About a month ago, I mentioned that I was looking to be inspired by Judaism again. I was missing it, searching for it, needing it.

And then something happened just a few short days later. Three young teenagers — boys, babies — Eyal Yifrach, 19, Gil-ad Shaar, 16, and Naftali Fraenkel, 16 — were kidnapped by terrorists. On their way home from school.

And for 18 days, I watched an entire Jewish community stand tall and pull together in hope, in tears, in worry, in prayer. I watched these three boys become everyone’s boys — OUR boys.

And for 18 days, I prayed.

I cannot remember the last time I prayed.

The bodies of the boys were found yesterday.

These three mothers live in a world where their three babies were murdered.

I was at a loss for words yesterday. I am still at a loss for words today. My heart is heavy, my head is angry.

But I am reading your words—your posts, your articles, your status updates. I am seeing my social media feeds taken over by photos, by videos, by prayers. I watch a live feed of the funerals and watch videos of thousands of mourners uniting together at the kotel—to sing, to cry, to pray, to hope that this never happens again.

To honor their memory. To move forward. Through the pain and the hurt and the fear…this overwhelming sense of solidarity.

So, yes, of course, my heart is very heavy and my head is angry.

But my soul is inspired.