That friend, Ari Fuld, comes from a large family. One of his brothers wrote the following on Facebook this morning and I want to share it all. When you hear there has been a terrorist attack, do you ever stop and think about those affected? I do, every single time. I know so many directly touched by the Jihad here in Israel. My friend Kay Wilson (read her book) and Arnold Roth and his wife whose daughter was murdered just to name a few.

These stories tear me up but they do nothing to stop me and millions of other Jews from wanting to live in the land where our spirituality, our laws, our peoplehood and our nation was forged. I’m home.

Hillel Fuld writes on Facebook:

One year ago, everything changed forever.

I’ve never told this story, at least not in a public manner. Honestly, not sure I’ll make it through this post, but if you are reading this, I decided to hit “Publish”.

It was a Sunday morning like any Sunday morning. I was at Hometalk doing my thing. I had a few tabs open on my browser, like I always do. One of them was Israeli news.

I opened that tab just to check what’s happening in the country and there it was. “Another day, another freaking terrorist attack.” Those were my thoughts.

Only this attack was different. No, not because my brother was the victim. I had no idea about that and was only going to find out later. This one was different because it was recorded. On video. By surveillance cameras.

That means that on that website there was a big Play button. The video. What does one do? They click Play. And so I did.

What the heck was I was watching? A Palestinian kid stab a grown man, a fairly large man, and then the man turns around and chases the terrorist down after he was already stabbed? Wait, what? He just jumped over a wall? He shot him. Who was this guy and what was running through his veins because it sure wasn’t the same stuff I had in my veins. “What a hero”, I thought to myself!

So I did what I always do and I asked in the Fuld WhatsApp group, and I quote, “Is everyone ok? ”

Yes. Smiley and all.

Now here is where things get blurry. Doni, my older brother, the one who is one older than Ari in the lineup, Doni called me. As I remember it, he said two words to me. “It’s Ari.”

I had no idea what he was saying. What was he talking about? What was Ari?

I quickly grabbed my stuff and raced to the hospital. Like I don’t know how I made it there in one piece. On the way, I called Doni for an update. He said “Don’t rush.”

It was over.

That moment was the end and the beginning of the hell that was the year that followed.

The hospital. That room. Miriam. Natan. My parents. Everyone. A scene burned on my brain forever. Whether I like it or not.

The moment Natan walked in from school. Frozen. Tears. Shock. Hugs. No one rehearsed such a scenario. What do you even say? What do you do? How do you minimize the trauma? You can’t. You can try. But you can’t. His Bar Mitzvah was around the corner.

“It can’t be.” My mom kept repeating those words. She was right. It couldn’t be. Ari? The bull! The lion, as he’d later be named? Taken down by a teenager with a knife? Later it all became clear. That sprint? That jump over the wall? The terrorist was after his next victim. Ari saw that. No blood in his veins? That’s not an excuse. So he sprinted. And saved her. She became part of the family as a result.

The thoughts rushing in my head from that moment till now. Never stopped for a second. The questions, do we want to see the body and say goodbye? What were they all talking about? This seriously cannot be reality. Just no.

When people say “it feels like yesterday” about an event in the distant past, I didn’t think they meant it literally. This feels like I just watched that video. This second. I better rush to the hospital.

A year? No way.

But I had to get organized at that point. What about my kids? This was all over national news. How would they find out? From their friends in school? My God.

Left the hospital to rush to them. We split up and I went to tell Aviel. Big mistake. He’s a very sensitive one. Very.

The moment I told him? I’ll never ever forget that second. Ever.

I got to his school. They had isolated him. So he didn’t find out. He had no idea why. They said they wanted to give him some feedback. When he saw me, his confusion increased.

I asked his rabbi to leave us alone. I told him “Uncle Ari. Something bad happened. An attack. He saved someone’s life. But he’s gone.”

He didn’t cry. He didn’t have tears flowing down his face. He had a tear. One. Sat there. Still. One tear. They were close. They clowned around a lot. He was his big mighty black belt uncle. One tear.

For the next few weeks and months, I tried to get back to myself. Failed miserably. My family is insanely resilient. That’s a word I didn’t comprehend before. I didn’t understand what that meant. Nor did I understand the word trauma.

