No Words

People say all the time, "I thought it could never happen here." And then it does.

I'm left in that painful, speechless, clueless zone. I'm standing there now, trying to make sense of what happened just before Shabbat here in Latteland. If you haven’t heard what’s happened, read here.

It was one of those crazy afternoons. DH, child #1 and I were just at my office ready to collect child #2 from daycare across the street. We were heading out of town to go 200 miles to the south to be with family for Shabbat and the weekend.

And then DH – the Jewish professional – got the call. He swore and paled. I heard the words "shooting" and "Federation." And I just assumed it was in some other city.

It was in my town.

Of course we headed back to his office, our phones immediately ringing off the hook. The press, both local and national, other community leaders, rabbis and more. He fought to keep up and keep abreast of the developing tragedy. The person was still at large and the scene was unfolding.

So what does one do in this situation? DH held up multiple phones and sat at his desk (when not pacing) emailing and answering the deluge. I put my PR hat back on and wrote up a press release based on the little I knew. Oh, and I found candy and chocolate, dried fruit and soda and tried to ply the kids and keep them quiet in the chaos.

DH joined community leaders to stand vigil. He was just having lunch with two of the victims only a few hours earlier at the site. We knew each of the victims and he was especially close with several.

Shortly after candlelighting – at least I think so since time became a blurr – I dropped DH at the hospital and took the girls home. We didn't bring in Shabbat as we normally do but somehow, just being together, sitting on the bed reading stories and letting them know that we were going to make sure they were safe felt right.

DH stumbled in at nearly 4 AM and the media and community leaders began calling at 7. National officials, major networks, local reporters. It was a zoo and DH stepped back into it an hour later.

I attempted to keep the children focused on our regular routine. We had our cereal and got ready to walk to shul. Child #1 kept asking all sorts of questions, which I tried to answer in an age appropriate way and child #2 just kept calling for "abba."

Shul was, understandably, packed. We were supposed to be having a celebratory kiddush luncheon. Instead people huddled together and spoke quietly about the victims. In a small community, and amongst my friends, everybody knows everybody.

DH continued to work like a maniac all day and into the night. If he got more than three hours' sleep over both nights I'll be surprised.

I've tried to do my best to help him field press inquiries, read over and rewrite statements he's drafted, run interference and pass him notes and make hand signals to keep him focused and on point when speaking to assembled crowds and reporters.

And now what? We wait to make sure those injured have a complete recovery. We gather on Monday to say goodbye to one of the victims. We begin to think about our community’s healing – and our longer-term plans for our collective security.

As we struggle through these next few days that are "within the straits" (bein hametzarim), what else can we do? Should we do?

We should hug our children, grasp the outstretched hands of our friends and look to the future. What else can we do? Sadly, we must recognize that it can – and it does – happen here – and we must work together to do our best to ensure that it won’t happen again. It’s important to remember Kol Yisrael aravim zeh bazeh.

Hamakom yinechem otam.