The Heroism I did not speak, but I had respect for Eitan’s brave parents. So I tried to concentrate and listen to them, and answer them at least with nods or short yes or no answers. They spoke about Eitan and if I could have sunk into the ground, I certainly would have done so. They kept saying they did not blame me, but they mainly spoke about all kinds of things that were unrelated to me or to Eitan or to their enormous loss. A stranger watching from the sidelines might think this was merely a get-together of people who enjoyed sitting together and arguing over whether the prime minister was right or not. After they left, I shook as if I had severe Parkinson’s. I did not have the strength to breathe. I went to bed, but did not close my eyes all night. These were not normal people, I decided. No one would believe that the parents of the victim came to visit the killer. But they came, that was the reality, and they continued coming again and again. My parents welcomed them with increasing warmth, while this strange friendship deepened. They were also amazed at the parents’ stride. I had respect for them and also much pity. I made every effort to be polite to them and not apathetic, as I behaved when others were nearby. At least I owed them that much respect. It sapped my strength, but at a certain point we had a short conversation, they and myself. Even to me, in my unstable condition, it was clear that their visits were returning me to the land of the living and the normal. It was a long process, and at the beginning I did not even realize that it was planned down to the last detail. At first, Eitan’s parents were the only ones I related to as if I were a normal human being and not emotionally disturbed. Slowly, the circle widened. Sometimes, after they left, I talked with my family about their visit. We had not had such conversations since the accident. Everyone had the same question: how did they have the emotional strength to take this unusual step? Then the conversation broadened somewhat. It was always exhausting, but at least there was a reason for this. Then a surprising offer came. Eitan’s parents invited us to visit. Certainly our relationship had become closer during their visits, but still the invitation was surprising and also scary. Clearly, Eitan’s spirit filled the house: photographs, mementos, I did not need this in order to relapse. I was already on the path to recovery, and no doubt the victim’s parents were a large part of it, but from there to seeing the place where not long ago, a person had lived who was his parents’ hope – this seemed an unbridgeable distance to me. But my parents jumped at the opportunity. Today I know that this was an excuse to get me out of the house, after long weeks in which the only place I went was the physician’s office. I agreed only because I could not refuse my parents. I still felt very guilty and felt that by doing what they asked, I was atoning for an iota of what had happened, even though from their point of view, and they repeated it thousands of times, I was not guilty at all. We went to visit them. My eyes scanned the room rapidly. I expected to meet the eyes I had come to know so well, the mouth gaping at me in the nights. But there was no sign or remembrance that in this house lived mourners who had lost their dear one. Long afterward, I realized that usually, there were signs of the tragedy in the house. There was a memorial corner with a large photograph hung beside the entrance. But in their amazing sensitivity, they had removed every trace in expectation of our visit. They had replaced Eitan’s photograph with an old, rich tapestry. The Recovery I think that this visit was the point from which I began my complete recover. Eitan’s parents said expressly: we lost a son, but we have you. They decided to unofficially adopt me as their son. At the time, I did not have the strength to express my opinion. My parents saw that Eitan’s parents had succeeded in making a change in my condition, after their own efforts had been unsuccessful. They were willing to agree to sell them the moon if only they had asked. Thus almost without noticing it, with my parents’ agreement I became the son of an additional set of parents. My inability to cause them even the slightest harm brought me to respond to their every request. They took me out of the shell I had built around myself. They went shopping and asked me to come with them. They went to a lecture and asked me to join them. They took me to visit the elderly grandparents in their retirement home. If I had the strength, perhaps I would have resisted, but at that time I did not even consider it. I did everything they asked, to the best of my ability. I had light conversations when appropriate, I behaved so normally it was weird, because afterward at home I collapsed from exhaustion. It was still hard for me emotionally, but certainly it was getting easier as time went on. I became more normal. I came back to life. My parents and I constantly wondered about one thing – it was not normal, where did they get their strength? How could it be that in my home, where we had lost no one, the atmosphere was one of mourning, but in their home, which had lost all its vitality, everything was so normal? It wasn’t that they didn’t hurt or remember, accuse or forget. They talked in the most normal way about what happened, but they did not collapse. Where did they get this strength? I wanted to