The Empty Seat

This past Shabbat, like most Shabbatot, we invited another family for lunch. Just like most Shabbatot, the guests came and sat down where my daughter set their places.  Well almost everyone, one seat was empty, the seat of the oldest son who, like every other boy in his class, was spending the meal together.  That is every boy except one, the empty seat, the reason for the empty Shabbat greetings, where every greeting was not "Shabbat Shalom," but "any news?"

This morning, like most mornings, I walked my kids to school, and then went to Shul. Just like most mornings, the same group of people who have the luxury of not needing to leave before 8am to get to work or school showed up, wrapped in talitot and tefillin, ready to begin our day. Well, almost everyone was there, there was one empty seat, a seat occupied by a student on Sunday mornings and vacations, next to his father, was empty.

I sat in Shul this morning, like most mornings, with friends and neighbors, davening quietly, including the father next to the empty chair.  But this morning, instead of being able to go through our normal quiet davening routine, we were all disturbed and interrupted by the silent scream coming from the empty chair, the emptiness that filled the one minyan that is never crowded.

No rant today, That will come after our empty places are reoccupied by by our missing children.

My we see Gilad Michael, son of Bat-galim,
Yaakov Naftali, son of Rachel, and

Ayal, son of Iris T’shura,
returned safely and quickly to their homes and families.