Silence; so thick you could cut it with a knife. A silence of such magnitude and such power, I was sure that even the angels in heaven were standing still, in silent awe. I remember it like it was yesterday. The day after Shavuot, the festival commemorating that moment, three thousand years ago, when an entire people stood in silent awe at the foot of Sinai, when, on a road in Gush Etzion, time stopped.
An innocent drive home, on a beautiful road in the mountains of Judea, suddenly cut short by the horrible sounds of gunfire. And Sarah Blaustein, of blessed memory, mother, wife, and beloved neighbor, whose life was cut short so suddenly, would never have the chance to listen to the sweet sounds of her children again. That night, ten thousand people came to the cemetery in Gush Etzion to bid her farewell.
Ten thousand people make a lot of noise, but cemeteries have a way of making people quieter, and a funeral at night, under such painful circumstances, has a way of making time stand still. Suddenly, you just knew the Blaustein family had arrived, and Sarah