A (6:05)

I definitely read the whole thing. I promise.

B (6:09)

This is a test. Zibby, page 218. What happened?

A (6:15)

I can quote you on 124, but 218, I'm not sure. Actually, one of the things you do is help other people, help people who are grieving by saying what some things are that aren't good to say and what is good to say. And you even point out about missing someone, how people say, oh, well, time has gone by, so you must be doing better. And you say, well, have you had a kid who went to sleepaway camp? Do you. Do you miss them more the second week or less? Do you miss them more after a month or less? And how that makes us rethink the whole thing. And Christopher Reeve, how you talk about that? Does he feel better anyway? Why don't you say it?

B (6:59)

Well, I think that that's exactly right. I think we have this deep, passionate desire for people who are in pain to be better, to heal, to be resilient. That's what we want. But I think for the broken, and I can only speak for myself, I'm broken. And this is my experience. But I think with time, I miss Hirsch more. We have very dear friends whose daughter went for a trip, a big trip in South America, and they thought she was going for a month. And then after a month, she said, I'm having a great time. I'm even going to go longer. And they said, oh, wonderful. Have a good time. And each month, she kept extending the trip. And they got to this point where they were parched for her. They were missing her so desperately, they didn't say, oh, you know what? She's been gone eight months, and now we don't even miss her anymore, you know, so why would the bereaved be any different, right? I'm hungry for him more. I'm yearning for him more. And so I'm trying to, in a certain place to explain that. And the reference to Christopher Reeve is that he. Because it was such a physical, obvious brokenness, no one ever thought to ask him, two or three years later, you better. No, he was never going to be able to walk through the world the same way. It didn't mean he wasn't happy again and didn't have joy and didn't have blessings. He did, but it was all very different. And, you know, at the same time that John and I are carrying all of this pain and loss and yearning, we are also very aware of how blessed we are and that we have these delightful, delicious, vivacious, dynamic daughters. We have each other. We have all of these people who love us. We have our community, and we have our extended community, which is palpable. And yet we also are carrying the reality of this pain, which is right here. And many of you know what I'm talking about. And I would also like to say that what is true for me is obviously just true for me. Meaning I also know a mother of one of the hostages who was killed who was saying that she gets upset if she goes out and people see her and they don't ask her how she is. And I was like, these poor people. Everybody's dancing on eggshells, trying so hard to help all of us who are so traumatized and so fractured and what's good for the goose isn't necessarily good for the gander. And even within our family, John, just last night, we were in conversation in Marlborough, New Jersey, and the rabbi asked me a question, and I answered my truth. And John said, I actually don't feel like that. And I thought, again, these poor people who are trying to, you know, like, even within one family, how do you approach people? And so it is abundantly tricky. And I really am very aware that it's tough. It's really tough. And we're not the only ones. Again, it's that all of us are carrying something that needs specific attention to the way that we walk through the world. How do we sensitize each other to that reality?

A (11:19)

The way you wrote it in the book. You said, I am scared when I walk through the new world. I put a hat, sunglasses, a mask, and walk with my head down. I know that wearing a sign around my neck would make me look as abnormal as I feel.

B (11:33)

And.

A (11:33)

But my imaginary sign says, your pain is so real, but I am not strong enough to carry mine and yours, too. I am forever grateful to you for loving Hirsch and the hostages. I love your impulse to help me, but please let me go on walking. I am walking in the land of the after. Please, oh, please, just smile and wave. So beautiful. Well, we have our instructions now, so that's. At least we know that for you. We all feel, in part, like we know Hirsch a little bit, because he has become. And you have become a public figure, but of course, we don't. And I think your book helps us get to know him in a new way. The first chapter or the second chapter goes into every last freckle, every last toenail, the shape of his ears. It's a documentation of exactly who he is in the most beautiful way. And. And you have one moment, which I feel is so telling, where Hirsch likes to help you carry your bags, and you wrote all about that. Can you just tell that menshee moment to everybody?

