Remembering Elijah Bernstein: A Mother's Story of Loss and Hope

The previous year, during the holiday of Sukkot, the Bernstein family gathered joyfully under the sukkah. Together with Elijah, they sang and played music, surrounded by a diverse group of guests. Some were wearing festive hats and suits, while others were Elijah's friends, dressed casually in jeans; some wore kippas, some did not. Yet, all were united under one roof, engaged in conversations that ranged from words of Torah and faith to deep discussions about life, all laced with humor. Simchat Torah arrived, and despite his mother's pleading, Elijah chose to leave for a party in Reim, unaware that it would be their last meeting.

What kind of child was Elijah?

"Elijah was our firstborn among ten children," recounts Hadassah Bernstein, his mother. "From birth, he was special, incredibly talented. He recognized letters and numbers by eighteen months, a feat we realized was unusual only after having more children. He was gentle, gifted, a blend of purity and sensitivity with talent—a child who wouldn't harm a fly.

"In *talmud torah*, he excelled, learning independently at a young age. Sociable and artistically gifted, he began drawing early, his talent evident from the start. I'd often tell him everything he touched turned to gold, like in the tale where straw and chaff became gold. He also discovered a love for music, with a developed sense of hearing, playing incredibly well, even during his yeshiva years. I was so impressed I kept some of his exams."

Elijah embarked on a personal journey of self-discovery around 13-14, moving from one *yeshiva* to another until leaving formal frameworks altogether. His motto was not to learn within systems. Alongside, his connection to music grew. He often said, "Mom, I’ll return to *Gemara* and learning when I truly feel the desire." Yet, he remained tied to Jewish life; when engaged in *Gemara* discussions, he was fully immersed. Elijah was sincere, intolerant of hypocrisy. Friends saw him as a light, glowing with his inner luminescence, a testament to his purity visible to all.

Musically, Elijah enjoyed variety: Israeli, classical, jazz, rock, even old Israeli tunes. Independently, he dove into electronic music, acquiring and mastering complex software in English despite not learning the language formally. His musical range was notable; his room echoed with everything from trance to childhood melodies. His social circle was equally diverse: some friends had long hair and earrings, others wore *peiyot* and kippas. This diversity was evident during the mourning period, reflecting those who knew and loved him. Elijah ignored external appearances, emphasizing genuine character, teaching us, his parents, to see beyond the surface to the Jewish soul within each person.

Hadassah and her husband Aviada also underwent a personal journey. Growing up, Hadassah lived in Hararit in the Galilee, and spent years in New York studying art. Now a graphics artist, she met Aviada, raised on Kibbutz Moran in the Galilee, and together they embraced religious life, married, and built a home 22 years ago. For 12 years they lived in Rabbi Auerbach’s community in Tel Aviv before moving to Jerusalem. Aviada now coordinates Bar Mitzvah programs at the Western Wall Heritage Foundation, often introducing Jewish life to participants for the first time. Since the war, he’s met families of hostages, evacuees, and others facing loss, sharing strength from their own experiences of grief.

Did Elijah still live with you through this lifestyle difference?

"Absolutely. We went through tense times, sleepless nights of worry about where he was, but Elijah always knew he was dearly loved and cared for."

How did you handle the gap between your chosen lifestyle and his? How did you manage to keep him home?

"Initially, it was tough and frightening. A teenage search often feels like an 'exit' motion: leaving mitzvot, changing attire... It's scary and angering. But over time, we understood he was searching, even if it meant encountering difficult things because he sought true connection with himself, and hopefully, eventually, with Hashem. He didn’t want to perform outward gestures without true intent. So I wouldn't say he chose a different path. He was searching. It's a process.

"As he matured, we still sometimes disagreed and didn’t accept some things, but our relationship wasn’t defined by externalities and differences. We started seeing positive changes in him. Parenting is always a journey: the picture you imagine for your child constantly evolves. Over time, as your child matures, you discover their personality and talents, and situations improve. We loved what we saw in Elijah, just as he was—there was even comfort, seeing beyond, witnessing purity and rare sincerity. We were proud of the swan he was becoming.

"I believe today's children seek authenticity; they can't be deceived. If they sense something's amiss, they pursue the true path. I think this ties deeply into redemption. We know redemption will come when Hashem gathers us from the four corners. These youths don't settle for the traditional path laid out for them; they seek beyond. We see their Jewish soul, their sensitivity, and their quest for their path. In this, they have a role: teaching adults authenticity, kindness, and forging genuine heart connections."

"Hashem Cherished Those He Called Back; They Died Sanctifying His Name"

When the time came for military service, Elijah, along with his parents, realized the army wasn’t the right fit and obtained an exemption. He continued working and immersed himself in music and art. Simchat Torah arrived, and though their bond was deep, filled with laughter and love, it was odd that Elijah went to a party—unlike him, especially since parties rarely happened on holidays. She tried persuading him to stay, but he insisted, having helped promote and construct the event, which she now considers providence. Their parting words, "Mom, see you"—but they never did.

