May His Memory Be A Blessing - Blog Posts
Digimon Adventures/TRI ~ AMV ( Preview ) [ PARTIAL ] Linkin Park : NUMB featuring characters: (TRI!)/(ADVS!)TAICHI YAGAMI + MEIKO MOCHIZUKI bonus/side characters, briefly: Hikari Yagami, Meicoomon, Mrs. Yuuko Yagami, Koushiro Izumi * ( * for about three split seconds but he’ll probably be in the full version more ) [ also intended for the full version, likely: Meiko’s father ] ( this amv portion initially completed on March 29, 2020 ) * Please note there are SPOILERS for “ Bokura no Mirai ” / “ Our Future ”, Tri Movie #6 and tri’s ENDING
* This is a PARTIAL / INCOMPLETE AMV preview. this preview contains mainly the ending of the song/AMV. Scenes/scenes placements may change if I ever finish an entire AMV for this. For now, please consider this the “ feel ” that I’m aiming for.
AMV-specific Notes: This AMV’s being made mostly in DEFENSE of Tri!Taichi and Meiko’s storylines. It’d be nice if you considered that while watching the above clip.
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(art sources: 1, 2)
Happy Birthday, Hersh z”l. your spirit will be a part of the Jewish people forever.
Editorial note: This article was originally published in October 2023. We are republishing it following the news that Hersh Goldberg-Polin and five other hostages were killed by Hamas.
I don’t really know how to write this story, but it starts at Myahn’s house.
Myahn invited me for Shabbat dinner; we were attending the Pardes Institute of Jewish Studies at the time, and the other guests were all Pardesniks. I don’t remember much about the day, not the weather, not the date, nor do I remember which of my friends comprised the other guests, to be honest with you. But I remember what Myahn’s apartment felt like, the entryway cramped with as many guests as she could muster, the kitchen filled with her savta’s recipes and her roommate’s baked goods. I remember the warmth of being with my friends at Shabbat dinner.
And I remember Hersh GP.
Myahn’s apartment was being leased to her, furnished by a family connected to the Pardes faculty. That’s how so many apartments work in our parts of Jerusalem – Jews come from all parts of the world to study Torah at Pardes for a year or two or three, and they find furnished apartments filled with other families’ sefarim (Jewish religious books) and become a temporary resident of an ever-changing home. These apartments link generations of yeshiva students who pass the keys to one another, who share beds and kosher kitchen utensils, torchbearers of Shabbat meals and Torah study.
That’s how I found Hersh Goldberg-Polin’s bentscher, a small booklet that contains Kiddush, Birkat HaMazon (Grace After Meals) and various songs we sing on Shabbat. Bentscher culture is real, and it is amazing. I’ve seen thousands of bentschers in my day, for weddings, brises, mitzvahs both bar and bat, and for the most part, they’re exactly the same.
Hersh’s was unique. It was made to celebrate his bar mitzvah and customized more than any bentscher I have ever seen. Serendipitously, it was handed to me, and I remember smiling – the front cover had water imagery, and his bar mitzvah portion was Parshat Noach (as in, Noah’s ark). Clever. And then I opened it, and fell in love with the Goldberg-Polin family. The front and back inside covers contained song parodies, written by Hersh’s Safta Leah and Bubbie Marcy. Each page was filled with pictures of Hersh and his family, all lanky and smiling.
I think I interrupted whatever conversation my friends were having to show them the bentscher, in particular the wonderful parody of “Edelweiss” written by Safta Leah. We immediately sang it together.
Hersh G P Hersh G P
Jon and Rachel they bore you
Fun and bright
Sheer delight
This is why we adore you.
Interest in sports and with sharp retorts
Reads and learns most daily
Hersh GP
We agree
Now a perfect Israeli.
I don’t think I can really describe how weirdly obsessed we (OK, mostly I) were with Hersh. We sang his other songs (to the tunes of “The Marines’ Hymn,” “Old MacDonald” and “My Bonnie Lies Over The Ocean,” all certified bops). The small WhatsApp group we made to coordinate who would bring what to dinner, and what time we would eat, and all the other minutia of a Shabbat meal, was soon renamed “Hersh GP Fan club.” We were so enthralled by this guy and his bar mitzvah bentscher, without ever having met him.
After Shabbat, I posted about Hersh on my Instagram story. One of my followers saw it and sent it to Hersh, because all Jews know each other. Myahn also had mutual friends with him, and got his number and told him about my story. He replied, saying he’d always wanted to be famous. He sent me a selfie of him with his safta, saying he’d tried explaining to her that I loved her songs and posted them for thousands of people to see. She replied, “Doesn’t she have anything better to be doing with her time?”
It was an honor and privilege to be roasted by Safta Leah.
