September 29, 2003
The Jewish New Year, Rosh HaShana,
is marked quite differently from January first. Whereas the latter is
celebrated in Times Square, at gala parties, and the like, most of Rosh HaShana
is spend in the synagogue. According to the Jewish calendar, a new ‘day’ begins
at sunset, and so it is that we commenced our year on Friday night with evening
prayers. Following the short service, each family returned to its home and
began the first festive meal of 5764 (counting from the creation of the world),
with the traditional ‘signs’ or symbols of the New Year, beginning with an
apple and honey, while reciting the prayer ‘May it be G-d’s will that we should
have a good and sweet year.’ The next morning, (and the following day too) many
Jews spend between five to six hours at the synagogue, reciting numerous
prayers, while looking back at the past year in retrospect and looking ahead to
the new year with expectation.
I participated in early morning
prayers at Ma’arat HaMachpela, the Tomb of the Patriarchs and Matriarchs. It’s
difficult to characterize one’s own prayer, but I found my worship to be
troubled. Reflecting on the past year was very painful. For many years, while living in Kiryat Arba
before moving to Hebron, I prayed at the same synagogue with my friend Rabbi
Eli Horowitz, sitting one row behind him. Year after year I would not only see
his prayer, but in many cases actually sense it, especially during the High
Holy days of Rosh HaShana and Yom Kippur. I was only a few months ago that
Rabbi Eli Horowitz and his dear wife Dina were cut down in their apartment,
murdered while eating their Sabbath meal
on a Friday night. On Friday night and Saturday morning his image seemed to be
constantly before my eyes.
One Saturday morning, during
prayers, a friend of mine said something to me about the year starting off with
a ‘bang.’ When I asked him what he was talking about he looked at me with
surprise and asked, ‘what, you don’t know?” When I shrugged he added, ‘Negahot
– a terrorist infiltrated last night, started shooting, and killed two people.”
Just as we were sitting down to eat
on Friday night, so too, Eyal and Sarah Iberbaum, together with neighbors Shai
and Shira Abraham, with some other guests, were dipping an apple in honey. The
Iberbaums and Abrahams live in Negahot, about ten miles south-west of Hebron. A
community of over thirty families, Negahot faced tremendous hurdles in the past
few years as a result of the Oslo Accords because the main approach road to the
community was transferred to Arafat and the PA. When the Oslo War began three
years ago that road was cut off to Negahot’s families, who could then enter and
leave their community only from the west. Hebron’s archivist, Shlomit Gadot
could get to her office here in Hebron only after a two hour drive, as opposed
to the twenty minutes it would take before the main road was closed.
Yet, despite the difficulties and
terrorist activity in the area, the community continued to thrive. Not only
didn’t people leave, rather, new families moved in. Negahot families began
building permanent houses, allowing them to move out of temporary ‘caravan’
homes.
Eyal Iberbaum, 27 years old, had
served in Negahot while still in the army, and after marrying a year ago,
brought his bride to live in this beautifully scenic community. The Iberbaums,
together with his neighbors, the Abrahams and some other guests, welcomed the
New Year with hope and expectation for a happy, sweet, and good year.
It was just after nine o’clock when
their dinner was interrupted by sharp knocking at the door. Eyal asked twice,
‘who’s there’ but received only a garbled, unclear answer. When he slowly
opened the door, weapon in hand, a twenty-one year old terrorist from a nearby
Arab village opened fire with an automatic rifle, killing Iberbaum. A guest in
the house quickly shot at the terrorist, preventing him from entering the home.
The terrorist, standing outside, started blasting his rifle at the ‘caravan’ home,
whose walls are constructed of plasterboard. As a result of this shooting,
seven month old Shaked Abraham, infant daughter of Shai and Shira, was hit in
the chest. Her father, an ambulance driver, together with his wife attempted to
resuscitate their daughter, to no avail. She died in their arms. Two other
guests were slightly wounded.
Soldiers serving in Negahot quickly
arrived at the site and within two minutes killed the Arab attacker. It was
later learned that the murderer, Mahmoud Hamdan, was recently released from an
Israeli prison after serving thirteen months because he planned to blow himself up in a suicide attack against
Israelis. An Arab gets a year in jail for attempted murder, is released, and
then fulfills his wish by killing a baby and a 27 year old man on the eve of
the New Year.
At the end of every year, it is customary in certain
circles to crown a ‘person of the year.’ I spent some time thinking about who
is my ‘person of the year.’ In the end, I decided that my choice is not one particular
person - rather it is a collective – Am
Yisrael, living in Eretz Yisrael – the people of Israel, living in the Land of
Israel – they are my ‘person of the year.’ Sure, people like Rabbi Eli and Dina
Horowitz, Shaked Abraham and Eyal Iberbaum. Not only them though – but also Eli
and Dina’s children, Shaked’s parents, and so many others, who have been
afflicted by Arab terror which has left hundreds and thousands of dead and
wounded. These are the people who are continuing to live – who are not giving
up, are not leaving their homes, and have not despaired of their dream. These
are the people of the year – and they are not just in Yesha, - Judea, Samaria
and Gaza. They are from Jerusalem and Tel Aviv, and Hadera and Haifa, Eilat and
Shlomi – continuing to live – to dip an apple in honey, wishing each other a
happy, sweet and good New Year, despite the difficulties, despite the pain.
This is the real Am Yisrael which has returned home – to our eternal home, our
only home, Eretz Yisrael.
With blessings from Hebron, with
blessings for a happy and better New Year, from all of Hebron’s men, women and
children.
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