When I was 8-9 months pregnant with Bebe, cold-blooded murderers swept into a sleeping family’s Itamar home on Shabbat and slaughtered defenseless parents and harmless children.
One of the victims was Hadas Fogel, a baby just a few months old.
I haven’t stopped thinking of Hadas since then. Once in a while, I’ll look at my own girl and the pain of learning about that horror will creep back. When she reaches another month old, I think of the little infant whose newness, purity, innocence was somehow not enough to stop someone from slaughter.
What a world to bring a baby into.
By the way, I don’t buy the story they’ve fed us on who committed the murders. Far be it from me to pretend to be an expert, but something in my gut tells me there’s something wrong with the way the story has just faded from national memory…