By Yechiel Spero
Dodah Yonah (Aunt Yonah) cut the cucumbers in the same manner she always did. An elderly woman, she adjusted her apron and disregarded the pleas from her niece and nephew to stop and sit down. She placed a container of humous on the table and turned back toward her company. That’s just the way Dodah Yonah was. Composed. Collected. Stoic. Always in control of her emotions.
The Dinovitzers made it their business to visit their aunt every time they came to Israel. They felt it was important to visit her and for their children to get to know her. Her simple apartment was located in Givatayim, on the outskirts of Ramat Gan.
The conversation was going well. They had been discussing their families, both in Israel and back in the States. While Yitzhak and his children sat in the small yet tidy kitchen, Dodah Yonah kept herself occupied getting lunch ready for the family, not allowing their conversation to interfere with her preparations. The sound of “Kol Yisrael,” the Israeli news station, buzzed in the background, and the beeping sound coming from the radio indicated that there was an important news bulletin.
The news flash carried tragic information. A 19-year-old Israeli soldier had been murdered in an Arab attack in East Jerusalem. Yitzhak was listening to the news report and not paying attention to his aunt when he suddenly heard the sound of a knife clanging on the floor. Yitzhak looked up and watched his aunt, who always kept her composure, holding onto the kitchen counter, bracing herself.
She removed a handkerchief from her apron pocket and buried her face in it. Sobs filled the air and for a moment, time stood still in Dodah Yonah’s Givatayim apartment. No one said a word. All that could be heard were the soft muffled cries of a woman crying for a mother who had lost a son and for a young man who would not live long enough to see his own children, never see his parents again.
And then, just like that, it was over. She wiped her eyes one last time, picked up her knife from the floor and turned back toward the counter. Once again, she continued her methodical slicing of the vegetables.
Yitzhak watched in silence and admiration. He had never seen anything like it in his life. The sensitivity, the empathy, that she displayed was awesome. Yitzhak didn’t know what to say. Finally, he blurted out, “You react that way every time an Israeli soldier loses his life?” His puzzled expression showed his total bewilderment.
Dodah Yonah turned back toward her nephew. She put the knife back down on the counter and stared at him. Her response is one that he will never forget.
She looked at him and asked in disbelief, “And you don’t?” (Touched by a Story 2)
Reprinted from the Vayakhel Pikudei 5786 email of Rabbi David Bibi’s Shabbat Shalom from Cyberspace.
