Rose. This is a story that tells itself. The sort of story that does not require anyone’s writing talent to touch the heart. The facts as we know them are tragic enough, incomprehensible enough, and heart-breaking enough; there is no need for us to add needless words to them.
Rose. It appears that this soft, lovely, and fragile name was especially chosen for the main character in this shocking affair, a four-and-a-half-year-old child whose short life story is so inconceivable.
Rose. There was no place Tuesday around Israel where this name was not uttered in horror. Consternation. Shock. Anger. Yes, anger. This may be the strongest emotion that any reasonable person feels by now. One need not be a parent in order to feel a terrible sense of anger that overcomes even the sense of helplessness, frustration, and compassion for such a young human being who lived amongst us, a miserable life filled with suffering, physical pain, loneliness, and rejection.
Who are we going to take this anger out on? On the human beasts that bear the warmest nicknames possible – “mom” and “grandpa”? On Rose’s surroundings, made up of relatives, friends, and neighbors – this child was living amongst them yet they turned a blind eye and closed their heart?
The testimonies of neighbors generate a picture of a sad child. A sad child – this is almost an oxymoron. A sad child living amongst us and nobody bothers to find out why. Other testimonies spoke of a girl who walked the streets on her own. They said she seemed lonely. They noted that her grandfather is a violent man. Where were all those people? Why did they keep silent?
Yet perhaps the anger should be directed at all of us, as a society. How could it be that a young girl disappears, and for three months nobody looks for her, nobody asks any questions, nobody complains? How could it be that a society that always boasted its involvement, care, and mutual responsibility failed so shamefully?
Rose. It is such a lovely name. It brings up so many emotions; and so many questions.