A personal acount of the Jerusalem bombing
By Binny Freedman
SPECIAL TO WORLD TRIBUNE.COM
Sunday, August 12, 2001
Rav Binny Freedman had the terrible misfortune to be at Sbarro's restaurant, place of the
tragic bombing in Jerusalem. His account of what happened is harrowing. But it merits reading and passing
on.
Her eyes, I think, will stay with me forever. Imploring, beseeching, full of
so much sadness. I think the shock of where and how she was, was sinking in.
I can't begin to describe all that was in those eyes.Yesterday, Thursday,
August 9th the 20th of Av, on my way to work, I found myself walking down
Yaffo street. Hungry, I decided to stop and grab a quick bite... at Sbarro's
Pizza.
In the past 5 years I have frequented this establishment exactly twice.
Walking into Sbarro's there is a larger area for sitting in the front, but
the back looked a bit cooler
and quieter, so I decided to grab a seat in the back. That decision saved my
life.
Waiting on line, when they brought me the baked Zitti I asked for, it was
cold. So I asked the woman behind the counter if she'd mind warming it up.
"Ein Ba'ayah", no problem, she said with a smile. I will always wonder if
that was her last smile on earth...
A couple of moments later, a fellow from behind the counter came to the back
with my baked Zitti. Then he started to speak to someone at one of the
tables... That baked Zitti saved his life.
At about 2PM, I both felt & heard a tremendous explosion, and day turned into
night.
And then the screaming began. An awful, heartrending sound; the sound of
people coming to terms with a whole new reality, of people not wanting to
comprehend that life has changed forever.
Those of us sitting in the back were spared, but I was afraid of panic, so I
started yelling at everyone to quiet down, not to panic. The ceiling looked
like it might cave in, but there is always the danger of a second explosion,
detonated on purpose shortly
after the first...
But then I smelled smoke, and was suddenly afraid the restaurant might be on
fire. So we started climbing our way through the wreckage to the front.
Would there be another explosion? Would the roof collapse? Were we making the
wrong decision, climbing through? There are moments that last a lifetime...
There are no words to describe what the front of Sbarro's Pizza looked like
in the immediate aftermath of that explosion.
A woman was lying near the steps to the back. Her eyes were staring straight
at me, following me. So full of pain and longing, sadness and despair. I
dropped down beside her trying to elicit a response to see if she could
speak. And then I watched the life just drain out of her. I tried to get a
pulse, to no avail. She died there, on the steps in front of me. She was
lying by the table I had decided not to sit at...
There were bodies everywhere, and those images are in my mind; they won't let
go. A child's body under the wreckage; a baby-carriage; limbs and a torso; A
woman
holding a motor-cycle helmet and screaming next to a person on the floor who
had obviously been someone she was with...
And then the mad rush to help the ambulance and emergency crews get the
wounded out. They were obviously afraid of a second bomb, so there was no
medical effort inside beyond getting the wounded on to stretchers and out. A
religious Jew missing at least two limbs in tears and shock; what do you say?
"Yehiyeh Be'Seder" it'll be all right? Will it? I happened to sit a bit to
the left as you walk towards the back, and so the wall behind me shielded me
from the blast. Another fellow whom we went back in to get wasn't so lucky.
Sitting only 5 or 6 feet to my left, he caught the full force of the blast
and was thrown in the air. When we got him on the stretcher he was bleeding
profusely and was missing a leg... There are no words to describe what that
man's hand, clenched around my arm, felt like. He just kept looking from me
to his leg and back
again. I started saying Tehillim...
So many mixed emotions fill my head today. I came home last night and gave
each of my children a very long hug... But there are so many families today
who are waking up to the reality that life will never be the same. 17
funerals with friends and families
saying goodbye to those they loved so, whose only crime was a desire for a
slice of Pizza on a beautiful Jerusalem afternoon...
I recall once, reading a story of a boy who was saved from a near-drowning by
stranger. As the fellow carried him ashore, the boy looked up and said,
"thanks for saving my life,
mister". To which the man responded: "Just make sure it was worth saving..."
Tonight we celebrate Shabbat. All over Israel, in 8 hours, parents will bless
their children at the Shabbat table. I imagine we will all hug them a little
tighter this week.
In a few hours we will light Shabbat candles. This Shabbat, in the wake of
all this darkness, the Jewish people will do what we have been doing for 4000
years; what we have always done. We will pick up the pieces and light our
candles, because that is all we have ever wanted; just to bring a little
light back into the world.
After 2000 years of dreaming, we have come home. So many nations and so many
empires tried to stop us from getting here but here we are, none the less.
Home -- that word has such a beautiful sound to it, to a people that has
wandered the globe for so
long...
We are not leaving. We will be here to celebrate this Shabbat and next
Shabbat, and forever, until the end of time, here, in the hills of Judea and
Gush Etzion, and Jerusalem.
May Hashem, who in His infinite Wisdom saw fit to allow me the privilege of
celebrating one more Shabbat with my family, in the hills of Jerusalem, see
fit to put an end to all of this pain, and all of this suffering.
Wherever you are, and whomever you are, be with us here, in Yerushalayim, and
offer up a prayer for all those who lost loved ones in yesterday's terrible
tragedy.
Yehi Ratzon, May it be G-d's will, that soon, we will find the road to the
peace for which we have yearned for so long.
Shabbat Shalom,
Binny Freedman,
Sunday, August 12, 2001
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