It was mid-afternoon on a day in July of 2003 when Chaim Rotman called to give us the information about his son Eli’s levaya. I had no idea what he was talking about; I hadn’t heard he was sick, I didn’t know of any terrorist attacks or fatal car accidents, I could not figure out what he meant by the funeral for his son; I made him repeat it twice.
Eli was their eldest, the bechor of their large family. He was only 17 and nine months. Eli was a lot like his father. He was a treasured son, a ben-Torah who loved to learn. And like his father, he was calm, unassuming, and such a sweet young man. He had been learning at Hachmat Shlomo under Rav Newirth (of the Shemiras Shabbos sefer fame).
The previous afternoon, Risa had received a call that Eli’s bike and backpack with his phone number were found in the Jerusalem forest. The forest is a shortcut with steep hills between Har Nof (where the Rotmans live) and Bayit Vegan where Eli’s yeshiva was situated.
“I assumed it was stolen. Remember this all happened before cell phones,” Risa clarifies why at first she was calm when hearing of the missing items. Chaim was learning with one of his sons in Ohr Somayach in Maalot Dafna at the time, at the opposite end of town. A neighbor and a rav in the yeshiva asked for a ride to Bayit Vegan and Chaim was happy to have an excuse to visit Eli. However, it seemed that Eli had never made it back from his afternoon bike ride. Chaim called the police at 8:30 pm. Helicopters, jeeps with strong lights, and dogs were deployed and many volunteers began searching the woods. By twelve-thirty that evening Eli’s body was found. He had fallen off a cliff.
“Hashem was good to me. I had enough time to say Tehillim, but it wasn’t long enough to prolong the anxiety.” They held his funeral in front of the shul across the street from their apartment. The same shul in which Chaim would be attacked and then eulogized years later.
I remember seeing Risa sitting close to her son’s body during the hespidim. I thought she looked like a princess. I know the thought is not a usual one at a funeral, especially when a mother is burying her son. Children are not supposed to die first. Yet, Risa seemed to embody the idea that trust in our Father in heaven is essential and her trust in Him was absolute.
“Hashem gives us our children as a gift, but they are not ours. It is quite wrong to think they are ours – we are all here just for our allotted time. I don’t believe in too much grief. Hashem gives, and He can take away,” Risa explained.
Eli’s death was just a macabre foreshadow to Chaim’s murder eleven years later. Chaim would be the 6th victim of the Har Nof massacre that took place on the morning of 18 November 18, 2014. That morning, when the earliest minyan was almost finished and another minyan was starting, two Palestinian men from Jerusalem entered Kehilat Bnei Torah with murder in their hearts. With axes, knives, and a gun, they murdered Rabbi Moshe Twersky (59), Rabbi Kalman Levine (55), Rabbi Aryeh Kupinsky (43), and Rabbi Avraham Shmuel Goldberg (68). Master Sergeant Zidan Saif (30), a Druze police officer, was shot in the head during the rescue.
Chaim was found in a puddle of blood with multiple cleaver wounds to his skull leading to his face and his arm. He would live for another year in a coma. He died from his wounds eleven months later on October 23, 2015.
Risa stood by her husband’s side during the entire year not knowing what her future would hold. Would she be able to bring her husband home, even though he could not communicate? Should she redo her house to accommodate him?
Although Chaim’s generous employer continued paying his salary for the entire year he was in a coma and she received money from the government after his death, she was stretched physically and emotionally. Her younger children (she has ten) demanded a lot of attention. Life was going on whether she was able to be a part of it or not. One daughter had just had a baby, a son got married, and another got engaged. The family needed to learn how to function without their father’s emunah, smile and incredible care.
The community provided tremendous support, yet Risa had to deal with everyday family issues all by herself. Learning with the younger kids, shidduchim for the older ones – it was all her responsibility. She makes it a resolution to tell them how much she loves them.
I came to visit Risa after the other women got up from shiva, to let her know she was not forgotten, even if she wasn’t a “widow” yet. My husband and Chaim had been chavrusas way back in Ohr Somayach in 1983.
