This week we are focused upon the Jewish response to death: the aftermath of Yom Hashoa, the onset of Yom Hazikaron, and the reading of double Torah portions, Aharei Mot/Kedoshim, that commences with the somber words "after the deaths of the two sons of Aaron the high priest, when they drew near before God."

In 1995, Rabbi Ismar Schorsch, then chancellor of the Jewish Theological Seminary, reflected upon the Oklahoma City massacre, just as we now seek to cope with the Virginia Tech tragedy. As guidance, Schorsch offered existential insight into the nature of a sin that warranted a death sentence.

Witnessing their father's successful sacrifice within the newly consecrated Tabernacle, Nadav and Avihu falsely deduced that now they understood God's ways. Presupposing they were in control of the divine plan, the sons of Aaron cast aside the prescribed formula for offerings. Tragically, they came forward with their own version of fire and incense, viewed by God as aish zara, an alien flame. Schorsch suggested that this dramatic punishment was intended to "demonstrate that God's will remains free and inscrutable."

From the tragic deaths of Aaron's offspring, we learn not to assume that we can grasp God's role in our world. When faced by the death of a loved one, we must avoid the temptation to become immobilized by pondering: "How could God allow such evil to occur?" Human comprehension of the ways of the divine is unachievable!

Instead, Schorsch counseled us to "refuse to allow the onset of chaos [caused by the death of a loved one] to destroy the framework of our faith." Rather, in rending our garment, let us take an existential leap back into affirming the almighty as dayan ha'emet, the arbiter of both what appears good and what seems bad as well. Once our connection with the sacred is reaffirmed, let us reinfuse our lives with meaning via the spiritual discipline of Judaism, notably the recitation of Kaddish.

Abraham Joshua Heschel noted in his analysis of the mitzva of prayer: "There need be no prayerful mood in us when we begin to pray. It is through our reading and feeling of the words of the prayers…through empathy for the ideas with which the words are pregnant that [meaningful] prayer comes to pass."

Communally, amid the shock of death, we invest our lives with meaning by performing acts of hesed, loving-kindness, toward the mourner. To that end, the Chesed Shel Emet Society of Boro Park, Brooklyn, arranged an immediate funeral for Liviu Librescu, the engineering professor who died protecting his students at Virginia Tech. The burial society prepared his body in accordance with Jewish law and coordinated transport to Ra'anana, Israel, for respectful burial. Few Boro Park residents knew Librescu personally. They had learned, however, that he was a Jew, a survivor of the Shoa, a former refusenik, and a mensch. They knew that he embodied a moral imperative of Aharei Mot/Kedoshim: Lo ta'amod al dam re'echa – "do not stand idly by the blood of your neighbor."

A recorded message in Yiddish and English urging residents of Boro Park to attend the funeral blared over a loudspeaker attached to a sedan driven through local streets. As one of the overflow crowd of hundreds of people in attendance commented, "I felt that if he gave his life for others, I wanted to show my respect and appreciation."

As its act of hesed, the United Jewish Communities national office partnered with the New York Board of Rabbis in sending Jewish chaplains to Virginia Tech. They came with expertise in disaster response and grief counseling, directly supporting students and staff, Jewish and non-Jewish alike. Hesed also has been reflected by the outpouring of heartfelt prayer within synagogues on behalf of the souls of those who perished, for the healing of the wounded and traumatized, and in concern for the affected families.

In the aftermath of tragedy, let us seek to help and support one another. Let us also adhere to the wisdom of Elie Wiesel, the voice of the survivors of the Shoa: The tragic realities of life mean that "[f]aith must be tested. But it must not remain severed or sundered. We must press on.… We must pass through a period of anguish, then one of respite, ultimately recovering and rediscovering the faith of our sages. Because without faith we could not survive. Without faith our world would be empty."