Remembering Malki on the first Memorial Day after her murderer’s release
Twenty three years ago, soon after immigrating to Israel, my husband and I took our children to the Diaspora Museum in Tel Aviv. Our youngest and only daughter at the time, Malki, was three and a half. At one point, engrossed in the miniature replicas of synagogues from around the world, my husband let her hand slip out of his. By the time he realized it, Malki was nowhere in sight. We searched the entire museum building, questioned the guard who said he hadn’t seen her, and then, along with security men, scoured the grounds.
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| Malki 1985-2001 |
An anxious mother at
the best of times, I crumbled. Through sobs and tears, I cried “How will I live
without my Malki?”
Half an hour later, we found her at the far end of the
campus, sitting in the entrance booth with a guard, munching on a sandwich he
had given her. She had stoically marched
across the vast lawns without betraying her panic. Apparently she looked so
confident that nobody approached her. Having
lost sight of us in the museum, she had set out to find us.
For many years, we would relate this tale to all and
sundry. We framed the happy family photo
taken at the museum after Malki’s return and displayed it in our living room.
The photo still stands on our piano - alongside the many
other photos of Malki that are arrayed there to remind everyone of her. But we
no longer tell the story of her disappearance because my darkest fear of that
day has been realized. I am indeed living without my Malki.
Ten years ago she was the target of a terror bombing. Along
with fourteen other Jewish men, women and children, she died while having lunch
at Jerusalem’s Sbarro restaurant.
The horrific carnage of that attack traumatized a nation
that had already suffered scores of losses since the start of the Second
Intifada in October 2000.
But today, on the tenth Remembrance Day since then, it’s
safe to say that the nation’s memories of that period have faded, if not entirely
disappeared.
Six months ago, with no compunction and perfunctory apologies
but much self-congratulation, our Prime Minister set Malki’s murderer free in
the Shalit swap.
We were devastated. Our repeated warnings against this
resolution of Gilad Shalit’s capitivity had been in vain. Eighty percent of
Israelis supported the release of convicted, confessed murderers.
Ahlam Tamimi, the woman who murdered Malki and fourteen others, the woman who smiled with
joy when she learned that among the dead were eight children and not three as
she had thought - that same woman is now a TV talk show host.
That woman now flies wherever she pleases, whenever the whim
strikes her. She has already been to Lebanon and Tunisia to address adulatory
throngs.
A while ago, I heard about a father who took a gun on a
visit to his son’s grave and shot himself over the tombstone. It was seventeen
years after his son’s death in a battle in Lebanon. I used to wonder why he decided to suicide then,
after surviving the grief for so long.
But now it is no
puzzle. While the pain remains raw, society expects you – even demands of you –
to “heal”, “move on”, “focus on the positive”, and other inane cliches.
Grieving for children grows lonelier and harder with time.
Our own sense of isolation has intensified since October 2011.
The public’s push for the Shalit swap sent terror victims a clear message: the
sacrifices we have made just don’t count anymore.
Today, Remembrance Day, when, despite the national
inclination to forget them, those who were killed in battle and on the home
front are honored, I would like to mention my Malki’s virtues.
The resolve she demonstrated that day in the museum,
manifested later on in myriad ways. Her reaching out to children with
disabilities in every context, school, youth group, community. Her application to, and mastery of, the
flute. Her strong religious and national
convictions. Her dedication to her youth
group, Ezra. Her love and devotion to her parents and siblings.
She also left behind a treasure: a diary from the last year
of her life. The daily entries afford a detailed glimpse of her activities and
thoughts.
Here is what she wrote on the last Yom Hashoah she knew:
“Early in the morning we had the ceremony of the eleventh grade… It was very hard for me. The ceremony was conducted by the girls who returned from Poland. They simply spoke and cried. I couldn’t stop crying. I sobbed during [the singing of] “Ani Maamin”. I just could not sing, could not stop crying and I’ve never had it so hard before. Afterwards Shira [a friend] and I hugged and cried. The teacher (Golda) came over to calm us. Afterwards she [the teacher] told me that perhaps it wouldn’t be a good idea for me to travel to Poland [with the class, the following year] because I am so sensitive. It was very upsetting because, naturally, I would cry there. How could I not?! But it is very important to go. It was very difficult for me to study afterwards. In sport, Leah [a classmate] and I asked the teacher not to have practice because it wasn’t appropriate. So she played us classical music on the piano...”
Malki was murdered two months before her class visited
Poland.
3 comments:
With love and strength from your friends in Philadelphia. It was an honor to meet you and we will always honor Malki's memory. Thank you so much for sharing this and reminding the world what it lost.
Lori
Not everyone has forgotten. Your loss was the loss of all of Am Yisrael.
A mother's broken heart can never mend. Stephanie
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