But they lived. They mourned. They cried. They suffered. They still are. Endlessly. But from where I was sitting, I was the only one who couldn’t put on my socks in the morning. I’m probably wrong. I know I am actually. We all react differently but all I know is, I was very concerned for my future. My well being wasn’t guaranteed anymore. My stability wasn’t obvious anymore, not emotional, physical, or financial. Nothing was for sure any more.

I was the only brother who didn’t speak at the funeral. Me, the brother who makes a living from talking. But I couldn’t. Talk. I couldn’t.

I try not to think about that. Maybe I should have. How could I not? I tell myself I had nothing to add to what everyone else said. It’s true. It was the middle of the night. Should I have spoken just to speak? What would I have said? How would I have controlled the uncontrollable crying) the words wouldn’t have come out anyway. I tell myself that. Repeatedly.

Luckily, my father, the rock of this family, the one who told us countless times over the past year that this is the card we were dealt and we need to live, luckily he spoke on my behalf and brought the world to tears.

Over the next 12 months, I learned about heroism. I thought I knew Miriam. I didn’t. She taught me who she was. Like who she really was. A hero. A superhero. Just like her husband.

I thought I knew Tamar. I didn’t. I got to know her. A rock. Like her Abba. She got engaged and married to Michaya, a man Ari loved.

Naomi. “How was she strong?” A question I asked myself thousands of times. Thousands.

Yakir. A 6” 6’ giant whose insides make his physical body seem microscopic. And Natan, such maturity. Strength. The little guy is anything but little.

My brothers? Broken but strong. Every one of them.

As for me, there were books. There were words. There were stories. There were messages. Everything contributed a little bit to helping me get out of bed.

Ari created a tsunami in this world the ripples of which I believe we’ll feel for decades. He left this world the way only he would want to leave this world. He wrote the script of his death and that script was his life. The life of a hero.

He left behind a legacy of a hero, an extended family of heroes, a group of close friends who are all heroes, and me, his very sad little brother.

One whole year.

It goes like this:

The organization I speak for, OneFamily Together, called me on Thursday, saying that the BBC News are doing a report about the funding of terrorists, and would I like to be part of it.

You bet, I thought. 

So the BBC called me and explained that they would also be interviewing a Palestinian family who gets a load of money because of their murderous son, sitting in an Israeli jail. 

I wasn’t put off. 

I have UK citizenship. 
I am fluent in English. 
I am articulate. 
And…. in my moral favor, I have also started a clandestine project in a Palestinian refugee camp with a Muslim friend, to counter-radicalize children and teach them to clutch onto life and resist adults who teach them to hate. 

I just heard back. 

“Umm…. you’re too famous, we need someone less well known, so I’m very sorry, but we wont be interviewing you.”

They are scared of me. They would rather choose an Israeli who struggles with English, so he/she looks “foreign,” and it will bring the “balance,” needed 

Moral cowards. I find them obscene.

Kay Wilson – Facebook.

For those of you who don’t know, Kay Wilson survived a brutal terrorist attack by two Palestinian terorrists. She watched as her friend was murdered before her and she was left for dead in a forest having been hacked 13 times with a machete with a final blow just a hair’s breadth from her heart.

Her would be murderers, the men who murdered her American, Christian friend (and another Israeli woman in a separate attack) now sit in an Israeli prison. They were caught quickly because Kay managed to stab and wound one of them in his thigh. The terrorists and their families receive a monthly “salary” from the Palestinian Authority.

Kay is by far and away the most eloquent speaker on the injustice and sheer horror of this “pay to slay” program you can imagine. Kay’s amazing book, “The Rage Less Traveled” will be published in the next couple of weeks.

Which is precisely why the evil BBC cannot and will not give her air time before the British public. She doesn’t fit their agenda of demonising Israelis and lifting up to sainthood the “Palestinian People”.

Here’s a clip of the real terrorist explaining why he murdered Kristine Luken and tried to murder Kay Wilson. This is not a drama, this is a real police interview tape at the scene of the murder, days after it took place.