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AV HARACHAMIM Napoleon Bonaparte walked past a synagogue, one ninth of Av, supposedly asking about wailing he heard from within. He was told Jews were mourning the destruction of the Temple, 1800 years earlier. The story goes, Napoleon vowed, "this people is destined for a future in their own homeland," emphasizing, "Is there any other people who have kept alive such mourning and hope for so many years?" There is no other people like Jews. We live. We love. We mourn our dead. We grieve our murdered. Walid Shoebat, the alleged terrorist touring his reformation into a Christian Zionist, looked at me as we stood together at Bus 19 outside Faith Hope Chapel in Denver Colorado, and said, "You Jews. You're amazing. You don't hate." He's right. In this year, 5764, Jews still do not hate. We want peace. July 24th, Tisha B'Av, anniversary of the greatest tragic events in Jewish history, destruction of the first Temple and of the Second, will be a day of mourning for Jewish lives stolen in the name of Allah. We will mourn the International Court of Justice's decision Israel's security fence is illegal, despite its saving Christians and Muslims and Jews. This fence would have saved my brother's life just like the life saving fences do in Northern Ireland, in Cypress, around Buckingham Palace, gated communities in California, New York and other parts in the world. I cannot explain why the fence in the Holy Land, is smeared as solely a Jew saver. I can offer my personal thought the ICJ's decision is veiled anti-semitism, permission to violate more Yiddin around the world: nail bomb in Tel Aviv; a young mother in France magic markered on her flesh with swastikas because her ID card showed she lived in a rich neighbourhood her attackers said only Jews live in. Cretien spoke out. No surprise. The young woman was not a Jewess. From sunset to sunset on Tisha B'av, during Ma'ariv, the evening service, on this day of sadness, the aron kodesh, holy cabinet holding the Torah, sits draped in black. Kehillas, congregations, mourn uncomfortably on the floor reading Jeremiah, Ezikiel, Isaiah and Megillat Eichah, Lamentations, contemplating what we must do for the third Temple to be built. While we teach our children to mourn, the fanatics teach their children, too. About death. Ours. Arabic children read, in the PA's 6th-grade schoolbook "Reading the Koran," Allah's warning to Jews "Oh you who are Jews ...long for death if you are truthful... for the death from which you flee, that will surely overtake you.." Fear there may be more broken hearted families of current terrorism atrocities, left seeking understanding the senselessness of these dastardly acts, sobbing in a way none of you should ever know from. We must remember terrorism isn't new to Jews. It's just that its hit the technological age, with bullies boasting their shameful deeds within nanoseconds. I thought, 6 months after my brother's murder, accompanying my youngest son, in a drive across America, my sadness might drift away with each mile that flew by on the Interstate. It didn't. I saw hawks soaring in the sky. And I tried to imagine what a neshama looks like. The Lubavitcher rebbe says when people die, neshamas are freed from bodies able to be with their loved ones forever. As we drove across the stark deserts of Texas, I saw Israel's sands a haven for murderers intent on destruction of civilians going about their daily lives. Interstate exits for Palestine and Lebannon, made me think how we have peace in Palestine, America but not in Israel. Continuing on the 10, past holiday fireworks in El Paso, my son was excited over the explosive color bursts. I wasn't. With each explosion, I ducked, looking for the bomb, recalling witness testimonies of Bus 19's detonation. A high pitched whine. A searing flash of white light. Body parts flying. Death everywhere. My son heard roadside cheers from the El Paso crowd. I could only hear sounds described to me of the carnage from that Thursday workmorning- screams of horror, shock, the wounded. The dying. Well. They offer only silence. My son is now understanding how our grieving differs. Why sisters don't just "move on. Life's like that." He's 21. Sisters wear lifetimes on their shoulder sleeves. Family history. I think he understands, eyes open, eyes closed, I see my brother in vignettes- a child when I married; and a dad with his baby girls. Sometimes only my lashes wet. Other times, tears stream my cheeks. My family photo box holds memories of our teaching, together, my horse to put jackets on people. It would be wonderful if we could put a protective jacket over Israel. Tisha B'av, maybe, we can. Through, tefilla, prayer. Days before the International Court of Justice gave their green light for murder, I photographed 24 year old Ishmael, a west Jerusalem Arab, in Geyser Springs Arkansas, hugging my son Brad. Ishmael wants the wall built. He said he doesn't want to die in his homeland. I am at a loss to explain to you the Netherlands Court, deaf to the sounds of Jews being murdered, what do they need to hear. They ignored the sound of Bus 19, blowing up blocks from Alexander Yakobson's house, next to a kneewall, in Jerusalem's suburb, Rechaviah. Eleven men and women were murdered. The day I visited, the wall was covered with Yartzeit candles, flowers, signs and photos of beloveds. Alexander Yakobson wants a barrier built between him and Bethlehem. He doesn't want more murders on his doorstep. Newswires around the world, on July 12th quoted Sami Masrawa unable to forget the pregnant woman mangled on a Tel Aviv sidewalk after being slaughtered by a terrorist. He cannot escape images of the Israeli soldier with half her head blown off. Masra, 29, headed the local committee seeking "co-existence between Israelis and Palestinians," until he lay in his hospital bed. Shards of glass in his leg prompted his political transformation, wanting Israel's barrier built in the West Bank, figuring out what I've been saying for 6 months, since the day I stood at the Hague next to my brother's one way ticket to