I struggled over what to write this month in this column written by an American Israeli for UK Jews. Should I write about the High Holy Days? About the surrealism of watching foreign elections centre on Jews and Israel? About my feelings as an Israeli reading heartbreaking accounts of UK Jews who feel like outsiders in their own country?
As I tried to decide, typing and deleting over again, I received a WhatsApp notification from a group that reports traffic conditions and terror attacks. A terrorist had stabbed a man in a shopping centre in Gush Etzion — the Etzion Block, where Israelis and Palestinians live in adjacent towns and shop alongside one another.
A deep sigh, a shake of my head and a prayer for the wounded, I continue writing. Ding. Another notification, this time my husband letting me know he hadn’t yet reached our daughter, who goes to school in the area of the attack. I wasn’t worried since she’d be in school and not out shopping but, nevertheless, I sent up another prayer.
Then my social-media notifications picked up. Someone had sent me a video of the stabbing (the second person to do so). I do not normally watch these types of videos, but, something he had written in the accompanying message set off a particular unease in my gut.
So, I watched the footage of a man, stabbed in the back, get up, pull his gun, chase after the terrorist, jump over a low wall, and shoot before collapsing.
There was something vaguely familiar about the man as I watched, but security videos are grainy and ignorance is bliss.
Ding. Ding. Ding. More WhatsApps, more FB messages, and then the devastating news. The victim was Ari Fuld, father of four, staunch Israel advocate, part of a wonderful family of American immigrants. Friend. And his condition was critical.
When you hear that someone was stabbed, you gasp, you pray they recover, and you go on with your day hoping for the best. When you hear it is someone you know, someone whose family is close to yours — your world is rocked. Time slows and life doesn’t go on as normal.
When you learn they didn’t make it, you scream and cry and sob thinking of their family, their children… You search around for something to do, some way to help. And you cry. And cry. And nothing makes sense.
As I type this and as you read this, the 17- year-old Palestinian who stabbed Ari is being treated in an Israeli hospital, by a doctor who was Ari’s friend. The terrorist will have a trial and be put in jail. He will be fed three meals a day. He will read, watch TV and, as a reward for murdering Ari, he and his family will be paid a monthly stipend by the Palestinian Authority, funded courtesy of the UK government and other EU states. His family will visit him and maybe, one day, he will be released as part of a peace deal or prisoner exchange.
Ari’s family will never see him again, other than by watching the numerous videos he made in support of the IDF, advocating for Israel or, his final act, shooting a terrorist even when mortally wounded.
That, my friends, is the view from Israel right now. Families planning Yom Kippur and Succot meals will now spend these days in shivah, mourning their son, father, husband, brother.
Ari’s death is not just a personal tragedy. He was a tireless advocate for Israel, constantly working to support the IDF, the state, and the Jewish people. He believed with all his body and soul that Israel was the land of the Jewish people. And, while he held very strong views and debated them vociferously, he was respected by people at the opposite end of the political spectrum. Because even when he argued and even when it got heated, he loved everyone.
This is why a former leader of Peace Now and an MK from the left-wing Meretz party both posted about Ari’s death. And, in a time when people’s political views make them blind to their opponents’ humanity, this lesson is tremendous. Being able to disagree with someone and yet still respect them is these days a rare art.
If nothing else, we should take this message with us and work to see the humanity, the Godly, in every human being, even when we vehemently disagree. In honour of Ari, z’l.
Shoshanna Keats Jaskoll is a writer and activist
