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Unfortunately, a few years ago I attended the funeral of a close friend who died unexpectedly. He was 24, a newlywed, and in good health, but his heart gave out suddenly while he was driving alone to work, (he had pulled over due to the pain), and just like that he was gone.

The funeral procession passed by the Jewish Children’s Museum in Brooklyn New York on it’s way to the graveyard. And as I stood there watching the thousands of mourners that had shown up to pay their last respects I started looking at the mural at the front of the museum.

As a bit of a backstory, the mural consists of photos of thousands of children, of all races and religions, and they form the photo of Ari Halberstam, a boy that was shot and killed in a hate crime on the Brooklyn Bridge.

Knowing this I began to wonder what Ari was thinking, watching this through the thousands of eyes in his photo…

THROUGH ARI’S EYES
As seen through the eye on the wall

The Eye on the Wall

I knew this day was different, something was amiss
Instead of waking to children’s laughter my day started like this

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Their crying awoke me, assaulting my ears
I watched and hurt again, all of my eyes brimming with of tears

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I’d seen it before but never this real
My hearts cracked and faded never to heal

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The car pull up, the truth all to clear
One look, one glance, brings to life their worst fear

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My eye took in their what ifs, and how comes
As they faced the wooden box, trying to undo what they had never done

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Minute by minute, hour by hour
The pain not decreasing, only growing in power

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I watched the sea of hurt come floating by
As they assaulted the heavens with; “how could you let him die”

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“Too young” “Too soon”, isn’t that always the way
Yet this one is different, takes me back to my day

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I knew their tears, felt their pain in my skin
Saw the helpless faces, took it all in

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And as the car pulled off taking him away
They hugged and cried, and tried to face the day

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The dirt fell, covering him part by part
Each drop made them cringe as the shovels pierced their heart

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Pale as ghosts, trembling with dread
Their lips saying the words they should never have said

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I saw them walk away, through the crowd, to the car
Keeping him close, as they moved him so far

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I’ll be there to greet him, as they try  and comfort his parents,  his wife
Too young and too soon, The story of my life…