By Mimi Fellig

Moshiach is not here yet. The Rebbe urged us to open our eyes — perhaps today we need to open them even wider.

Yes, the world is racing toward Geulah. So many incredible things are unfolding with breathtaking speed. Yet at the very same time, there is still loss, grief, and pain. None of us controls tomorrow.

We are blessed every minute, every hour, every day. But human nature often reacts more strongly to pain than to blessings. As Reb Mendel Futerfas said, it is easy to drift into numbness — but that is not how a Jew is meant to live.

When we hear good news about another Jew, we should truly feel joy for them and celebrate their simcha wholeheartedly — even if we ourselves are still waiting for ours. Let people know how genuinely happy you are for them.

Recently, too many young children have been taken from this world. Perhaps Hashem needs them to help bring Moshiach in a more revealed way. Maybe the Rebbe needs them near him to strengthen Tzivos Hashem, the army he built to help win this final battle. Or perhaps these precious Neshomos are simply too pure and elevated for an imperfect world.

We teach our children that angels cannot do mitzvos — only people can. Children particularly run to do acts of kindness and goodness. They want to tip the scale. They truly believe they can help bring our generation to Geulah.

But when Hashem takes a child too soon, the pain is beyond words. It changes a family forever — especially the mother who carried that child. Until we are reunited, how could it not?

People often say, “Time heals.” Does a parent miss a child less as time goes on? If someone travels far away, do you not long to see them even more? After a Taanis (fast, )the hunger often grows stronger, not weaker.

In the same way, a mother who loses a child may feel the longing more deeply with every birthday, every Yom Tov, every graduation, every family simcha, and each photograph that reminds her of what feels painfully incomplete.

We do not simply “get over it.”
Somehow, we learn to carry it.

We are allowed to be multifaceted — or, as some call it, “complicated.” A person can laugh and cry in the very same moment. Mothers miss their children with a force words cannot fully describe. And the sensitivity of others truly matters.

Please do not say, “I don’t know what to do.”
Sometimes simply saying, “I am so sorry,” is enough.

There are many quiet ways to show kindness, to show up, and to learn what helps. It is not about being “in the know.” It is not about us — it is about the other person.

And perhaps a small thought about the phrase “BDE.”

Very often, the moment someone passes away, people quickly type those letters almost automatically. No one means harm, chas v’shalom — it has simply become habit. But perhaps we can bring a little more warmth and humanity into those words.

Instead of just writing “BDE,” perhaps write the words out:
“Baruch Dayan HaEmes.”
And maybe add:
“May Hashem comfort you.”
“My heart is with you.”
“I am so sorry for your loss.”

You can send a private message afterward, a thoughtful note, or even a small personalized card.

Eventually, the family will read those messages — and they will feel your warmth. It matters.

Speech is a gift that distinguishes us as human beings. Words can build, and words can break. “BDE” has become normalized, but sometimes normalization can lessen sensitivity.

The mourner says “Baruch Dayan HaEmes” because ultimately we accept Hashem’s greatness even when we cannot understand His ways. But perhaps for others — especially when speaking to grieving parents — gentler and fuller words can bring more comfort.

And if you cannot find the words, then simply sit quietly beside them without looking at your phone.

That alone can mean everything.

And soon, very soon, may there no longer be a need to say or write “BDE” at all.

May it transform into something entirely different:

BEST DAY EVER — Moshiach is here.

May it happen now.

—

—in honor of Dovi Fellig, a boy who loved all and a very special sensitive soul