B (12:41)

So I don't know when he took this on, because I remember it also in our previous apartment, so it means that it was kind of even before his bar mitzvah, but he had. Hirsch had a thing where if I was carrying something, he always asked to carry it, and we never taught him that. So I don't know where he got that from, but it became almost a joke. He would. When we would walk to shul sometimes on Shabbat morning, I always. I don't know if anyone in here is like this. I must Have a small bag with me, because what if on the way to shul, somebody needs a band aid? Anything could happen. Calamities. I need band aids and I need tissue, because what if somebody needs a tissue on the way to shul? So I always had. I have this little bag, and he would always take that bag, and he would do it in this very ceremonial way. He would always say, mama, and he'd put his hand out, and it always reminded me of sort of Fred Astaire with Ginger Rogers, like, the way he would put his hand out, and I would always give him my bag. And I. In the book, I say, you know, I like to believe that it was his love language that he was saying, I love you. Let me carry your bag. But it's actually. It might be projection. And maybe he just really wanted to be seen carrying a handbag. I don't know, because he never said, it's important to me because I love you deeply, and this is the way I'm going to manifest that. And so that was like this little nugget of an example of who he was. It was just a very gentle thing that he did. But I'm very aware of it now when I walk with my bag.

A (14:45)

You also talk a lot about Hirsch and his love of books in your book, and there's been a very famous now book by Leigh Bardugo, which we know Hirsch had in the tunnels. But talk a little bit about the before and Hirsch's love of reading and how books mean so much to your family.

B (15:06)

Hirsch went to first grade in Richmond, Virginia. We were living in Richmond, and he went to the Jewish day school there. And the first day of first grade, he met his teacher. They had, you know, the limu de Kodesh teachers, like the Jewish studies teachers, and they had the secular teacher. And his secular teacher was an Irish Catholic woman named Mrs. Carlton, who was. She was real Irish. She had this gorgeous brogue. She spoke with this beautiful accent, and she was extremely strict. And she said to the children on the first day of school that she thought it was shameful that American children don't know anything about world geography. And that was it. He was like, bring it, lady. And he came home and he was an early reader. So we had already starting in kindergarten. He was very on fire with reading. And so we would always go to the Richmond Public Library on Tuesdays. The maximum amount of books you could take out was 12. So he would take out 12 books every Tuesday. And while we were at the library, he would sit in the bean bag area and read National Geographic magazine because that they wouldn't allow you to take out. And we had. So starting in first grade, he would take out all of these books that were sort of atlases on paper and world trivia and almanacs. And he was obsessed with maps and globes. And that became this real passion of his. And reading was always, you know, he always had a book with him, always. And I'm also a very. John as well, were voracious readers. And so. One of the things that I talk about in the book is that on October 6, when he was packing, because he had said, I will come to shul with you. I'll come to synagogue with you, and I'll come. We were eating at our good friends who. Our friends Jen and Esteban, whose sister and mother are here in the crowd tonight. And he said to me after dinner, Aner Shapira, his best friend, Aner and I are going to go do something fun. So he was going to bring his backpack to dinner. And when I stuck my head in his room while he was packing, he had his book in his hand and he was debating, and he said, I'm only going for one night, so I'm going to leave my book home. Because both of us have this need before going to sleep, we have to actually read with pages not on a screen. And so he left his book that he was currently in the middle of, which was the Dalai Lama's the Art of Happiness. And it is still on his nightstand with the bookmark in chapter six. And part of what was so painful for me was knowing it sounds ridiculous, because there were myriad reasons why it was torturous for us that Hirsch was being held captive. But I knew that it was the first time in his life that he was without a book with him. And then we ended up finding out later that he was with a book

A (19:08)

I loved in the book. He wrote it with all caps, like it was the most exciting thing. Hirsch had a book with him. He had a book with him. It's amazing. Oh, my gosh. Hirsch also obviously loved to write a little bit, too, because you found a journal entry that he wrote at the beginning of ninth grade. He wrote it in Hebrew, so you couldn't understand it as well at first. Can you talk a little bit about that?

