Oh heavens to Murgatroyd, or Meshuggeneh, or Mishigas, or something beyond me now.
I keep wanting to slap so many of the people I read about in the paper. 
"We can't figure out how to make a conference call so we're going to appoint a kind of shabbas goy to conjure up and pronounce something appropriate in the wake of this foul attack." 
The spineless worms who made you weep have nothing but contempt for tears, especially boy tears.
This earth contains the dust and bones of centuries of dead Jews, and we are the ones standing on it now who have been given a voice and a sense of decency.  Be stoic and silent, or scream with the outrage of a thousand dead horse-trader grandfathers, but don't snivel in public. 
This is not the blessing of a formidable enemy. These are bugs. And there are kids watching.