I couldn’t tell my daughter a Jewish child was the latest victim of terrorism. Again.

When my daughter got home from school a few days ago she asked me what was wrong. I said, “Nothing.” She said, “No, really. What’s wrong?” I told her that something had happened in Israel, but that she didn’t need to know the details and went back to baking pumpkin bread.

She didn’t need to know that three months ago a Jewish baby girl took her first breath. And from that moment on she became a target.

She didn’t need to know that the baby’s parents had tried for a very long time to have a baby and that she was considered their “miracle baby.”

She didn’t need to know that while the parents took their baby to the Kotel for the first time, to offer thanks to G-d for giving them a baby, and while they held her up towards the Temple Mount and said, “This is the holy place, this is the Temple Mount,” that a man driven by hatred was driving towards them with one thing on his mind – to kill Jews.

She didn’t need to know that the Temple Mount, the holy place the parents were showing their baby, is the place Netanyahu vowed to keep the “status quo,” i.e. no Jewish prayer allowed.

She didn’t need to know that the leader of Israel is standing in direct opposition to the desire of G-d, expressed by Isaiah, which is for Jews, along with people from all the nations, to pray on the Temple Mount.

She didn’t need to know that every day Netanyahu prevents Jews from praying on the Temple Mount, is another day of weapons instead of plowshares, violence instead of peace.

She didn’t need to know that after the parents left the most holy place on earth and waited for the train, that the Arab man driven by hatred, drove his car into a crowd, hitting the baby’s stroller, causing her to fly 20 meters into the air.

She didn’t need to know that when the baby landed, she landed head- first.

She didn’t need to know that her country sends millions of tax-payer dollars to support the so-called leader who incited this violence against Jews by warning Palestinians of the “Jewish encroachment” on the Temple Mount, while calling the Jews a “heard of cattle” and demanding a populace who hates Jews to take vengeance “by any means.”

She didn’t need to know that the twenty year-old Arab who answered Abbas’ call for vengeance by murdering a baby, had already been in jail for terrorist activity.

She didn’t need to know that Israel is prone to catch and release terrorists to appease the government that sends millions of dollars to support the government that incites terrorists.

She didn’t need to know that her country urged Israel to “remain calm” after the terrorist attack. As if calmness is a normal reaction to a baby being murdered.

She didn’t need to know that the angels, that the baby’s father had just described to her while standing below the Temple Mount, that used to cover the ark in the Holy of Holies, were now holding the baby’s soul.

My daughter already knows too much. She did not need to know more. She knows that much of the world hates Israel and the Jews. She knows of the battles on many fronts that Israel fights. She knows of the murder of the infant Yonatan Palmer. She knows of the murder of the Fogel children. She was in Israel when Gilad, Naftali, and Eyal were kidnapped and knows of their murder. Like I said, she knows too much.

That’s why I could not bring myself to tell her why I was upset this time. Instead, I made her pumpkin bread. I was careful not to let tears spill into the batter, though. Instead, in the memory of baby Chaya, I added an extra ingredient. I added hope. Hope that Chaya would be the last child taken. Hope that the angels who escorted her to heaven would soon find residence again in a House on the spot where Chaya’s father showed her was the most holy place. Hope that Chaya Zissel Braun’s sweet short life would hasten the redemption.