Last week, my husband and I attended the funeral of Rav Elisha Loewenstern, a 38-year-old chayal who grew up in Beit Shemesh, just killed in combat in southern Gaza. We stood in the dark with many others, listening to hespeidim that told of a remarkable man, cut off in his prime. As the father of six children, he was no longer required to serve in the reserves of the IDF, but he wanted to do his part in defending the people and land he loved so much. With heavy hearts, we left the funeral and went straight to a l’chayim for our friend’s daughter. The juxtaposition of the two events was stark. Bury the dead, switch channels, and affirm life by celebrating the building of a new Jewish home. We feel pain. We cry. We keep going.