I have been thinking all week about Moishe Holtzberg, the beautiful two-year old son of the Rabbi and Rebbitzen of Chabad House in Mumbai. His face will simply not leave me. Maybe because I love small children, and he looks so much like some of those in my own family. Or maybe it's the mother in me that imagines what it will be like for the people around him to hear him cry "Aba" "Ima" and not be able to explain or comfort him. Or maybe it's because I lost my own father when I was small, and I remember the bottomless, uncomprehending anguish that comes with such a loss at such an early age.
And then I thought: He has all those wonderful family members who will bring him up in a cocoon of love and warmth. And in twenty years from now, I might be walking down the street in Jerusalem and pass a bearded young yeshiva student, learning to be a Chabad rabbi like his father. I wouldn't even know it was him; that it was the little Moishe who became part of my life and took a part of my heart. And so now, forever and ever, I will have to look at every yeshiva student as if he was Moishe, grown up,carrying on in the footsteps of his parents.
I will have to love without cause.