On an El Al flight to Israel several years ago, I had been conversing with a charming young woman across the aisle. We were about to land when she happened to turn her head to the side I hadn't been able to see while she was seated. Her face was horribly scarred and bubbled. She saw my shock, even though I tried very hard to remain impassive. I didn't have to ask for an explanation; she volunteered her story. She and a friend were standing on a Jerusalem street in the shopping district when a terrorist bomb went off. Her friend, right next to her, was instantly killed and this beautiful young woman had half of her face destroyed.
For what? What possible purpose could this terrible attack have served? These woman were not doing anything but standing on a street corner. Something we've all done. I know it was a Palescumian that planted the bomb. I hope they caught him and hung him for what he did.
Because the plane was about to land, the young woman and I didn't have time for her to complete her story. She quickly wished me a wonderful time in Israel, which I certainly had. But I can never forget what was done to her and her friend.
You really learn to love the beauty of the Jewish spirit.