A Mother’s Resolve: Finding Strength and Fighting for the Future After Loss
The memory is etched in my mind, a day that shattered my world and irrevocably altered the course of my life. March 5, 2003. A date that will forever be synonymous with unimaginable pain and the agonizing loss of my beloved son, Asaf. He was just seventeen, a bright and promising eleventh grader with a future brimming with possibilities. But that future was brutally stolen from him by the hateful act of a Hamas suicide bomber.
Bus number 37, a familiar route in our hometown of Haifa, became a scene of carnage and devastation. The explosion ripped through the bus, claiming the lives of seventeen innocent souls, among them nine schoolchildren returning home, their young lives tragically cut short. Asaf was one of them.
Even as a native-born Israeli, having grown up in a nation accustomed to conflict, the sheer brutality of the attack left me reeling. I was consumed by a profound sense of shock and disbelief. How could a person willingly sacrifice their own life simply to inflict maximum pain and suffering upon innocent Jewish people? I struggled to comprehend the depth of hatred that could fuel such a heinous act.
Driven by an insatiable need to understand the incomprehensible, I began to delve deeper into the motivations and ideologies behind the attack. I learned about the suicide bomber’s family, and a chilling detail struck me with particular force. According to Muslim tradition, the mother of the suicide bomber should have been draped in black, receiving mourners and serving bitter coffee, a symbol of grief and sorrow. Instead, she chose to wear normal clothes and distribute sweets, celebrating the act that had extinguished so many lives, including my son’s.
It was then, in that moment of profound realization, that I understood the true scope of the challenge we faced. This wasn’t merely a political conflict or a territorial dispute. It was something far more insidious, something deeply ingrained and profoundly disturbing. If hatred is systematically taught within the home, reinforced in schools, and even glorified in kindergartens – where children are dressed as suicide bombers and school plays celebrate the killing of settlers – then no amount of negotiation, no matter how well-intentioned, can truly bring about lasting peace. Past attempts at diplomacy, as history has repeatedly demonstrated, will prove futile in the face of such deeply rooted animosity.
We, as Israelis, are a people who yearn for peace. We have consistently demonstrated a willingness to make sacrifices and compromises in the pursuit of peaceful coexistence. But our desire for peace must be met with a genuine reciprocal desire from our counterparts. Terrorist extremists, driven by an insatiable thirst for violence and destruction, are not partners in peace. Their ultimate goal is not compromise or coexistence, but rather the complete and utter annihilation of Israel and its people.
In the aftermath of the attack, our family was determined to find a path toward healing, to rebuild our lives amidst the wreckage of our grief. While the pain of losing a child can never truly be erased, we resolved to find strength and resilience in the face of unimaginable adversity. A couple of years after Asaf’s murder, we were blessed with the arrival of another baby boy. Normally, parents welcome a child into the world with the intention of providing them with life, joy, and happiness. In our case, our new son brought life back into our home, a beacon of hope in the darkness. He allowed us to focus on the positive aspects of life, even as we carried the weight of our grief alongside our newfound joy.
We found solace and support in the activities of OneFamily, an organization dedicated to assisting victims of terror and their families. We knew we had to return to work, to try and live our lives as normally as possible. But the charade of normalcy is often a difficult one to maintain. At work, you are expected to wear a happy face, to project an image of composure and well-being. But when a memory of your murdered son surfaces unexpectedly, all you want to do is retreat to a quiet corner and weep.
OneFamily provided a safe haven, a sanctuary where we could be ourselves without fear of judgment. In meetings, retreats, and trips organized by the organization, we were surrounded by other bereaved parents who understood our pain, who shared our experiences, and who could offer empathy and support without the need for explanation. We could share our innermost thoughts and feelings without worrying about how we appeared to others.
Following the horrific attacks of October 7, we immediately reached out to newly bereaved families in our city, introducing them to OneFamily and the invaluable support it provides. Sadly, the ranks of the bereaved continue to swell, the circle of grief expanding with each new act of terror. Even with the return of some of the hostages taken on October 7, and the tragic news that others were murdered in Gaza, countless families are now grappling with unimaginable loss and will require tremendous support to rebuild their shattered lives.
Israel is paying a heavy price to secure the release of its kidnapped citizens, whether they return dead or alive. The deals often involve the release of convicted terrorists, a painful and controversial concession. Among those released is Ali Hasan Al-Ragbi, who was sentenced to 18 life terms for his role in the bus bombing that took Asaf’s life. Three other terrorists involved in the same attack were released in 2011 as part of the deal to free kidnapped soldier Gilad Shalit.
I am vehemently opposed to the release of terrorists. I believe it is fundamentally unjust, immoral, and wrong. It undermines the foundations of the Israeli state and erodes our justice system. Furthermore, it sends a dangerous message to aspiring terrorists, suggesting that their actions will ultimately be rewarded with freedom. In the past, I have actively fought against these releases, using my voice and platform to advocate for justice and accountability.
However, this time, I made the difficult decision not to object. The sheer scale of the hostage crisis, the ages of the captives, and the unspeakable horrors they have endured demanded extraordinary measures. The weight of their suffering, and the desperation of their families, outweighed my personal convictions.
Instead of focusing on the past, I have chosen to channel my energy into fighting for the future, to ensuring that nothing like October 7 ever happens again. Israel must adopt a far more assertive and uncompromising policy against terror. We can no longer afford to rely on containment, warnings, and empty threats. We must fundamentally change our approach if we are to safeguard the lives of our citizens.
My son Asaf was murdered, his life extinguished in a senseless act of violence. But I have three more sons and three grandchildren living in Israel. At Asaf’s open grave, I made a solemn vow that I would dedicate my life to doing everything in my power to protect them, to ensure their safety and well-being. And I swore that "Never Again" would apply, first and foremost, to my family, to the land of Israel, and to the Jewish people. This is my promise, my commitment, and my unwavering resolve.
