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The piercing wail of the siren shatters the quiet night, sending us stumbling through the dark toward the Protected Room, the reinforced space in our home designed for emergencies. This Chanukah, like so many holidays before, we find ourselves celebrating against the backdrop of conflict, with sirens cutting through the stillness. As of this writing, we are being awakened by sirens on many nights.

The moment I stepped into the annual Tzam’ah Event for Women at Binyanei HaUmah, I was enveloped by a wave of anticipation and joy. Walking past stalls selling chasidic books and even one testing for the bone marrow registry, I was drawn by the aroma of warm soups, kugels, and cholent wafting from the reception area. The hum of hundreds of conversations created an atmosphere alive with spirit and community.

I walked up to the wall. But not just any wall! It’s a memorial wall, unlike any I’ve ever seen. A group from Ramat Beit Shemesh goes south every Chanukah to celebrate the holiday with IDF soldiers on an army base. This year, our tour guide referred to our outing as the Tour of Horrors and Heroes. The Tkuma Memorial was the first stop on our journey through tragedy and resilience.

As a nation, we navigate joy and sorrow side by side, holding conflicting emotions with remarkable grace. Even in moments of profound joy – under the chupah, as a couple begins building their bayis ne’eman b’Yisrael – the chasan breaks a glass, a poignant reminder that our happiness is incomplete until Hashem’s house, the Beis HaMikdash, is rebuilt. Sitting around our elegantly set Seder table, dressed in our finest, we eat matzah, poor man’s bread, reminding us of our bitter days in Mitzrayim.

The end of a short life filled with so much accomplishment came as a surprise to the students, and even to the family, of the beloved Rav of Lublin, Rav Meir Shapiro zt”l. He was only 46 years young when he developed a throat ailment that caused him to become weak, and he debilitated amazingly quickly. However, the doctors who checked him assured him that it would pass, and thus, no one was prepared on that fateful Thursday night. They barely had time to say T’hilim.

Facing an unimaginable ordeal, Sigi Cohen’s strength and unwavering emunah have recently become a source of inspiration for the community of Ramat Beit Shemesh. A former resident of the neighborhood and the mother of 27-year-old Elya, Sigi captivated the women with her heartfelt reflections as the mother of a hostage.