B (19:36)

What happened was during March of 2020, which you all remember, was especially for you, really hard hit with COVID in the world, and Israel was also completely shut down. And right before Passover, I said to all the kids, we're all trapped Here. Anyway, let's just do a really good cleaning. Everybody go through your rooms. And I went with a big garbage bag around to each of the kids rooms to empty their garbage into the big garbage bag. And when I got to Hirsch's garbage can, he had all of these spiral notebooks that he had already graduated in 2020, but he. He had graduated in 2019 from high school, but he still had all these notebooks that were in his room. So. In the garbage can. First of all, I found this interesting. I love that you say he liked to write, because this will actually dispel that myth. But his, you know, it would say on the COVID of the notebook, science. And then I opened it up and there'd be a page of science notes, and the rest of the notebook was empty. And then I took the one that said history. And the first page was full of notes, and the rest of the notebook was empty. And it was 10 notebooks of one page, and the rest was empty. So I am, you know, I am responsible and I care about the environment. So I tore out those first pages of each of the notebooks, and I put the notebooks back in the cupboard for the girls to use the following year at school. And on the bottom of the garbage can was a real journal that looked like a little book bound. And my mother raised me to be very respectful of people's privacy. And yes, it was in Hebrew. And Hirsch had the handwriting of, like, a crazy person who was blindfolded while they're writing. So it wouldn't have even been something had I wanted to be nosy. I couldn't really decipher anyway, but I didn't. I just saw that he had made three short entries, and then the rest of the journal was empty. So I tore those pages out, but I didn't feel comfortable putting them in the garbage because I knew it wasn't for school, it was for himself. It was an actual journal. So I put those pages in an envelope and I wrote private. And I put it in my closet. And I figured one day when he's older, I'll say, hey, I pulled this out of your garbage once. I have no idea what it is, because I am respectful of your privacy, even though you could be a calligrapher. And I kept it in my closet. And then in the spring of 2024, I found it in my closet, and Hirsch was still alive and being held in Gaza. And I thought, I'm not allowed to open it. I have to wait and give it to him when he gets home. So I put it back in my closet. And then he was killed at the end of August. And my daughter Orly and I were sitting together in December of 2024, three months after Hirsch had been killed. And I told her, I have this envelope in my closet, and I don't know what it is, but I've had it there since 2020. So my assumption was that it was entries from 2020. And she said, I want to read it. And I felt that it was okay now. And so I got it out of the closet and I gave it to Orlie. And she opens this envelope, and I'm sitting across from her at the kitchen table, and I see that her face drops. And I said, what's wrong? And she looked up and she said, it's prophecy. And I asked her to translate it for me. And the first thing she noticed is that he had dated it. And it was from October 26, 2015, which meant it was from nine years earlier. It was when he was a freshman in high school. He had just started 9th grade in high school. And it's a whole entry that's quite short. And 12 times in the entry, he uses the word tunnel, and he talks about being trapped in a tunnel, and that in life we all go through different times. He's speaking very metaphorically, seemingly. And it really was very jolting to read that nine years after he wrote it and three months after we buried him. And John and I shared it with Hirsch's principal and rabbi from his high school. He had gone to an Orthodox boys only, Orthodox High School, 900 boys. And when we shared it with Rav Yermi, the rabbi of the school, he read it and he looked up and he said it was his goodbye letter to you, but he wrote it when he was 15.

A (25:19)

Rachel, how do you read something like that or even retell a story like that and somehow put it in a place where you can then just keep talking or do what you have to do that day? How do you function with all of the pain at the same time?