Chaim was a self-made frum Jew. He was always looking to learn and increase his Yiddishkeit. Risa, from a more Orthodox background, had a great desire to grow in her religiosity and a dream to have a large family in Eretz Yisrael. Even though Chaim had made aliyah in 1985, he was working for Ohr Somayach’s office in Toronto for a while. The time was right. They met when Risa came in for an application for a program she was interested in. By the summer of 1986, they were engaged.
I remember when Chaim and Risa first got married and moved to Israel. They were living in an absorption center in Talpiot Mizrach, we in Zichron Yaakov. Risa was in awe of our family. Soon, though, they began to build their own. Eli, their oldest, was born in 1987. Their next son came just after Chaim finished his army duty. Twenty-eight years ago, the Rotman family moved across the street from Kehilat Bnei Torah, making the shul almost an extension of their home in Har Nof. His exemplary attendance at the minyan became legendary. Chaim never missed a minyan, not even on that fateful Tuesday morning.
Their son had gotten married just 10 weeks before; their daughter gave them their first grandchild a few weeks after that. Risa was looking forward to a quiet, peaceful home. The kids were all going to be in school that morning, and she had work to do on her computer. When she first heard the sirens, she ignored them. However, as the noise increased, she started thinking something was wrong. Chaim’s chavrusa‘s wife called to ask if Chaim was okay. She had heard a rumor about a shooting in shul.
Risa tried calling her husband’s phone. There was no answer, but she really wasn’t worried. Looking back, she realizes she was in denial. When she did finally get a call, it was to tell her Chaim was injured and she should meet him at Hadassah Hospital. It was only when she arrived at the hospital that she realized her life was permanently changed.
Although some of the survivors told of Chaim’s courageous bravery as he tried to fight off the attackers and defend the others in shul, Risa doesn’t think that was the reality. Noting that he was found by his makom kauvah, his regular davening spot, she is convinced Chaim was one of the first struck.
He was in surgery for six hours. The doctors were able to stabilize him, but his wounds were severe. Throughout the entire ordeal, Risa was impressed by the sincerity of the staff who tried valiantly and with incredible devotion to save his Chaim’s life, even though he had a blood clot in his brain which suggested that a normal life would never be possible again. Risa specifically noted how even the ophthalmologist worked two hours trying to save Chaim’s eye.
Although Risa’s involvement with her family and husband had left her without time to go to her friends’ husbands’ funerals, she did try to stop by the shiva houses. Their lives, though incredibly sad, had a path laid out; hers would remain in limbo for the next year. Early on, Risa thought Chaim was able to move a finger. It wasn’t long, however, before she realized that it was a natural physical response devoid of any emotions or consciousness. In fact, if she held his hands, she did so very gently, as she was afraid that any movement would cause him more pain.
After five weeks in the ICU, Chaim was stable enough to breathe on his own. He stayed in Hadassah Ein Kerem for two months and was then admitted to Beit Levenstein in Ra’anana. For the rest of the year, his wounds would heal, but not his consciousness. Risa wasn’t sure what to pray for but recognized Hashem was in charge.
People would come to encourage her and talk about miracles, but they did not leave her with hope. Risa has always been a realist, but filled with emunah. She recognized that Hashem could perform a miracle, but having emunah means not expecting the miracle. It is accepting that the reality one is in is the best place to be at that moment.
October 24, 2015, a Friday evening, almost one year from the piguah, Chaim’s blood pressure plummeted. Risa, the family, and many neighbors were able to be there to say good-bye.
Another funeral was held that motzaei Shabbos on the same steps of the shul where Eli Rotman and the other victims of the piguah had theirs. I couldn’t help but remember how much of a princess Risa had seemed the first time. She looked that way again – a princess who accepted her King’s decree with love.
Risa’s calm and accepting nature has made her a sought-after speaker. She offers chizuk and a way to accept the good and the bad with love and emunah. She speaks with her heart and writes eloquently about her story and her faith. In fact, ArtScroll, asked her to write a book. Terror and Emunah in Har Nof will soon be available at your local Jewish bookstore. It is a book about Chaim Rotman, a sweet loving father, a devoted Jew and his widow, a woman with emunah.