Every wedding is a special and joyous occasion. In fact, Rabbi Yaakov Kamenetsky (Emes L’Yaakov) notes that every Jewish wedding is a national celebration. He proves it from the fact that if a mourner comes to shul, the mourner himself doesn’t recite Tachanun, but the rest of the congregation does. However, when a chasan davens in shul during the week after his wedding, the entire congregation omits Tachanun. Apparently, everyone in the shul has a share in the chasan’s celebration. The Jewish people thrive upon the building of Jewish homes.
There are some weddings, however, that are particularly joyous and strike a chord within the collective Jewish heart. One such wedding took place a few days ago between Sasha Troufanov and Sapir Cohen.
Sasha and Sapir were taken to Gaza as hostages on October 7. Sapir was held by Hamas terrorists for 55 days before being released in November 2023 during the first hostage-release deal. Sasha was in captivity for 498 days until he was released in February 2025.
After Sasha was released, Sapir told reporters at Sheba Medical Center in Tel Hashomer, “He prayed I’d find another man, thinking he’d never return. But I waited.” Their wedding is a symbol of devotion, resilience, and the Hand of G-d.
Sapir related that when the terrorists broke into their home on October 7, she promised G-d that if she survived, she would begin to observe Shabbos.
Sasha’s father was killed on October 7, and his mother, Yelena, together with her own mother, was also captured and taken into Gaza. She, too, began to observe Shabbos.
In an interview, Yelena explained, “I study Torah every day. I keep Shabbat. I kashered my home. I’m living my life as a Jewish woman now… This is what Hashem wants from me, to live as a Jew.”
In interviews after his release, Sasha said, “When I was abducted, my Jewish identity meant nothing to me. The first time I ever put on t’filin was after I was freed from captivity. I did not know there was a G-d. It is incredible. I was abducted because I was Jewish, yet I did not even know what that meant. Today, I do.”
The day after Sasha returned from Gaza, Rabbi Berel Lazar, Chief Rabbi of Russia, helped Sasha put on t’fllin for the first time.
Sapir related that what kept her going through the misery of Gaza was a sense of mission. She told herself that if she was a hostage in Gaza, G-d clearly had a reason for her to be there, so she embraced it. She made it her mission to use humor to help the other hostages cope. That sense of mission helped her get through that harrowing ordeal.
In Parshas Matos, Moshe dispatched 12,000 soldiers to wage war against Midian. They returned and reported, “Not one man from us is missing” (31:49). The simple meaning is that not a single soldier was killed. But the Gemara (Y’vamos 61a) says that it has a more significant meaning: Not one man had sinned.
A recent Guard Your Eyes parshah message quoted the following idea: Just a short time earlier, the Midianites had lured masses of the Jewish people to sin in the very same place. Twenty-four thousand men died as a result. Now, 12,000 soldiers marched straight into Midian, and not one stumbled. What changed?
They suggested that the answer may lie in the difference between a man who is idle and a man who is on a mission. The previous encounter ended in tragedy because they were somewhat stagnant. The pasuk says, “Vayeishev Yisrael b’Shittim” – the Jewish people settled in Shittim. Settled. Idle. The Midianite women found them in that vacuum and were able to ensnare them in sin.
The 12,000 soldiers who went to war in Parshas Matos, however, went with a specific mission. They knew where they were going and what they were there to accomplish. They also knew the entire nation was banking on their success. Having that sense of purpose made all the difference. The yeitzer ha’ra still showed up, as it always does. But now it was competing with people who were committed to achieving an integral objective.
It is an incredibly powerful and relevant message for us every day of our lives. We often feel overwhelmed and bombarded by the advances and lures of the evil inclination within ourselves. If we remind ourselves that we have an ongoing mission, it can help us retain our focus and commitment to proceed.
During the many wonderful summers that Rabbi Mordechai Finkelman spent at Camp Dora Golding, he would remind the staff about this important idea before trip days. It’s a challenge to guard our eyes, particularly during the summer, specifically at a place of leisure. But if we reminded ourselves that we had a mission and were there to fulfill our tasks as staff members, Hashem would help us stay the course.