B (25:40)

I think it's what we humans do. We're blessed with the ability to hold multiple truths, to juggle, to multitask. Although I consider myself a terrible multitasker. And someone told me once that all mammals are very bad at multitasking, except for dolphins. And I don't know how they found that out. Did the dolphins say that? They're able to do several things at once. It's very weird. But I do think that we have this ability, and I know it. I mean, John And I talk so much about how Hirsch is right here. He's really right here. Like, the constant, constant thoughts of him. Where in the before, when Hirsch was Alive and before October 7th, I'm sure many people had this experience. You know, I had a partner and three children, and I had a job. And I would be at my job sometimes, and I would go for hours without thinking about my kids or John. It wasn't that I didn't love them, but I was busy with the task at hand. And so it wasn't like a constant thinking about them. And I would weave in and out, as we all do, and something would make me think, oh, right, and she has that test tomorrow, and we have to make that, you know, appointment for the orthodontist or something cute that someone said. But I wasn't thinking at all times about them. And what I think is so interesting that I've learned about true intense bereavement, is that you are at all times thinking about that person. And so we have to somehow. And everybody does it differently. And the reality is that you're multitasking. And yet I just met this wonderful young woman named Oria who was talking to me about the philosophy of mourning and loss and grieving. And she taught me this unbelievable term that has really spoken to me because I think we have. What I was mentioning before, you know, there's this desperate desperation of, you need to be better, you need to get better. You need to be resilient. It's been a year. It's been two years. Are you better? When will you be better? How will you be? You're gonna be better. And she said, you know, it's called toxic positivity. And I was like, oh, my gosh, you're a genius and I love you. And she said, no, no, I didn't come up with the term. It's actually an actual term in psychology, because it is something that I'm very aware of that, to me, it feels very emotionally barbaric to not allow someone to just continue feeling their pain. It feels like emotional gaslighting to command someone to be better. I will always be broken. That doesn't mean I'm not going to be okay and broken. And so I got this bug in my bonnet, and I went home and I Googled, what is the antidote? What is the opposite of toxic positivity? Get ready, people. Put on a helmet. It's going to change your life. The opposite of toxic positivity is tragic optimism. And I was like, that is my new identity. Because I am an optimist, and I'm also bearing tragedy. And I love the synergy of these two seemingly impossible ways of being in the world and breathing, and I love it. And the thing I extra love. Put your helmets back on. Is that I wrote. Who coined that phrase? Because I want to know who's the brilliant genius? Viktor Frankl. And I said, thank you, Hirsch.

A (30:23)

Oh, my gosh. Everything you say, it goes right. Don't you just feel every word that. Oh, my gosh. Just amazing.

B (30:30)

I'll give you candy later.

A (30:34)

Oh, my goodness. You have a chapter called I Remember, I Don't Remember, which might be my favorite chapter in any book ever written. You go through all the haziness of the beginning and the after and how the time just fled. And you said, I forgot time. I don't even understand time. I know there's no clear answer to why grief and trauma does this or do this, but can you just reflect a little bit on that haziness and the things that are sharp and the things that are just gone forever and how you make sense of all of that?

B (31:14)

I think we've been very blessed with the psyche that. I think about how there are pieces that all of us in our lives have forgotten, and we're thankful that we forgot. And then there are pieces that were actually really sad that we can't recall. Like how did my grandma's perfume smell on her? You know, they're just these very elusive, smoky scenes. And that chapter, that was actually this really sickeningly difficult chapter to write, and it has a cadence to it. It's almost like a gallop. And we had an issue, actually. I had these two incredible people who helped me once. All of this. All of these words and all of these packages of pain were out there. Now what happens? And the wonderful Jennifer Joel, who is our agent, but really was really helpful in the editing process, and Ben Greenberg from Random House, who was the editor for the book. That chapter was really tough because they liked the gallopingness. And. And yet there were parts that we really couldn't include because I don't remember. And then there were these bizarre things that I did remember. And so I was just sharing whatever I could put down. And it really. It's a very weird chapter because there are very specific details, and then there's complete. I don't remember. And I think that. I also had a desperate need to share whatever I could, including, I would say and I don't remember. And then I would write what I didn't remember, which is interesting.