Hersh sent me pictures of his sisters’ bentschers and the personalized songs his grandmothers had written, based on “Chad Gadya,” “Oh My Darlin’ Clementine,” “Doe A Deer,” “Somewhere Over the Rainbow,” “Bicycle Built for Two” and “I Have A Little Dreidel.” Soon after, a different friend randomly found Hersh’s parents’ wedding bentscher in another Jerusalem apartment. We’d sing Hersh’s “Edelweis” cover from time to time, a running in-joke for the Shabbat meal participants. We joked that we wanted Myahn to marry Hersh so Safta Leah and Bubbie Marcy would write her songs, too. I had custody of Hersh’s bentscher for my remaining time in Jerusalem, and I’d use it most weeks. It was such good, silly fun.
Two Shabbats ago, Hersh was abducted by Hamas terrorists from the festival and taken into Gaza.
I say this abruptly because the shock is what it felt like when I came across Hersh’s picture on my Twitter feed. It’s how I felt as more details have been released about Hersh’s kidnapping, and his extensive injuries. It’s how I feel now, every time I think about Hersh. Until now, this whole story was just a goofy anecdote from my group of friends at Pardes. Now that image of a silly bar mitzvah kid is shattered, and I shudder to think of where he is now.
I’ve never met Hersh GP in person, but the news that he was one of the festival-goers took the wind out of me. Because I know him. I know, thanks to the songs, that he only used to eat Wacky Mac and schnitzel. He likes the White Sox and the Chicago Bulls. As I write this, I cry. I think of his family, whose pictures I looked at so often, the grandmothers who so lovingly wrote these odes to their grandson. I think of his friends, and his parents’ friends, and his sisters and everyone who knows him, waiting in agony for any news they may receive.
And then I remember that the Goldberg-Polins are one of over a hundred families currently feeling like this. And of thousands of families that are in pain.
Their pain feels immeasurable. This pain feels astronomical.
I don’t have a novel message about this conflict, nothing new to add to the outpouring of grief and fear that so many people are feeling right now. But this week’s Torah portion is Parashat Noach – the 10th anniversary of Hersh’s bar mitzvah.
I think maybe that when Noah was on his ark, he couldn’t imagine seeing dry land again after being in the storm for so long. The ebb and flow of the water – unsettled, unforgiving and so vastly deep – became his new normal so quickly. But, as we know, a rainbow was just around the corner. A dove was close by.
I don’t think any of us can imagine rainbows right now, nor do we particularly want to.
All I can think about is my family and friends caught up in the conflict, about the victims of horrendous terror that we cannot begin to imagine, about families waiting to be reunited with their loved ones.
All I can think about is Hersh Goldberg-Polin. All I can do is pray for Hersh GP.
I saved this article months ago. It touched my heart deeply and was so illustrative of the connection we felt to Hersh, to his family, to the hostages, to each other, through all of this. The intention in my mind was to post it when he came home. I was so sure he’d come home.
And then a month ago that hope was shattered forever, and we all endured the heartbreak of knowing he, and the five beautiful people held captive with him, were never going to have the joyous reunions we’d dreamed of for them. I considered sharing it then, when we got the news, but the grief was such a raw thing. When I learned his birthday was only a few days before the first yahrzeit of the October 7th pogrom, I decided to save it for his memory on this day. Yesterday, I learned his Hebrew birthday this year falls on 10/7. They just recovered his blanket from the Nova Festival, drifting all this time in the lost and found.
May his light, and the light of Eden, Carmel, Almog, Ori, and Alex, of all the other hostages who have lost their lives, and all the souls taken on that dark Shabbat, continue to illuminate this world with the courage to make change and the hope for peace. May we remember them in goodness and love. May we hold onto the resilience of his mother Rachel’s words: stay strong. survive. May this new year usher in better days.
May the 101 remaining hostages return soon. bring them home.
He was everyone’s Hersh.
Hersh’s charismatic smile let you know he was, as his mother Rachel described, a “happy-go-lucky, laid back, good humored, respectful and curious person.” He was, as the death announcement put it, “a child of light, love and peace.” People were drawn to the story of a young man who loved soccer and music, had a passion for geography and travel, who had just gone to six music festivals in Europe over the span of nine weeks.
And then came October 7th. Hersh’s last messages to his family, at 8:11 AM on October 7th, were “I love you” and “I’m sorry.”
Hamas kidnapped 251 hostages that day. But a statistic doesn’t ignite the same passion as an actual person; and through Hersh, the world connected to all of the hostages. Heads of state spoke about Hersh. At the Democratic National convention many in the crowd openly wept for Hersh, and chanted “bring them home.” His image was posted everywhere; “Bring Hersh Home” was graffitied on walls and printed on posters. Tehillim groups prayed for Hersh, and a Sefer Torah was written in his merit.
And after Hamas murdered Hersh, millions of people cried; and they cried for all of the hostages, including [those] who remain in captivity.
