Dafna: Why So Different?

Why does this feel so different?

Because she was a beautiful mother butchered in front of her children?

Because she was a nurse, that would have treated her murderer had he come to her wounded, after slaughtering her neighbor or friend?

Because as I return from Migdal Haemek to Jerusalem, and stare out the bus window at our beautiful homeland; I see nothing but the wind swept sands of a middle eastern storm that has blotted out the sun, brought dusk to our dawn, grey to our green.

Because a father wails with his children.

Because parents . . .

Because neighbors . . .

Because friends . . .

Because two adopted children are sobbing with their adoptive father, and siblings who shared their mother, that died with a knife lodged in her chest, and ours.

Why does this feel so different?

Because my daughter is a nurse with young children?

Because my wife is, at this moment, walking to accompsny Dafna, on her final journey.

Because yesterday, while horror was unfolding, I was shopping at IKEA in Haifa with my grandchildren, as were numerous Muslims -Israelis, like me- with their children and grandchildren, who had nothing whatsoever to fear.

Why does this feel so different?

Because the world is silent?

Because Palestinians celebrate?

Because this awful, awful settler mother is actually part of the brutal, nazi-like, oppressive regime that causes the hatred, that fuels the rage, that feeds the desperation, that cries out for understanding, as it thrusts a knife into a young woman’s heart, in her home, in front of her children .

. .

Because Muslim religious leaders don’t condemn this, they teach it.

Because I’m a racist Islamophobe for saying such a thing.

Because mine is a cynical, twisted mind that would say; just like America needs tough gun control, Palestinians need tough knife, scissor and front bumper control.

Because there is so much sadness.

Because a whole country is dazed.

Why does this feel so different?

Because it is impossible to grasp.

Because it is impossible to comfort the mourners. Impossible!

Because life can’t continue like this.

Because we know it will.

Because, again, we know we are one family. With one home, one heart, one Jerusalem, one memory, one destiny.

Because we know that articles like this actually add up to nothing.

Because we wish that thousands and thousands and thousands of Jews would come home tomorrow; for a visit, for Shiva, for Shabbat, just to enjoy our music, just to pray and study with us, just to be with us—for their sake as much as ours—

Because . . .


Why does this feel so different?


Because all it leaves in it’s wake is ruin, and silence.

And more silence.


Because beyond heavens belief, it may even leave beauty? Tearborne

Jewish beauty. Israeli beauty.


Because maybe it’s unique.


Why does this feel so different?

Because maybe it’s not so different at all.

About the Author
Shimon Apisdorf has authored ten books that have sold over a quarter million copies and have won two Benjamin Franklin awards. His family moved to Israel in the summer of 2012. His new website is currently under construction.