As family members arrived and hundreds of people began milling around outside, Aliza refused medical treatment for herself and directed the Magen David Adom paramedisc to her baby who had developed a fever. She retreated into a bedroom with her children. “I wanted to protect them, to embrace them with love,” she recalls. Her initial reaction, a kernel of maternal support, became the leitmotif that has seen the family through the years.
Jews all over the world were reeling as the death toll rose during the Second Intifada. For most of us, the pain faded in the maelstrom of daily living. For the victims of terror, however, the pain remains.
Moving The Family Forward
For the first two years after Yossi’s death, with the added pressure of Mai’s on going heart surgeries, Aliza was happy to have her mother and sister move into her home for support. Aliza and the children slept in one bed. Her nights were broken by their sobs and by the two-hourly feedings that Mai still needed.
From the start, OneFamily actively supported the family both financially and emotionally. “I could call Mindee Levinger, our Polish mother, and she’d be by my side within five minutes,” says Aliza. “OneFamily didn’t give me pity, but understanding. They see me, not what I’ve been through.”
Despite all the help, after a year of keeping things together, Aliza fell apart. “For three months, I stayed in bed, cried all day and stuffed the windows with pillows to protect my family,” she recalls. Luckily, Aliza was able to realize she wasn’t being fair to the children. She summarizes her struggle to recover by saying simply, “After a visit to a psychiatrist, I began medication and pulled through.”
The next three and a half years passed in a blur of Mai’s medical complications, including several strokes, additional surgeries, and ongoing infections. During this period, Aliza realized the time had come for her mother and sister to leave because she needed to take charge of her family.
Mor, who was then fourteen years old, fell into a depression. She refused to go to school, spending her days on the couch with a blanket. On good days, Aliza convinced her to attend classes for an hour, while she waited outside. Her recovery began with the birth of a niece. Aliza, who had been present at the birth, instructed Mor to get dressed and take a cab to the hospital. “Seeing new life awakened within her the will to fight for her own,” explains Aliza.
Tzach too withdrew into himself. Once a popular boy, he refused to socialize, spending his days at school or opposite his computer screen. Food took the place of friends and his weight ballooned to a hefty 180 kilos. “His fat became his belt of defense,” says Aliza. After being refused admittance to the army because of his weight, at the age of twenty, Tzach underwent surgery and is now learning to be a paramedic.
Eden was the closest to Yossi and walked around hugging his photo to her chest. A month after his death, the eight-year-old told Aliza, “I’m wearing a mask and you won’t see me crying.” Today Eden, who is in the army, is the child Aliza worries about the most. “I’m waiting for the mask to drop,” she says.
One Life for Another
A year after Yossi’s death, when his childhood friend was killed in the suicide bombing attack on the number 33 bus, Mor asked her mother, “Where is Hashem?” Aliza pauses thoughtfully before she continues. “I told her that for every bad thing, there is a good thing that balances it out,” she says. “I believe Yossi gave his life for Mai. In fact, my uncle won’t look into her eyes because he says Yossi is looking through them.” Aliza continues, “After Mai’s third operation, when we weren’t even sure she would make it, Tzach and I were keeping a night vigil. Tzach woke me up and told me, ‘Daddy’s here. He’s wearing a white shirt and talking to Mor.’” Although Aliza didn’t see Yossi, she asked Mor what Yossi had said to her, “He called me chaitaloch,” she answered. It was a Kurdish word she had never heard her father using.
