Certain
events are etched into our collective memories. Anyone who lived in Yerushalayim
ten-and-a-half years ago remembers exactly where they were when they first heard
about the horrific bombing of the number two bus line. For most of us, there
was fear as we waited to hear the names of the dead and wounded, and then a sense
of relief at learning that all our loved ones were accounted for. The following
day, when we heard the cars circling the neighborhoods announcing the funeral
times of the victims, we shuddered and shed a few tears. By the next day we had
returned to our routine lives. But some didn't have that privilege.
As heard from Orah Cohen:
My
story begins on the twenty-first of Av, 2003. It was boiling hot, and my five
children were cranky from being cooped up in the house all day. My youngest was
just one month old, and like every new mother, I was overwhelmed and exhausted.
I was also feeling extremely lonely. It was summer vacation. All my friends
were busy going on trips with their extended family, but as I had immigrated to
Israel just nine-and-a-half years before, I had no extended family in the
country.
I
decided to take the children to the Kosel. I knew that they would enjoy watching
all the people at the Kosel plaza. I was looking forward to the
opportunity to thank Hashem for giving me such wonderful children. Despite my
sense of loneliness and difficult circumstances, five beautiful, healthy
children is a true present from Above.
I
quickly got dressed and (not so quickly!) got my children ready to go out.
Within an hour, I was the happiest mother in the world. I remember sitting near
the Kosel, watching the three older children (my oldest was almost
eight) davening. They were so sweet and sincere. Afterwards, they
watched the baby while I went to daven. As I stood facing the ancient
stones of the Kosel, my davening took on a strange sense of sense of
urgency. At the time, I assumed it was nothing more ominous than the result of
my being a new mother. My children were so beautiful, and healthy — so why did
I have this strange sense of fear? I found myself davening for my
children's health. "Hashem," I pleaded. "Keep my children, and
all Jewish children, healthy and whole."
Tears
sprung to my eyes. I recalled a Holocaust story I
had heard, about a mother pleading with a Nazi soldier not take her children
from her. The Nazi laughed and said, "You can choose only one. The others
must die." My prayers took on a new intensity. I begged Hashem to never
put any Jewish mother in such a horrible situation, ever again.
Afterwards,
when I walked to the back of the Kosel plaza and saw my children playing
together – they were so happy to have escaped the four walls of our tiny
apartment – I had to force back my tears.
It
was getting late. I was anxious to return home; I still had to make supper and
put the children to bed. We arrived at the bus stop and found it packed with
families; lots of strollers, toddlers, and babies in their mothers' arms. There
was a bus standing there, almost ready to leave. I tried to get on, but it was
impossible. There was no choice but to wait for the next bus.
We
were among the first to board the bus and found seats near the middle
door. More and more people pushed their
way onto the bus, so by the time we left, the bus was so jam packed I didn't think
another person could have fit in. At the first stop on Shmuel Hanavi Street, some
people got off the bus. As the bus started to pull away from the curb, people
yelled at the driver to stop. Two elderly men were pushing their way through
the crowd, trying to get off the bus. The bus let them off and then, just as it
began to move, I saw a Chassidishe man run up to the bus, forcefully pull the
closing doors open, and jump inside. With his long peyos and Chassidishe
dress, he looked like everyone else, except that he had an unusually large stomach
(I later learned that he was the terrorist, and that I was the only survivor to
have seen him). As the bus left the bus stop, a father with four young boys tried
to get it to stop and let them on. I noticed their looks of disappointment as
the bus left without them. A strange thought rushed into my head, the thought
that "you're disappointed? Maybe that disappointment saved your
life!"
MY
WORLD WENT BLACK
Suddenly,
my world went black. A strong force pushed me to the floor. Everything started
spinning, and all I could see was fire raging underneath me. My baby fell from my
arms into the abyss, and the roof of the bus collapsed on top of me.
It
took me a few seconds to realize that this was a terrorist attack. I couldn't
think of anything but my children. Where were they? Were they alive? Were they
all alright? In my mind, I heard a voice telling me to choose one. I had just stood
at the Kosel, davening to Hashem that He never put any Jewish
woman in that situation. "Please. Hashem," I cried. "Don't force
me to choose! Return all my children to me."
I
have no idea how much time I remained there, but soon I felt someone lift me
out of the roofless bus and place me on the pavement. I didn't want to be
there. I tried to get up and race back
to the bus to save my children, but I couldn't move. So I just screamed that my
baby had fallen into the fire, that I had five children on the bus, and pleaded
with the people around me to save them. I noticed someone place a man on the
pavement next to me. He had no arms. I begged Hashem that He return my children
whole.
Eventually
someone lifted me into an ambulance. I begged the paramedics to let me stay – I
wanted to be there when they found my children. I was in pain – I had numerous broken
bones and damage to my ear – and of course I was in shock, but all I could
think about was my precious children. At the hospital, a reporter from one of
the newspapers asked me how many children I had. I responded, "An hour
ago, I had five children. Now, I don't even know if I am still a mother."
