A crisp day. The rains are gone and there is an air of change in the local climate. Winter is slowly folding into spring. The big sky is light blue without a cloud to interfere with its vastness. The fields are verdant on either side of the highway. There are fields of grass, produce and farms. We see cows, sheep and horses on our way from Ramat Beit Shemesh.
The roadways of Israel have come a long way from the days of a one lane country road, barely covered with asphalt. We are driving southeast on a four lane highway system in the direction of the Bibas funeral procession.
Yarden Bibas, husband to Shiri, HY”D and father to Ariel and Kfir Bibas, HY”D, asked the nation to allow the family the privacy for an intimate and quiet family funeral. He also invited the country to stand in support and love along the procession’s path to the cemetery.
David and I read about the invitation on one of the many WhatsApp groups of which we are members. We began to think about driving down, the decision making process didn’t take more than a moment. Once decided, David studied the processional route and plotted the way to what he thought would be a good place to stand.
We woke early, as the timing of the procession was to have been earlier in the morning and it would take at least an hour to get to our destination. As I began to wake, I realized that I was feeling deep deep sadness. As all of us, I have had my share of sadness in my life. This morning, the feeling began in the back of my throat and traveled to my heart and my neshama. I felt a pain I’d never felt before. And as I sit here now writing this, the pain has not gone away, and if possible it has become broader and deeper. When I first heard the news I was so very angry; I’m still angry. But the pain of sadness is stronger and all encompassing. Suddenly I will find myself crying. I hadn’t had a conscious thought, yet, the tears still came.
We set off, and came to stop at the first point on Highway 4 where we spotted dozens of people with flags.
People wearing jeans, many men with kippot and many without. Women in pants, others in skirts, some with their hair covered, others without. Tiny babies and teenagers. All silent, waiting…
The procession was to have arrived at about 8:40 a.m.. Everyone waited patiently until well after 10 a.m.. While waiting along the highway, cars and trucks passed, honking and waving. All in unity.
The first to arrive were police motorcycles, guiding the people to stand safely behind the lanes’ lines. At this point there were people on both sides of the highway.
The policewoman was screaming out instructions. Eventually, her tone changed and she addressed the crowd as chaverim, friends. She, too, came to stand in silence.
There were several cars and then came the big black vans. In Israel, the meisim are transported this way. Immediately following were hundreds of motorcycles. Many ZAKA and Hatzalah cyclists too. All with flags of Israel, many with orange and yellow banners.
I can’t get myself to write on paper how the children suffered before being slaughtered; I have enough trouble trying to keep it away from the forefront of my mind. It’s not that this wasn’t different from so many other barbaric Jewish deaths that have come before, and yet it is different. How is it different, I can’t express. But oh does it feel different.
May their dear, sweet innocent neshamas have an aliyah.
המקום ינחם אתכם בתוך אבלי ציון וירושלים
Varda Hager Brusowankin, formerly of Teaneck, lives in Ramat Beit Shemesh.
