It's now a few days since we've heard the tragic news.

Almost like an addict, I still search for any new bits of news. News about the last hours of Rivka or Gaby's life. News about the terrorist groups. News about what could have been done differently to save precious lives.

Almost like an addict, I still search for any new bits of news

It's almost as if these little bits of information will somehow quieten the large and unanswerable questions that still roam freely in my mind. Big questions like WHY? How could it be? How can I resolve this ultimate paradox of paradoxes that seems to fly against everything I believed about the power of good triumphing over evil?

As I wrote in my previous blog, my youngest son, like children and adults the world over, was also greatly affected by this tragedy. He diligently recited hours of extra Psalms and took on as many good deeds as he could muster in the hope of a positive outcome, one that we now know was not meant to be.

There is much that we can learn from children's perspectives—from their intuitive, simple way of thinking. Sometimes, much more than even the deepest philosophies.

I assumed that once my son would hear of the terrible murders, he would be filled with questions and doubt—the types of questions that I was having. And the types of questions that I knew I wouldn't be able to find any answers for, because perhaps, in our exile world, there are no answers.

And, yes, my young but intelligent son did have questions. Many questions. And sad questions.

How are bodies transported in a plane?

But the types of questions that my son asked were unlike the ones that I had expected.

He asked things like:

Did two year old Moshe ever meet his grandparents before? Would he know them and feel comfortable with them?

How old were his grandparents? Were they young enough to have the strength and energy to take care of a young toddler?

When would the funeral take place? How are bodies transported in a plane?

At what age could a young orphan recite the kaddish prayer for his departed parents?

And finally, what were people doing? What campaigns were being started and what good deeds should be taken on in the merit of the Holtzbergs and all the other innocent, holy victims?

These were all difficult and painful questions that I tried to answer as best as I could.

But as I answered my son's questions it dawned on me that his questions were of an entirely different genre than my own. While my questions were in the realm of the theoretical and philosophical, his were entirely practical.

While mine were about "why", his were "how"," when" and "what."

In his simplicity, it was almost like my son intuitively realized that the type of questions that were haunting me were unanswerable, beyond what we can ever fathom, and need to be accepted at a faith level. So why waste our energy and efforts contemplating them?

Because while the "why" squanders our energy, the "how" empowers us to work harder.

While "why" provides an excuse for lethargy, the "how" propels us into action.

There's much we can learn from our children

While "why" lets us hide cowardly behind its depth and magnitude, the "how" demands us to bravely take small, functional steps to make change in our world.

Now is the time for all of us to ask questions. Many questions.

But the questions have to be of the nature that heroically bring more light into our world, rather than get us stuck spinelessly in its darkness.

We need to ask questions like how can we be of help, what can we do to brighten someone else's life and how can we increase joy and meaning in our world.

There's much we can learn from our children.