In a recent weekly message, Rabbi Pinny Dunner, Rabbi of Beverly Hills Synagogue in California, recounted a recent visit to Auschwitz-Birkenau.
In his words: “There are no adequate words for Auschwitz. There are facts, there are numbers, there are photographs, there are the rooms full of shoes, glasses, suitcases, pots and pans, and the shocking sight of the hair of thousands of victims. But words fail in the face of a place that was engineered for the industrial annihilation of a people.
“As we stood there, surrounded by that vast factory of death, one member of our group – the child of Polish Holocaust survivors – took my hand. In a voice that shook with emotion, he asked, ‘Rabbi, how do you explain the murder of six million Jews? How does it make any sense?’
“I looked around me at the vastness of Auschwitz-Birkenau, and I had no meaningful answer. Because there is no neat answer. There is no theological formula that makes the evil, the screams, the children, the mothers, the fathers, the starvation, the selections, the gas chambers, or the ashes make any sense.
“So I told him the only thing I could honestly say: Auschwitz and the death of millions of Jews in that senseless slaughter do not offer any answers. But what they do offer me is a sense of responsibility. They inspire me to do more to build Jewish identity and to strengthen Jewish life. They motivate me to teach Torah more passionately, to bring Jews closer to who they are, and to ensure that the devastation we saw at Auschwitz is not an end, but a beginning. That is the deeper Jewish response to destruction.
“He did not answer me; he simply pressed my hand a little tighter, and we stood in silence together.”
A few weeks ago, the Monsey community was stunned by the tragic passing of Charlotte Herzberg, an eight-year-old girl who was hit by a car. At the recent shloshim event, her father, R’ Yudi Herzberg, shared the following: “I believe something bigger is happening here than our tragedy. Sometimes Hashem chooses messengers because they need a punishment. Sometimes He chooses people because they have earned the opportunity to attain atonement. But sometimes the mission is so crucial that Hashem sends His best emissary because He needs the message heard so badly.”
The word R’ Yudi used that struck me most poignantly was “mission.” He and his incredible family are galvanizing their personal, unspeakable tragedy into a mission to spread peace and light in Charlotte’s memory (ShalomforCharlotte.com).
On Tish’ah B’Av, we recount so much pain, sorrow, and anguish. It’s impossible to wrap our heads around the magnitude of suffering we have endured as a nation. What’s our attitude toward it all? What is our response to the painful cry of Yirmiyahu HaNavi, “Eichah – How could it be?”
In exile, we don’t have an answer to any of our justified questions. But our response has always been to strengthen our sense of mission and purpose. It is incumbent upon us to carry the torch forward, just as it was carried forward and handed to us.
Rabbi Dunner continues: “When we remember a destruction properly, it is no longer only destruction. Of course, it remains painful and unbearable. But when we live it, speak it, cry over it, and build from it, destruction is transformed into obligation, memory becomes rebuilding, and absence becomes presence.
“A memory that only weeps in loss is incomplete; but memory that builds something new in place of that loss is memory redeemed.”
The Jewish sense of mission is what keeps us true in the face of internal and external challenges. It’s how we have maintained our commitment to Torah values and to living a Torah life.
In addition, we use our pain as a catalyst to further our mission. We use our suffering as an impetus to maintain our legacy. That devotion and steadfast commitment are themselves part of the comfort we feel as Tish’ah B’Av progresses. The more they try to destroy us, the greater our sense of mission becomes.
May the collective broken heart of our people continue to achieve solace through our sense of mission, and may we merit the ultimate comfort soon!
Rabbi Dani Staum is a popular speaker, columnist, and author. He is a rebbi in Heichal HaTorah in Teaneck, New Jersey, principal of Mesivta Orchos Yosher in Spring Valley, New York, and a member of the administration of Camp Dora Golding. His writings can be found at www.strivinghigher.com. Looking for an inspirational speaker or scholar-in-residence? Contact Rabbi Staum at 845-641-5094 or at This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it..