In
the emergency room, one of the social workers informed me that they were searching
all the hospitals in Yerushalayim for my children. After a few hours, they returned
with good news: I was still a mother. My three older children were together
with me at the same hospital. Although they were injured and had to go through many
painful medical treatments (and ten years later, we still have more to go
through), they were alive, and all their body parts were intact.
Three
hours after the explosion, my one-month-old baby was discovered under the dead
body of the terrorist! He was barely breathing, had a broken hip, an infection
in his eyes and ears, and his lungs were full of smoke, but he was alive. For
hours, announcements had been made on all the radio stations in the country asking
if anyone could identify him, until someone finally put two and two together
and asked me to describe what he was wearing.
One
of the reporters asked me the baby's name. Suddenly, it dawned on me - why, one
month before, I had chosen to call him Elchanan – which means Hashem will show
mercy. Yes, Hodu l'Hashem ki tov, Hashem had shown mercy on my child,
and he was miraculously saved from death.
Now
four of my children were accounted for, but I still had no idea what happened
to my one-and-a-half-year-old daughter, Shira. Later that night, a social
worker entered my room and asked me what Shira was wearing. I told her she was
wearing light blue overalls and black shoes. She took Shira's shoes out of a
black plastic bag and showed them to me. I became hysterical. I was afraid that
the social worker was about to tell me that my child was no longer among the
living. Instead, she informed me that Shira
was alive, and that she was located at a different hospital. She didn't tell me
that my sweet, beautiful Shira was severely injured. I later found out that she
couldn't show me Shira's clothes because they were badly soiled by her blood. The
shoes had been well scrubbed before she showed them to me.
The
following morning I was flooded with love and caring. Everyone wanted to visit
me, to give me words of chizuk, to ask what they could do for me. Jews
from all over the world, from Japan, Taiwan, Paris, South Africa, the United
States, England, South America, and elsewhere, came to express their pain at
what I had gone through, and offer me words of encouragement and support. I felt so connected and cared for. Their love
was a balm for my soul. Until then, I had no family to support me. I felt
completely alone. Suddenly, Am Yisrael became my family,
and today, ten years later, many of the people I met during those difficult
days are still like family to me. They were with me to give me the strength to
continue, and today, they are still there for me.
Sometime
during that first day, my three older children were brought to my room and allowed
to remain. Although I continuously requested that Shira be brought to my hospital,
I was refused with flimsy excuses about hospital policy. I probably would have
gone crazy with worry, except that my room was constantly filled with visitors,
so I didn’t have an opportunity to think. I felt that all of Am Yisrael
was with me, supporting me through this very challenging time, k'ish echad
b'lev echad.
On
Friday morning, two-and-a-half days after the bombing, the social worker
entered my room and requested that all the visitors leave. My children were
also taken out. "Your daughter keeps on crying for you," she began,
"so we decided to transfer her to this hospital. We know that you are a
very strong mother. Now, when you see her, you must continue to be strong. You
must accept her the way she looks, now. Eventually, with treatment and surgery,
she'll return to what she once was. But now, just remain strong and show her your
love."
A
short while later, a doctor entered the still empty room holding what appeared
to be a piece of raw flesh. Before I had a chance to say that they had made a
mistake, that this shapeless form could not be my exquisitely beautiful Shira,
the form screamed, "Ima!" and fainted.
Shira's
body was full of shrapnel. In addition, three shards had penetrated her left
eye. Her eye was infected, and the infection was spreading throughout her body.
The doctors were positive that they would have to remove the eye to stop the
infection and save my daughter's life.
I
remained hospitalized for ten days. Shira was there for twenty days.
When
I returned home, Klal Yisrael was there for me, at my side, holding my
hand. My children were recovering from serious injuries while trying to get
over their emotional trauma. Because of the injury to my inner ear, I was
constantly dizzy and barely able to stand up, let alone run a household. And I
looked as though I had been in a terrorist attack: my nose and jaw were broken,
and I was what you could call a very colorful sight.
Volunteers constantly
appeared at my doorstep to read the children stories, to help them get them
dressed, to give them their baths, and cook them their meals. I felt wrapped in
a cocoon of their love and concern, and it was very empowering. They were there
for me, and because of that, I was positive that together with my children, we
would rebuild our lives and get through this very difficult time.
SURGERY
TO SAVE SHIRA'S EYE
The
surgery to remove the shrapnel and clean the infection from Shira's eye was
scheduled for the week after I returned home. A world-renowned specialist at
Hadassah Hospital agreed to perform the operation. Our prayers were answered,
and he succeeded in saving Shira's eye. For the rest of my life, I will view
him as a malach from Hashem.