terror, Bus 19, "these terrorists don't differentiate between Jews and Arabs. They just want to kill." I guess I should be thankful his conversion happened at all. I wish it had happened January 28th. Even earlier. The murderer of Bus 19, Ali Jaara, was a PNA officer, from my brother's neighboring community of Bethlehem, the second PNA officer to slaughter a citizen from Chezi's town of Beitar Ilit. November 4, a PNA officer sprayed a commuter bus murdering a 16 year old girl from there. January 29, 41 year old Chezi was vicerated. Two PNA officer murderers. One by gun. One by bomb. Media coverage ignores Muslim Clerical Fatwahs soliciting the slaughter of Jewish forces of occupation- babies, dads with babies- a father of 7 sons and daughters under the age of 16. Chezi's murder magnified a situation Jews outside of Israel can no longer disregard as not a threat. Bus 19 is visual proof to America a bus is a bus. Egged, Greyhound. Metroliner. Doesn't make a difference to Bomb murderers. A suspicious package in the Metro, on Amtrak may be a nail bomb in disguise. International Court of Justice judges chose to ignore Bus 19, February, at the Netherland's Peace Palace. It stood beside the Hague's memorial to the Holocaust dead. Arab protesters were allowed to violate Hague law forbidding carrying swastikas in Netherland streets. Jews were forbade to fly Israel's flag. Ahhhh, now the Hague ruling makes sense. A man who knew Chezi says he has been paralyzed since hearing the tragic news of my brother's murder. He asked a question I hear so many times. about Chezi's 7 kids along with the countless Lost Children to whom Chezi was a mentor, a brother, a surrogate Dad. "What do I do?" I passed forward advice my brother gave another man thinking of getting engaged. My brother's eyes twinkled "Make it special, whatever you do." The Shabbat of Chezi's murder, while Toronto's Rabbi Taub read Chezi's, "If you don't cry who will," I was distracted by a young woman stair top of the women's section, holding her siddur. Upside down. Her smile gave way she was ecstatic to be in shule. She joined a younger woman and an older. Soon, a second young lady joined the three. It was a perfect respeth to my mourning. You see, the young ladies were developmentally challenged, in shule, being Jews. Davening. Or at least trying, guided by a wain young woman, caring to make a difference, a sister who transformed grief from her brother dying into positivity of working with special Jews. Watching the sister laughing with the girls, turning pages in their siddurim, I whispered to her bereaved mother, "these girls, Chezi's kids, the children the world leaves behind, are a sign, a siman, my brother is alive, that his work will continue." "Maybe," I told the mom, "the girls' laughter brings us one mitzvah closer to the moshiach, the messiah." Maybe, the young ladies tefillah on Tisha B'av, along with the at-risk children left in limbo when Chezi was murdered, will begin the Temple being rebuilt. If the lost youth can be found. Chezi walked streets of Kikar Tzion at 3 in the morning finding children, his colleague Casriel Accardi describes as "who didn't make it in yeshiva; who were abused; discarded by their families. He understood them, spoke their language, took time to find out where they came from, and in many cases, saved their lives." Casriel met Chezi 8 days before he was murdered. "I don't know what to say about the dozens of teenagers he was in the midst of saving, who looked to him like a father or like a big brother, or the hundreds of parents and kids who read his weekly guidance column. I only know there must be a void so big that I am afraid to look at it." Tisha B'Av might be a day to acknowledge people struggling through the void. Chezi's kids. Chezi's parents," the countless faceless youth" my brother worked with, some of whom came to our shivah in Israel, young men, adults tossed away as worthless, paying their respects to their dead friend. One mom asked how will she raise her child without Chezi's columns. Another, after reading Chezi's obituary, wondered what she would do with her son. He was supposed to meet Chezi, the day he died. Yossi, a ZAKA volunteer, brought a fifteen year old boy to Chezi, Wednesday. Thursday, Yossi, after answering Bus 19's body recovery call, brought the child news, his friend was dead. Yossi showed me where my brother sat on the Bus. And where his murderer sat. In the seat in front of him. Tears streamed, he said, "I kissed him good bye, Carrie." This year, I think, Jeremiah, the prophet, will weep with us, for each neshamah, jewish soul, lost at the hands of fanatics influenced by Clerics distorting the Koran. Chezi's friend from Shappell, stunned when he recognized Chezi's photo at Bus 19 in Denver, wiped away tears, "When I look at Bus 19, I see Chezi in the driver's seat, up there, smiling, waving, saying as he always did, "C'mon Jews, let's get it together." Casriel screamed in a blind note he sent to the world, to Hashem, on January 30th, "murder that monster and the rest of our enemies NOW," Then, offering the comforting words of Av Harachamim, "May He, before our eyes, exact retribution for the spilled blood of His servants, as is written in the Torah of Moses, the man of God: for He will avenge the blood of His servants and He will bring retribution upon His foes; and He will appease His land and his people." Chezi sought the same reward Rabbi Akivah held in focus, Olam Habah, the world to come. But pain remains for the families left behind in Olam Hazeh, this world. Maybe the Lost Children- the at-risk ,the developmentally challenged- are core to theTemple's rebuilding, like the young giggling ladies holding their siddurim upside down at the Bayit. Isaiah 66:10, shares, "Rejoice greatly with her, all who mourn her." Chezi's last email to Casriel said, "you'll do just fine, friend." We must. We must never lose hope. The fanatics haven't. I leave you with Preacher Naser al-Omar words, calling for murders of infidels, "We should hope for more terror bombings to kill more of the enemies of God - Jews and Christians".