I will never EVER forget the story of Yosef Lepon, told by his mother Shoshana:
.... My husband and I had just walked through the front door of our home in Jerusalem’s Old City when the phone rang.
“Mom,” I heard my son groan. “It’s Yosef... I’m all right.”
“You’re all right?” I gasped (not having imagined otherwise). “Where are you?”
“In the hospital. I got stabbed.”
* * *
.... When Yosef was strong enough to be formally questioned, the detectives came to the hospital. Being artistic by nature, he was able to vividly describe the man he had seen following behind him and helped the police develop a composite picture. This was sent to all police stations and prisons, and it didn’t take long for a positive identification to be made. Ironically, my son’s attacker had been arrested a few days after stabbing him, on charges of illegal building and tax evasion. He was already behind bars!
The night we heard about the terrorist’s apprehension was the night of my forty-first birthday. Yosef’s friends were keeping watch by his hospital bed; my older daughters were babysitting the younger children; and my husband and I were planning to celebrate with an evening out.
We were ready to leave when the telephone rang; a close friend calling to say he had just heard the news of the apprehension on the radio. Since we don’t have a TV in our home, my husband and I went to a neighbor to watch the evening news. First we had to sit through a lot of talk by one politician after another, some update on a strike in another city, a weather report, and suddenly there it was:
"Fauzi Natzche, a twenty-eight-year-old resident of East Jerusalem, stabbed seventeen-year-old Yosef Lepon, a resident of the Jewish Quarter, on February sixth. When asked why he did it, Natzche explained, ‘I was depressed because I owed so much money, so I decided to go out and kill a Jew!’ "
This was not specifically the call of Jihad, but something else. What kind of inconceivable mindset is it, in which one believes that shedding the blood of a Jew can make you feel better? As if we have a magical healing property coursing through our veins.
The jihadists share that view:
Maybe this is simply the Jew-hatred du jour, but it strikes me as somehow very different from what we're "used to" -- from Nazis and the like, to whom our blood was inconsequential. In an odd and very sick way, this mindset seems almost reverential.
As a Jew by choice rather than birth, it was literally shocking to experience it firsthand.
... I wish I could find the words to tell you how it feels to have these monsters thirsting for your blood, but I haven't the words. I can't truly comprehend it immediately and it feels kind of weird and numb. When you read, "we know that there is no blood better than the blood of Jews," you are tempted to laugh and cry and vomit all at the same time, but you end up doing none of those because you can't really wrap your mind around it. I guess this is what shock feels like, an odd sensation of lack of sensation.
However much I was duly and repeatedly warned beforehand, no amount of preparation can really prepare you for all that it means to be a Jew. One minute, I was not hated by people I didn't even know and then in the next minute, as I stepped out of the mikvah, I was.
Perhaps I do not yet understand all that born Jews take for granted, and perhaps in the bigger picture, any difference between the thought process of a German Nazi and that of a run-of-the-mill Arab Muslim... doesn't really matter. I would be interested to know your thoughts.
At any rate, I was terribly saddened this morning, but not surprised, to read this at Arutz Sheva:
A Jewish professor in the university in Lviv, Ukraine, was murdered by three Arab students, Arutz Sheva has learned.
According to initial details, the three students had failed in their studies and sought revenge for their dismissal from the university. They decided to murder their Jewish professor.
May "The Place" bring comfort to those who grieve ... among all the mourners for Zion and Jerusalem.
Only G-d, who knows the secrets of the heart, is truly capable of fathoming such grief, and of providing comfort.
.... Consolation is not a natural process. Neither the passage of time, nor the awkward, well-meaning gestures of others can remove the memory or wipe away the pain. That is why we ask God to comfort him ― because we cannot.
Gd grant us peace from days of evil.