A (33:26)

I think I found it fascinating. You also, in the book, talk about how your personal suffering and experience mapped against the wider geopolitical tragedy of the world and all of the hostages and all of that. And many times you said, I turned to this gentleman and he said he would help, or I turned to this person. How do you feel after you've done so much, you talked to everybody you could. You advocated relentlessly, and whether people could or couldn't help, you have to hold that truth, right? You have to have a whole whiteboard where you were tracking it and have someone come in who's like a soldier being like, we need to see your whiteboard of your information. And you're like, this is not good. If I'm the one keeping track of all of these things, this can't be a good sign. How do you just. How do you make peace with all of that? How do you think about it now?

B (34:29)

Well, I think the first. The piece that you're referring to is that on day three, after October 7, there were three intelligence officers who came to our house and said, we heard you have a whiteboard. Because we had all of these unbelievably devoted people who were helping us, and they were trying to map who had been in the bomb shelter with Hirsch, and they did unbelievable investigatory research. And these are normal people. These were our friends, and these were Hirsch's friends, and these were friends of ours from our shul who were just desperately trying to help us get information. And in walk three intelligence officers who were sent for, from the kyria, from, like, the main place where all of intelligence is kind of collected. And they said, we hear you have a whiteboard. Can we take a picture? And that's when we said, oh, my gosh, we're in so much trouble that, like, we're the source of information. But there was complete bedlam and chaos. It was total. It was pandemonium. And when we talk about. When I talk about. We went and we pled and we begged and we tried, and we spoke to everyone that we possibly could, and we knocked on every door, and we spoke in these closed rooms to people of power and influence all over the place. And usually they would sit. I mean, I think it's pretty hard when you're in a closed room with people whose child has been stolen. And we have footage that we would show them of him being loaded onto the pickup truck with his forearm blown off with. The footage that you may or may not have seen was usually blurred. They didn't like in America, showing That footage. But we had the raw footage of the bone still sticking out of his arm. And most people would have no choice but to say, we will help you. Right? It's very hard to sit in a closed room with two parents begging for help and not say, I will help you. But it became very clear to us that not everybody meant it. And we also were not able to impress upon everyone the urgency. The urgency. And John was so good at this. He tried so hard. I remember everyone we would talk to, he would say, and we would take notes. And we knew afterwards that we had said this. He said this sentence nine times. He said, they are all being held in an active war zone by a recognized terrorist organization. How can you not understand the urgency? They're going to shoot them in the head. They're going to get scared. They're going to line them up and they're going to execute them. And everyone said, that is not the way they operate. They are not going to do that. They are worth more to them alive. That's not going to happen. Give us some more time. We're working on it. And so that was really, you know, we feel that we failed in impressing upon these people the urgency. And yet that, to me, really feels very far away. And it feels. This will sound strange, but it's beneath Hirsch and his story and the beautiful people who were with him and all 45 of the hostages who were taken alive and did everything right and survived. There were 45 who survived and then were killed. And it's like, I don't want to belittle their unbelievable survivor spirit by focusing on the people who didn't do what they could have done. And I will say that there's a rabbi here in New York, an ultra Orthodox rabbi here in New York, who contacted me after Hirsch was killed. And he said something so profound to me, like, it's always right here. He said, you are the mother of a Holocaust survivor. He survived everything, and then he was killed. And that's why you and John feel so confused. And this rabbi was the son of to Auschwitz survivors, so he really knew what he was talking about. And we really feel that way. I feel that Hirsch did every single thing right. And Almog and Oree and Alex and Eden and Carmel and the other 40, they did everything right. They survived. Think of Hyen Perry, 80 years old. He did everything right. And hundreds of days in, they were killed. They were survivors, and then they were killed. And I think it's a very important differentiation.

A (40:30)

How do you feel about rising Anti Israel hatred and antisemitism around the world while you're fighting so hard for peace and safety.

B (40:45)

I am anti. Anti Semitism. I'm not into it. I think it's a bad thing.

A (40:55)

Okay, okay. You talk about Hirsch sickness, which is another beautiful chapter you said. The entire time Hirsch was in captivity, I felt this deep rooted, abysmal, ravenous need for him. It was like needing air. It would overtake me like a vicious wave. When the tide comes in and your back is to the beast called ocean, I would fall over from the ache of needing him home. There was no relief. Now it will be a forever breathlessness. How do you feel about that?

