Our beautiful 6

I don’t know how a year has passed, since our beautiful 6 were stolen one last time.

I don’t know how we’re still playing games with H*m*s and negotiating unacceptable terms.

I don’t get how they, the final 50, aren’t all still home, resting peacefully in their final resting places in our holy land, or held by their families who have waiting for them for hundreds of days.

I don’t know how we sleep at night, our country in crisis, our families shattered, scre*ming in ag*ny.

I don’t know how we can keep doing this, living on the edge of catastr*phe - you can smell w*r on the winds from the North.

I don’t know how we plan to get back to a September rhythm of sending our kids back to school, knowing what’s still on its way. We have so much unfinished business everywhere.

How can we face Sept 1 when the memory of these beautiful 6 is so imprinted on that day.

A holiday season that’s filled with what ifs and what will we dos.

Then October.

Can we skip October this year?

Today is their yartziet. Last year we didn’t even know yet.

Now we lose sleep from what we know has happened and what’s coming.