It’s hard to describe the feeling of pure simcha and nachas that Chavie and I experienced as we observed hundreds of Jews celebrating Chanukah with an oomph like we’ve never seen before. In cities and towns across Montana, young and old, religious and atheistic, left wing and right wing, lovers of Chabad and those reluctant to get involved, Jews of all flavors celebrated Chanukah with a unique enthusiasm that was metaphorically “like the light that comes from the darkness” of October 7. The hisorerus, or awakening, of Klal Yisrael is real, unleashed by the brutality of Hamas’s evil.
As we wrapped up the Festival of Lights, I headed to New York as I do each year to commemorate the yahrzeit of my beloved mother, Chanchy Bruk (Chana Leah bas Reb Shimon, a”h). My mother passed away in December of 2010, on a frigid winter day in New York. As we laid her to rest in the Old Montefiore cemetery, near the Rebbe’s kever, the chill that morning was something unique, even for someone who lives in Montana, and I kind of feel like a part of me has remained chilled ever since. When you lose a loved one, especially a mother, a void remains in your soul forever because of the motherly warmth that is no longer there, the warmth you cherished so much when they were alive.
As I have written before, my mother and I were very close. She was my personal confidant, mentor, and best friend after my wife. From the day I left home for yeshiva at the age of fifteen, I never missed a day of calling her to give her my daily briefing. In yeshiva, I was called a “Mama’s boy,” which I carried as a badge of pride. We knew each other, understood each other, and our love for each other was very special. I landed in New York about forty hours before her soul ascended to heaven, the day after she slipped into a coma. I asked everyone to leave the room and I said goodbye to the person who meant everything to me.
Recently, my sister shared a song with me, a non-Jewish song entitled “How do you say goodbye.” I must have listened to it a hundred times since she shared it, and I concur with most of its lyrics. It’s so hard to say goodbye to someone we can’t imagine living without. I mean, who am I going to call to gloat, vent, and kvetch to? What about all those birthday cards and Mother’s Day cards that I used to send to her? Who will be the paternal Bubby of my children? For many years, I was convinced that as time passed it gets easier, and in some ways it does, but now, thirteen years later, as family simchos are happening, a new generation of her offspring is starting to celebrate milestones. Her five granddaughters that are named for her are growing up and the pain comes back. Some days, I feel like my heart is bleeding and I tell myself, “Chaim, you’re forty-two, get over it, time to move on.” But it’s impossible, I just can’t.
The fact that her yahrzeit comes right after Chanukah puts me on an internal roller coaster. I go from the awesomeness of the menorah, the brightness of Am Yisrael with my heart full of inspiration, to suddenly becoming aware of the fragility of life, the sadness of this world, and the darkness that can overshadow the good. Of course, I spend much time focusing on the amazing fifty-four years that my mother was alive and the twenty-nine years that I merited to have her as my mother. But boy, do I miss her, and it’s so hard to write or talk about it because it’s tough to share your heart, the core of your soul, the essence of your being.
In this week’s Torah portion, Vayigash, we read about Yosef’s reunion with his brothers and eventually his beloved father Jacob. Yosef lost his mom when he was a young boy. I can’t imagine the pain he lived with every day of his life, missing Mamme Rachel, knowing his father Jacob was still alive in Israel. The emotions can be overpowering, and it takes an incredible amount of strength to remain strong in the face of such adversity, focused and optimistic as Yosef was, though he lived under incredible duress and hardship in a foreign land. Too often we are focused on how Yosef instigated his brothers, but how often do we pause to consider that all of his older brothers had both a mother and a father, something Yosef lacked. Perhaps Jacob overcompensated for his loss because he (and his brother Binyomin) lacked a mother’s tender love and care that every child needs and deserves.
In April of 1956, after Arab Fedayeen terrorists attacked the Chabad vocational school in Kfar Chabad, murdering five students and one teacher, the Rebbe activated many forms of encouragement, solace, and support for the community. In a short, three-word telegram, he wrote: “Behemshech Habinyan Tenuchamu,” which means, “You will find comfort in the continuation of growth and development.” He was referring to the school and village. It was the Rebbe, zt’l’s way of dealing with the tragedy: showering empathy, support, and solace while simultaneously giving a kick in the pants to remind us that the ultimate comfort will be found when we continue the work that was started by those who are no longer here. I think about this piece of advice, and it gives me a small measure of comfort knowing that the work Chavie and I do in Montana must bring nachas to my mother’s soul in Gan Eden. I imagine her stopping by the Rebbe’s heavenly farbrengen and the Rebbe giving her his famous nod and whisper: “L’Chaim v’Livracha,” ensuring that she knows that her boy is doing good for Klal Yisrael and he’s proud of me.
On Friday we will recite the Selichos for Asarah B’Tevet in the same manner we have done for two thousand years in mourning the destruction of our Holy Temples. As we mourn the destruction of our glorious motherland, the words of Selichos resonate with me: “The Merciful One, my G-d, do not abandon me forever. My days of mourning have lasted a long time, and my heart is still sighing. G-d, return to my tent, do not give up your place. Pay back the days of my mourning when you come to reward me.”
One more thing: The one part of my job that my mother couldn’t fathom was the fundraising aspect. She was very dignified and couldn’t stand to ask others for help. No matter how often I told her that when it comes to our Shlichus in Montana it is a partnership between Zevulun and Yissachar, each doing our part to inspire and transform Klal Yisrael in preparation for Mashiach, she didn’t really get it. I mention this because this week we are raising the funds to keep our Chabad Center fueled for the winter. If you’re inclined to help us, we would greatly appreciate it. You can reach me at rabbi@jewishmontana.com or by calling 406-577-2078. Together, b’ezrat Hashem, we will get this job done.
Rabbi Chaim Bruk is co-CEO of Chabad Lubavitch of Montana and spiritual leader of The Shul of Bozeman. For comments or to partner in our holy work, e-mail rabbi@jewishmontana.com or visit JewishMontana.com/Donate.