DEAR GOD,

 I address You with Your full name to indicate how serious this is. Not a letter protesting some minor or even more major problem. No, this is probably the biggest, most serious request we have made of You since begging for the life of our first born. You heard that young couple then; we ask that You hear that same couple, now just a tad older, answer their pleas and heal Yitzy, their youngest grandchild.

To their voices are added the pleas and good wishes, the goodwill, the beliefs, of so many, of all religions, literally all through many nations of the world. With love in the hearts we ask, beg, plead: Heal Yitzy. Allow him to return to his life, that of a 12-year-old beautiful child, within and without. Return him, healthy and whole, to the midst of his family, now so distraught, so angry. Yes. Angry!!

But it is my anger I write of today. I can only fully fathom my anger even as I feel the bewilderment and anger of others. Why? Why? Why in the midst of a world gone mad, a world turning in on itself, consuming itself as it has done before, why, in the name of Heaven - why must Yitzy become a part of this nastiness? 

Have not enough little Jewish children been taken away from their families? Have not enough of them been tortured by pain and loss, more than any child should ever know? I am so angry now, Lord, its power and depth writhing through me. It is not a good feeling. In fact, it makes me feel even worse. But there it is - my anger. At You.

 I am tired of crying. I am tired, exhausted, trying to fathom the reasoning behind this catastrophe. Yes, I understand that I can never understand nor fathom some of Your actions, supposed to accept, but I cannot. Not this. No way.

I can rage. We have raged through the millennia, from Avraham and Sarah through Moshe through centuries of cycles of success and tragedy, through losses beyond description. We accepted, yes, had no choice in that for the most part, but we did rage. We did question and plea. We did argue with You, from the first leaders to the prophets, we did. At times You heard; make this a time when You hear our pleas. Heal Yitzy. Allow him to return whole and healthy. Allow him the privilege of life; enable him to grow up and add only good on this earth. To serve You. He can only do that if he is healed, Lord. Healed.

The eternal question remains. Why does bad happen to the good? Why do people suffer so? Why are more children in harm's way than ever before? Why? I cannot begin to explain it all, only understand that we are going down the wrong path. But Yitzy? Twelve. A boy who prays every day, with earnest words and inner voice.

A boy who loves Nature and the creatures of G-d's making. Loves birds, observes his trail cams, even has a pet lizard with which he delights in 'threatening' me. I treasure those moments, his giggles and wide grin. I so want them again. As Tevya said, asked, "would it spoil some vast eternal plan if...." . 

So, I shake my fist at You. I shout at You. I plead with You. I, along with so many others, send our pleas for Yitzy to You. Perhaps he is to serve a reminder to the people that we can get along, can share goals, if only we care enough to do so? Maybe, but that is done, so now - return our little boy. Allow him to hold his little nephew again, so proud of the title Uncle. 

Allow him to hear the sweet crack as bat meets ball. 

Allow him to join his people as a man and grow into his responsibilities.

Allow him to tease his siblings again.

Allow me the joy of one of his glorious, sweet hugs.

Heal Yitzy along with his shattered parents, aunts, uncles, entire family.

Show the power You possess. Heal. Yitzy. 

I am not going to stop being angry.

I am not going to promise something which in my acknowledged weakness I know I might never keep perfectly.

I am not offering a trade, though I already have, shouted it at You.

All I, and so many others, want, wish for, is a permanent healing.

That is all Yitzy wants. 

No more crying, confusion, concern as he loses his hair.

No more pain.

No more confusion, trying to understand why he 'deserves' this - why, why, why.

NO!!!

He is twelve and does not 'deserve' this. 

So, in my anger, I challenge, I demand, I cry and cry - Show Your Power. Show Your compassion.

Answer the prayers, the pleas.

HEAL YITZY!

May he be granted refuah shelaymah bimheyrah beyameinu. 

May he be granted a timely and complete healing.

May Hashem hear all our voices raised in prayer. 

Amen. Amen