who looked to him like a father or like a big brother, or the hundreds of parents and kids who read his weekly guidance column. I only know there must be a void so big that I am afraid to look at it.
I can only scream out the words we say every Shabbos:
"Av Harachamim, Who dwells on high, in His powerful compassion may He recall with compassion the devout, the upright, and the perfect ones; the holy congregations who gave their lives for the Sanctification of the Name - who were beloved and pleasant in their lifetime and in their death were not parted from God.
"May He, before our eyes, exact retribution for the spilled blood of His servants, as is written in the Torah of Moses, the man of God: '...for He will avenge the blood of His servants and He will bring retribution upon His foes; and He will appease His land and his people.'"
Cain y'hi rotzon. Now.