The news this morning pierced our hearts like a dagger. Tzaala Gaz, was on her way to deliver her fourth child, was murdered in cold blood by Palestinian terrorists. Her husband Chananel was also wounded. Their newborn baby is now fighting for his life. Tzaala, was a therapist who lived with her husband and three children in Bruchin, a small town in Samaria. She was ripped from this world at the moment she was bringing new life into it.
May her memory be a blessing.
As this tragedy continues to unfold before us, I found myself drawn to the biblical Rachel, our matriarch who also died in childbirth. The verse “Rachel weeping for her children” (Yirmiyahu 31:14) echoed in my mind. Two mothers, separated by millennia, united in a fate too painful to contemplate.
What can we learn from Rachel’s tears that might help us navigate this moment of profound grief?
Rachel’s story is bookended by two poignant verses: “And Ya’akov kissed Rachel, and raised his voice and wept” and “Rachel died, and was buried on the route to Efrat.” The Midrash, our ancient Jewish commentary, connects these moments: “Why did Ya’akov weep? He saw that Rachel would not join him in burial.”
From their very first meeting, Ya’akov foresaw their eventual separation. Their love, like all love, reached for forever but was denied its full expression. Yet Rachel’s separate burial was not just a personal tragedy but held national significance.
Rachel was deliberately buried on the road to Efrat, not at the ancestral burial place with Ya’akov. Why? Because she needed to be there for future generations. As our sages teach, “He foresaw that the exiles were destined to pass by there; therefore he buried her there, that she should beg God’s mercy for them.”
In Jewish tradition, Rachel is our eternal advocate. When no other patriarch or matriarch could move God to mercy, Rachel’s tears broke through the heavenly gates. Her sacrifice became her strength.
Is this not also the story of Tzaala Gaz? A mother torn from her children at the moment of creating life, her memory now standing as a witness against evil and a call for justice.
We don’t have meaning or understanding of this tragedy. We don’t know why. And we might never find out what God’s plan was.
But we have a how. How do we move forward?
My small community in Modiin sent out a message this morning: “We thought it would be comforting to the yishuv (where Tzaala was from) to send homemade cookies to the families for Shabbat (the Sabbath). So they feel the big hug from am Yisrael (the people of Israel).”
This is Rachel’s legacy ā not just tears, but action. Not just mourning, but community. Not just pain, but purpose.
Rabbi Leo Dee, who lost his wife and two daughters to terrorist violence, offered these words to Yarden Bibas, whose family was murdered by Hamas: “Be brave, it’s worth it. Finally, know that Shiri, Ariel and Kfir are in a good place. They are sitting next to Hashem’s Throne of Glory, a level above every rabbi and tzaddik (righteous person) that ever lived and did not die Al Kiddush Hashem, or for the sanctification of God’s name. They are smiling down on you and want you to be happy.”
Rachel’s tears did not end with her death. God heard her weeping and promised: “Refrain your voice from weeping, and your eyes from tears; for your work shall be rewarded… and your children shall return to their own border” (Yirmiyahu 31:16-17).
Like Rachel, Tzaala’s legacy will not be defined by her death but by her life, by the children she loved, by the community that rallies in her name.
The Jewish sages teach that when Rachel weeps for her children, she doesn’t just cry ā she demands. She reminds God of His promises. She insists on redemption.
Today, as we mourn Tzaala Gaz, we too must weep and demand. We weep for the innocent, we demand justice and safety. We weep for the orphaned, we demand community and support.
Rachel’s tears carved a path through suffering toward hope. From her roadside grave, she still calls to us: Do not despair. Stand firm. Your children will return to their borders.
Rachel weeps with us today ā but she also shows us how to transform tears into strength, how to forge meaning from senseless tragedy, and how to ensure that no mother’s sacrifice is ever forgotten or in vain.
Please consider doing a good deed in memory of Tzaala – and in merit of a Refuah Shelema to her husband, new baby, and her family who are painfully mourning her loss.