B (41:32)

In that chapter? I was talking in the beginning of that chapter. I talk about my first summer at camp, at sleepaway camp, and having the unusual sensation for the first time of my life of having homesickness. And it was such a confusing sensation because I had never experienced it. And I remember Dave, the camp director, explaining to me that it's homesickness. And I couldn't put my finger on what was it that I was missing. But, you know, it's something you feel right here, here. And I never felt it again after the third day of camp. 1978, Camp Crystal Air in Frankfort, Michigan. The third day of camp. I remember waking up and it was gone. It was just like this alleviation. And I loved camp and I never had that again. So I went to camps all my life, and I went away to summer programs that weren't camp, and I went away to college and I went for a year abroad when I was a junior. And I never felt that sensation again until Hirsch was taken. And so I call it Hirsch sickness. And I still have it. It's that longing, it's that craving and I think something really beautiful that another bereaved mother just said to me this week. She wrote to me, she lost her son on October 7th. Beautiful boy. And I've never met her. We are in touch on WhatsApp, but we've never met in person. And she said, what we have to do is we have to get used to the fact that we will never get used to the facts. And I thought it was really profound. And that's the essence of the Hirsh sickness, of the living with the yearning and living with the. Will never get used to this. And yet we'll do it.

A (43:58)

In the book you write about your Jewish faith and your adherence to so many traditions, all of your strong beliefs. Have you ever wavered in any of that? Do you Ever question anything as a result of everything that's happened.

B (44:15)

I feel unbelievably blessed and lucky that I have not had that experience. For whatever strange reason. I have complete. I feel like it's cheating to say faith, because I actually think faith is hard. Faith sounds hard to me. Faith is sort of saying, I'm not sure, but I sure hope that my feeling about this idea of God, which it's super confusing, right? For everybody. What is. When we say, like, we believe in God, what is this idea of God? Everybody has a different version. But to me, I feel like I know there's God, which is very different than faith or belief. You know, I say, I don't have faith. This is a book. I know this is a book. It's a book. I know this is a table. It's different than saying, I have faith that this is a table. The question I think that is fair that a lot of people. We're all grappling with, that people grapple with is, is I don't understand what's happening. But we don't get to understand what's happening. It's a very modern construct to think that we would be privy to the universe's plan. I'm sure many of you have heard me talk about how my mother really wanted me to be a very cultured young lady. And so she would force me to go to the Art Institute in Chicago with her a lot. And her favorite painting was by George Seurat, the famous pointillist. And they have this magnificent painting there that she would put me. Back in the 70s, you were allowed to actually go up to the painting. I'm pretty sure they put those ropes up because of my mother and me. And she would have me look very close, and she would say, what do you see? And I would say blue and red and gray. And it's. It doesn't make any sense. It's giving me a headache. It's like looking at TV too close. And then she would say, take 15 steps back, and suddenly, here you go. Here's this grand masterpiece, and everything makes sense. And that's how I look at the world, really, the universe. That I'm very close to this particular moment. That is a very complicated and harsh and difficult moment to digest. But I'm aware that there's a much bigger, broader perspective. I just am not privy to it. That's what I feel. So my relationship with this idea of God, if anything, is stronger, for sure. You know, I'm also a big believer in prayer. So I start My day, every single day. First thing I say when I open my eyes is I say the one line that many Jewish people say, the moda ani line, which I love because it says instantly, it says, I am grateful to you, you know, creator of the universe, you've given me back my soul. You have tremendous faith in me. And I always love that, because I feel like, usually the dynamic that I thought we were, you know, as a child, I thought, it's all about, we have faith in God. We have faith in God. But the very first thing we're saying is, holy cow, you have faith in me. You gave me back my soul because I'm not done today. That's why all of us woke up this morning. There are millions of people around the world that did not, because they were done. And then I talk to Hirsch, and then I get up, and then I have coffee, because I am a person. And then I do my actual morning prayer. Morning prayers. And there's a lot of dialogue and conversation with my idea of God and with Hirsch. And it orients and anchors and moors my day and my life. And the last thing I do before I go to sleep is I say to Hilm, I say different psalms in a certain specific way for Hirsch and for my family and for people we know who are sick and people we know who are looking for partners and feeling very alone in the world. And the last thing I do is I say Shema, which I say twice, because I say it once for me, and then I put my hand out and I say it on Hirsch's eyes because I don't know if he had time to say it before he was killed. So I say it every night again for him.