The
night before the surgery, I contacted my children's schools and my friends and
asked them to daven for Shira bas Orah. Within a few hours, I
received a phone call that people throughout the world were reciting Tehillim
for my daughter. On the morning of the surgery, while driving with a friend through
the side streets of Yerushalayim to reach the main highway, we saw taxis with
loudspeakers on their roofs announcing that Shira bas Orah, a child
injured in the bombing, was undergoing surgery and requesting that people daven
for her refuah. Even after the surgery, I constantly received phone
calls from schools, seminaries, and yeshivos letting me know that they were
davening for my daughter's recovery. Mi k'amcha Yisrael!
Four
months after the first surgery, my daughter underwent another major operation. This
time I decided to divide the entire sefer Tehillim among a group of
thirty ladies. Instead, it was divided five times, among hundreds of women! Total
strangers volunteered to recite Perek Shirah and Shir Hashirim, and
to refrain from speaking lashon hora, all as a zechus for my
daughter. I have no idea who these people were, but I felt their love. I am
positive that it was due to their tefillos, as well as the the doctor's
compassion and expertise, that the surgery was a huge success.
Today,
as well, there are people around the world davening for Shira's refuah. I recently spoke before a group of American
women about my daughter. Afterwards, one of the women came over to me and said,
"Even though I never met you before, for the last ten years I have been
davening for Shira bas Orah." We hugged, and I felt as though I had
found a long-lost relative.
TEN
YEARS LATER
Ten
years after the bombing, our family is still coping with the aftermath. The
children have undergone multiple surgeries, and, as they grow older, there will
be more. But basically, my children are fine. They have all their body parts,
their scars have healed, and they are doing well in school. It's an absolute
miracle.
And
what about Shira? She recently turned twelve, and celebrated her bas mitzvah
together all the girls in her class. It was incredible act of hashgachah
pratis that the school party for four parallel sixth grade classes took
place on the actual day of her bas mitzvah, which was one of the reasons (but
I'm sure not the only reason!) that they asked be represent the girls and
deliver a speech to all the guests.
The
large hall was packed with hundreds of proud mothers and some older sisters,
yet, as Shira spoke, there was total silence. "When I was just one- and-a-half
years old," she began, "as a result of the bombing of the number two bus,
dozens of shrapnel shards penetrated my body. There were three pieces in my
left eye. The retina in my left eye was torn, and seven out of my nine teeth
were broken. On the way to the hospital,
my heart stopped, and the paramedics performed CPR on me. I arrived at the
hospital unconscious, and not breathing. There was little
hope for my survival…since then, I have had many surgeries, and need to undergo
more surgeries in the future. I survived, and as a result, my life is
different. The bombing built my family in a way that we could have never
imagined. Our life revolves around emunah – emunah in the power
of tefillah, emunah in the power of Am Yisrael's chessed…"
Shira
continued. "One-and-a-half years ago, on the ninth anniversary of the
bombing, my family went to the Kosel, like we do every year, to remember
what happened, and to thank Hashem for having returned our life to us. As we
passed Shaar Shechem, Arabs pelted the bus with huge stones, and continued do
so for some fifteen minutes. The bus windows shattered, and everyone was left shocked
and frightened. Although physically we were not injured, emotionally, we were
traumatized. Ten-and-a-half years have passed since the first attack, one-and-a-half
years since the second. Despite all the physical and emotional scars, I have
merited to reach the age of bas mitzvah. I must thank Hashem for the miracles
and wonders that He performed for me. I survived to be able to sanctify His
name, on this very special day."
After
Shira completed her speech, mothers and teachers came over to me to hug me and
congratulate me on having raised such a special daughter. Many of them had
tears in their eyes.
Shira
really is a very amazing young lady. Although her face is still damaged (she
will be having more plastic surgery in the future, iy"H), she is
beautiful inside. It used to bother her when strangers stared at her, but she
is used to it and takes it in stride (although at times it has been really challenging,
such as the time when the two little girls in the supermarket started
commenting on how ugly she looks, or when an older woman started berating her
for playing with matches and burning herself).
Shira's
personality literally shines. The girls in school love her, and everyone wants
to be her friend. She's an excellent student. Her classmates want to study with
her; before a test, the phone is constantly ringing with girls asking her to study
with them. She's the first to volunteer to do chessed, she often
babysits without financial remuneration for mothers after birth, and regularly delivers
food that I prepare to elderly women in the neighborhood. She speaks openly
about what she's gone through, how it's changed our family's life, and how
we've become much stronger as a result. She loves to sing and play the violin. Baruch
Hashem, she is a happy, healthy young girl with a pure, healthy neshamah.
I
have so much to be thankful for. Hashem returned my children to me, and he gave
me a new, very large family, the Am Hanivchar shel Hakadosh
Baruch Hu.
Shiru
l’Hashem shir chadash! Sing a new song to Hashem!
Debbie Shapiro lives in
Jerusalem with her husband, children, and grandchildren. She works in market
development and teaches writing at Levavi Seminary.
[u1]This is how I originally wrote it, but Orah asked me to change it, that
her teachers taught her in schoolrealize that
she was makpid that it state that this is what her teachesrs taught her.
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