delray beach orthodox rabbi

                                                                                           
                                                                                                  B"H
           A Day of Remembrance – A Day I’ll Never Forget                                       (Even If My Memory Tries To)
                                  by Rabbi Jack Engel

There are some days that carve themselves into your soul so deeply, they bypass the “delete” button in your brain. Last night’s Yom Hazikaron commemoration was one of those nights. And trust me, if my memory holds onto it, it must be important—I’ve forgotten where I parked my car more times than I care to admit.

But last night wasn’t about parking spots or forgetfulness—it was about remembering the unforgettable. Now, I’ve attended plenty of commemorations in my life. But this one? This one had weight. This one had life. And oddly enough—it had laughter.

Enter: Cheryl Mandel.

If courage could be bottled, this woman would be on every shelf at CVS. Twenty-two years after her son Daniel fell in
service to Am Yisrael, Cheryl stood before a sea of over 2,000 gap year students, not just sharing his story but 
practically channeling his neshama. And she did it all
while cracking jokes. I mean, who else could talk about their son’s heroism and make the audience snort-laugh in the 
audience snort-laugh in the same sentence?

At one point, she looked upward and said, “Daniel, please don’t be too embarrassed by your mother,” and I swear the ceiling tiles shifted from the collective laughter. And yet, behind every smile was a tear waiting its turn.

But Cheryl didn’t come to speak about death—she came to speak about life. Big, beautiful, messy, colorful life.  The kind
 you live when you realize every day is a gift. The kind where youdon’t waste time with nonsense(unless it’s a really good sale at the shuk).  She challenged those students with a 
question most adults run from: “Is there anything in your life worth dying for?  ” And you could feel the silence—it wasn’t empty, it was full. Full of thought. Full of truth.

But the evening didn’t end there.

Next came Rachel Goldberg. Her violin wasn’t just an instrument—it was a voice, a prayer, abridge between worlds. As she played, a video of her late husband—smiling, playing his clarinet—appeared behind her. I’ll be honest: if your eyes were dry during that moment, I assume you also don’t cry at The Lion King, and that’s a whole different problem.

Rachel lost the love of her life, the father of their eight children. She thought she’d never play again.  But then  she realized: music doesn’t just fill silence—it connects souls. And as her bow moved across the strings, it felt like she was having a conversation with Heaven. One note at a time.


You know, there’s a peculiar thing about the Jewish people. We cry and we dance. We mournand we build. We lose—and somehow, we keep loving harder.

So what do we do with a night like this?

We remember—not just the names, but the values they lived for. We remember that Am Yisraelisn’t an ancient idea—it’s a living, breathing, sometimes kvetching, always caring family. Weremember that when tragedy strikes, we don’t crumble—we rally. We bring lasagna, we light candles, we sing, we hug too long, and sometimes, we make jokes that are entirely inappropriate and somehow completely holy.

And most importantly, we live. Loudly. Proudly. Joyfully. Because every day that we choose life is a day we honor those who no longer have that choice.

Cheryl lives in color. Rachel plays with her soul. And we—we continue the song. Sometimes off-key, often too fast, but always with heart.

So go home. Laugh. Cry. Do a mitzvah. Say a prayer. And remember that you are part of something bigger, older, and more beautiful than any one of us alone.

Because the best way to honor those we’ve lost… is to live lives they’d be proud of.

And hey, if you can throw in a good joke while you’re at it? Even better.