A (49:31)

You say in the book that it takes a village to raise a child, but it takes a universe to mourn one. And you have examples of you helping other mothers, other mothers helping you. How can the universe help you at this point? Do you want help? Are you, like, over it? How do you feel?

B (49:52)

It's a really great question. I think what I'm starting to understand this week with this book is I think I want people to know my pain, which is kind of weird, because I don't know that you have to do anything with it. I just want you to hold one teeny, tiny molecule of my pain. I don't know why I think it will help, but I don't know. So many people asked, is this book going to help you? Was this thing therapeutic? Was it healing? And John and I keep saying, we don't know I don't know. I really hope it doesn't hurt me. I don't think it's going to hurt me. I already feel this week with people saying, wow, I didn't understand. And there's no trajectory. Trajectory? Is that a word? Doesn't it sound weird? Why does that sound so strange? But this isn't a how to book. This isn't, wow. I was here and now I'm here. I'm really thrilled for people who have that experience. I don't have that. That's not what this is. This is just me turned inside out. It's ugly, it's throbbing, it's bleeding, it's oozing. It's not pretty. And somehow I think through those 330 days where you saw us so beaten and battered and tormented and tortured and in angst and in misery that somehow you got to know pieces of me. And I want you to know the truth of this pain. Because now I can tell you the truth. I felt like during those 330 days we were fighting so hard that we had to pretend to be human. And we had to be human enough so that those doors would open for us, so that we could beg and plead and do everything possible and run to the ends of the earth. And it didn't work. And now I just have this loss and grief and suffering and mourning. And I want you to have some. And I want you to see that knife that's sticking out of me. And I said early on, I don't blame you for not seeing it. It's like someone who has been born blind so they don't know what the color blue is. And I want you to see my blue. I want you to see my pain.

A (52:49)

Well, this will be our last question. I don't want to go on too long. I know we have the rabbi coming next and we're all going to sing Hatikvah, but I just want to know, do you ever question anything? Like. Do you ever say, what if? What if? Do you do that in your head?

B (53:08)

In what sense? Related to.

A (53:10)

Related to anything. What if I hadn't moved to Israel? What if I hadn't done this? Do you ever question the path of your life or do you feel like everything was meant to happen? Or. I don't know. I don't know.

B (53:22)

I definitely don't have those regret questions or the what if questions. And someone did ask me about moving to Israel. And it's so interesting because I can't. I don't. My mind's never gone there. John. And I. It's not how we think. In fact, I feel really blessed to live in Israel, and I feel really lucky that I have had the life that I've had. I know very well, and I talked about at one point in the book, we have very dear friends who have two daughters, and they are completely complete. They're a beautiful, perfect family. And that could have been John and me. We could have just had our two daughters. But we had this unbelievable, gorgeous blessing for 23 years and 334 days in this world, in olam haze, in this world. And I'm so grateful. And the pain and the loss that I feel, this grief is really a badge of love because we don't grieve for people we didn't love. And that's what's so amazing to me about you. Because you grieve for Hirsch. I know you do, because you grew to love him. And that grief is the price that we pay for loving people. And therefore, I will carry this grief. It's a price that I'm privileged to pay. Even though it's painful, it's so worth it because I had him and it was such a treat. And I wish so badly that you had had that treat to meet him.

A (55:31)

You might think this is ugly. This was the most beautiful thing I have ever heard. Thank you, Rachel, for sharing with us.