ask but I didn’t. One day, though, the topic came up on its own. I went to see them at their request. Such evenings always included a meal and then conversation, sometimes there were guests, a friend or relative. That night after the meal they turned on the flickering screen of the visual media. This amazed me, because while in my parents’ home the machine was never turned off, in their home it was mostly turned off. I thought it was due to their year of mourning, in which they did not want see entertainment shows. But I was surprised to find out that it was something else. They turned on a channel that I did not know at all. “Do you mind if we watch a bit?” Eitan’s father asked me. “There’s a show that is important for us to watch.” No, I didn’t mind. Whatever they asked was fine for me, if only it would help them a bit. Hidabroot [“Discussion”] The channel was something completely different from any channel I had ever known. It was called Hidabroot Channel. “This is a media channel that broadcasts talks by haredi speakers, lectures, and interviews, you see,” said Eitan’s father. “We got to know this channel shortly before Eitan was killed. I don’t know how we would have managed without it.” I raised my eyebrows in astonishment. I did not know what he was talking about. He saw that I was surprised. “You see, they talk about faith. They explain Judaism, and people can also call and ask questions. When Eitan was killed, it was after we already knew there is a Creator of the world, there is a plan for all of creation and a role for each person. It was still a vague awareness, but it enabled us to grasp onto faith during our most difficult moments. After Eitan was killed, we had a million questions, and anger. We called the channel hotline, we spoke to them for hours. We got answers, and we realized there is a reason for everything, and that Eitan had completed his role in this world and passed into another one. “We still talk to the Hidabroot staff almost every day. We even went to some of their lectures, which really gave us injections of strength to continue to cope.” Eitan’s father went to the buffet and took out a pamphlet, books, and discs. “We go these from them as well, from the Hidabroot department for continuing contact. Every time we hurt or have difficulty coping, there is someone who strengthens us, who explains and answers our questions, and encourages us. They inject us with faith, they give us strength. If you ever asked yourself how can it be that we don’t break, you should know that it’s thanks to them. For us, the medication preceded the illness, because you can see that without them, we simply would not have been able to cope. “I am showing you this because we decided to change our ways. We want to go to a hotel for a weekend of Judaism, and we want you to come with us.” The last thing I wanted was to go to some seminar on Judaism. I came from a home that was not anti-religious, but also not pro. Jewish studies had never been on our list of plans, certainly not becoming haredi. But my parents encouraged me to go to the seminar. From their point of view, it was another stage in the recovery: I was willing to mix with others, go out among strangers, participate in a program. For parents of a son who was in a deep depression and still had not even gone back to work, this was good news. For me, it was part of the payment I was willing to make so that Eitan’s parents would suffer less. I went together with them. They returned home changed. The father began by laying tefillin every day. The mother lights Shabbat candles. I still did not dream of taking any strides, but in my state then, much smaller steps were still not an option. I did not realize that this was my starting point as well. From that point on, the only channel on in their house was Hidabroot. “Slowly we will overcome,” said Eitan’s mother. “We will throw this impure machine completely out of the house. But in the meantime, this channel simply strengthens us.” It did seem to strengthen them. Every day there were changes over there. They put up mezuzot in all the rooms, not just in the entrance. Suddenly they began to keep Shabbat. A few weeks later, they invited my parents and myself to stay with them for the entire Shabbat, “Because you can’t go back in your car, it’s hilul Shabbat.” My parents were indebted to them for their behavior with me this whole time. To them, it was thanks to Eitan’s parents that I came back to life, and they were willing to do anything they asked. The invitation did not seem so terrible to them, as the two couples had become close in the last few months, and it would be nice to spend an entire Shabbat together. The truth? It was a wonderful, enchanted Shabbat. My parents had never enjoyed such a long period of disconnection from the constant demands of life. It was rest for the soul and the body for them. I also enjoyed myself. I began to realize that Judaism has a lot more than various prohibitions. It also has a lot of beauty and food for the soul, and I was very hungry for anything that could feed my soul. It came as no surprise that after that Shabbat, I also began to watch only Hidabroot at home. Sometimes I called the hotline to get answers to my questions. They recommended that I go to more lectures. I went to some by myself, others with my parents and Eitan’s parents.
Posted on: Thu, 20 Jun 2013 08:19:08 +0000
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