Hersh’s story is one of love. His parents Rachel and Jon Goldberg Polin advocated for him 24/7. Despite their overwhelming pain, what Rachel called “our planet of beyond pain, our planet of no sleep, our planet of despair, our planet of tears,” they found the superhuman strength to advocate every single day, to remind the world how many days it was since Hersh was held captive. Rachel and Jon traveled everywhere to do everything and anything possible to bring him home.
Most of all they told the world how much they loved Hersh, and got the world to love Hersh as well. Even at the funeral, with an otherworldly expression of spiritual strength, Rachel declared that “I am so grateful to God, and I want to do hakarat hatov (offer gratitude) and thank God right now, for giving me this magnificent present of my Hersh…. For 23 years I was privileged to have this most stunning treasure, to be Hersh’s Mama. I’ll take it and say thank you. I just wish it had been for longer.”
The Rambam says that when you truly love someone “you will recount their praises and call on other people to love them.” And that is what Rachel and Jon did.
Love has its limits. At Hersh’s funeral, the speakers apologized to him for being unable to bring him home; sadly, this immense outpouring of love could not accomplish what everyone desperately wanted. But the Song of Songs says “love is as strong as death.” Jon declared at the end of his eulogy that Hersh’s memory “can begin a revolution.” And without question that is what love can do.
Love is belittled because it is bewildering. It is immaterial, a force that ought to be reckoned with but cannot be measured. Charles Darwin wondered whether altruism would disprove his theory of natural selection; to sacrifice oneself for others contradicts a theory based on a single-minded pursuit of survival. (A person of faith grappling with the same question would see the traces of a divine love tucked away in the DNA of the universe.) From a political standpoint, love is the frail runner up to raw power. Machiavelli wrote that “it would be best to be both loved and feared. But since the two rarely come together, anyone compelled to choose will find greater security in being feared than in being loved.” In a world about survival and strength, love is seen as the veneer that covers up far uglier forces.
Judaism sees love as the very center of the universe. There are commandments to love God and to love all of humanity, both one’s neighbor and the stranger. Hillel explained that the entire Torah can be reduced to the commandment of loving others; one first experiences the divine in interpersonal connections, and only from there does the rest of the Torah become comprehensible.
The world begins with love; the Book of Psalms (89:3) says “the world was created in kindness.” Rav Saadia Gaon and Rabbi Moshe Chaim Luzzatto see love as God’s very motivation in creating the universe. Love becomes the spiritual blueprint for all of existence.
The very human love we have for others reflects this larger divine love. Rabbi Abraham Isaac Kook offers a fascinating perspective on Shir HaShirim, the Song of Songs, a biblical book written in the style of a love song. In the Talmud, Rabbi Akiva already reinterprets Shir HaShirim as a metaphor of the love between man and God; ordinary love songs don’t belong in a holy text. Rabbi Kook offers a fascinating reinterpretation of Rabbi Akiva, and explains that the ordinary love songs in Shir HaShirim are actually a small-scale reflection of the greater love between man and God; and that is because our “ordinary” loves are not ordinary at all. All loves lead one to the divine.
It’s difficult to talk about love at a time of war. Love sometimes requires one to go into battle to protect one’s family, reluctantly but resolutely. But that is not at all the goal; Isaiah dreamt of a world where the swords are beaten into plowshares. War is our nightmare; the dream is peace, of each person sitting contentedly under their own vine and own fig tree.
And that is the love we continue to search for, an otherworldly force that will transform history. Rachel explained that Hersh had a unique ability to bring people together that he had “befriended… German (soccer) fans over the years when they visited Jerusalem to watch their team play soccer. Together they painted a peace mural with both Arab and Jewish residents near our home in Jerusalem…” One prays for the day when this will be more than a mural.
Judaism proudly asserts the power of love. Machiavelli’s approach is tempting; sometimes all that matters is pure strength. But the mistake is that brute force works for a generation or two, until there’s a crisis. Then the fear disappears, and the ruler is deposed. Power is as finite as those who wield it, grasped tightly by princes whose lives are short and temporary.
To survive for a generation or two, one needs power; to survive for millennia, one needs love. And that is the story of Jewish history. Jews are a people who never quit because they had a passion for God, Torah and the Jewish people. The love Jews around the world had for Hersh (who was named for a great-uncle who perished in the Holocaust) is part of this same never-ending story. The Jewish people are living proof that love can outlast power.
The day of Hersh’s funeral, several posts on social media reported about children being named Hersh in the memory of Hersh Goldberg Polin z”l. These were not relatives or even acquaintances of the family. Just ordinary Jews who cared, and wanted Hersh’s legacy to continue onward. They were naming their children after a man they loved but never knew.
They were sharing Rachel and Jon’s remarkable love for Hersh with their own family.
And in doing so, they were starting a revolution of love once again.
May Hersh’s memory be a blessing, and a revolution.
though this is from September, I had never read it until last night, and I think we need it this week.