Do you remember your last moments together?

He left on Friday, having spent a wonderful Sukkot with us, playing music in the sukkah with many guests. Two days before Simchat Torah, friends from Tel Aviv visited. I remember telling them, “You have six days a week to do as you please, keep Shabbat for Hashem.”

When did you realize something was wrong?

During the holiday, Jerusalem faced numerous sirens, news of kidnappings in Gaza's periphery reached us. Knowing his party was southward, yet thinking it was in the Negev, we didn't connect the dots. As reports of over 20 kidnapped emerged, concern grew, yet we tried keeping the holiday spirit. Saturday night, I learned Elijah was unreachable, worrying that his close cousin couldn't contact him after knowing more about a major catastrophe in his area.

What do you know about his final moments?

Today, we know Elijah and a friend likely headed toward Tze’elim and were shot on the deadly road. A close friend recounted that in the hours before the massacre, Elijah encouraged her to maintain good relations with her parents. As danger escalated, everyone sought their group, Elijah and this friend parted ways—she survived, he didn’t. At 8:15 a.m., he told her they were heading home. Fifteen minutes later, they no longer responded. Divine supervision: they went home, eternally.

Simultaneously in Jerusalem, I awoke to the first siren at 8:15, rushing to safety. Planning to organize and take the kids to synagogue, sirens kept interjecting. Wakening, learning my son faced peril—how could I sleep while my son battled for his life? And not just my son, but our entire nation. Hashem, in His mercy, awakened me. I told myself, ‘Hadassah, you were asleep. It's time to awaken! Reflect on the Jewish soul, the Temple's destruction, Hashem’s sovereignty. Bring Hashem into your life, awaken! Jewish life knows no routine of comfort, we must actively engage in faith, even through immense suffering it’s all deep mercy, understanding the world’s ceaseless path to its perfecting state. This is our duty as Israel, eternal work of inner essence, no vacations, no sleep."

How did you handle the uncertainty, knowing Elijah was missing?

“Our son was missing for a week. We learned of the massacre post-Simchat Torah, and the following Saturday night, we were informed of his death. Nothing is coincidental; each day was preparation for embracing Hashem's decree. Daily prayers and Psalms built resilience to accept the outcome. We swung between despair and hope, praying for good news amidst dread... Yet we embraced the trial understanding Hashem’s kindness even here.”

How do you cope with the worst? How do you maintain faith?

“When it happened, I thought, ‘Hadassah, eternity doesn't belong here, whether someone’s 19, or 70, 80, or in strength 120, life here has limits. All suffering originates in mercy. Deep within judgment lies chesed. Even if one endures Job-like trials, eternal reward is unmatched. We cannot grasp eternity, especially as we craft our vessels for it.”

"Strengthened by divine love, we know Hashem cherished those he took, sanctifying His name in their passing. I prayed all my life for Elijah's return, and Hashem placed him among the holy, choosing him to sanctify His name through sacrifice—an unfathomable honor. Perhaps, had he survived, he wouldn't reach such a rare level of holiness. During *shiva*, many spoke: ‘No joy beats clearing uncertainty; perhaps knowing his fate is a relief.’ It wasn’t a relief knowing he died; it was profoundly difficult and bereft of joy. Yet, Rabbi Ashlag, ‘Baal HaSulam,’ writes that all pain stems from failing to recognize divine providence. We can’t fathom how Hashem prepares redemption, but surely, fulfillment will unveil the link between suffering and salvation, seeing adversity as a woven part of redemption’s tapestry. It’s not just that suffering will cease, but reveal its purpose in ushering in redemption.”

“We can’t comprehend now, but when saying ‘no joy like resolved uncertainty,’ perhaps we’ll see Hashem’s goodness, recognizing His care. If glimpsed today, our every moment would be joyous. Like Rabbi Akiva’s smile at foxes in the desolate Temple, laughter belying concern for the destruction, yet seeing it as a redemption sign. In large suffering lies proximity to redemption; where pain exists, is concealed divine goodness. Our healing traverses only through faith in beneficent Hashem.

"Elijah cherished learning at the *Galil Yeshiva* in Nachlaot, open to all regardless of background. There, over about half a year, he completed a *tractate Makkot*. A young man, having similarly traversed and now uplifting others, shared an insight: "During Simchat Torah’s tragedy, we were closest to Hashem. Departing from the sukkah's divine canopy post-week’s sheltering under Hashem’s shadow, we rejoice in Torah before Him. The youths sought true celebration with Torah before Hashem, for a Jew harbors no other desire, I attest as a returnee. True, it differs from our mental picturing, but Hashem used them as collective sacrifices, revealing divine sovereignty within this."

“Even now, a year later, I believe our role is embracing *ahavat Yisrael*, recognizing we all share this moment. It’s not ‘his’ or ‘their’ occurrence, concluded. All are in distress. Yet, ‘time of trouble for Jacob, of it we will be saved—thanks to it.”