this fight, because it is just and because we had a good teacher.”
Dr. Margalit Prachi says of Applebaum, “I worked with him for seventeen years. The patients’ families adored him. When he became head of the department, he revolutionized everything: he eliminated inefficiencies and organized a system for gathering family members quickly at the same hospital, children with their parents, in case of attacks or major catastrophes. It is difficult to express what he meant to us.”
Dr. Yonatan Halevy, director of Shaare Zedek, remarks, “The fact that a man, three days before his daughter’s wedding, would go to America to teach others what he had learned about medical preparation for a terrorist attack—a field in which the Israeli hospitals unfortunately have extensive experience—speaks of the stature of this person and of his complete dedication to both his work and his family.” Professor Halevy was Applebaum’s supervisor for many years. “David was an extraordinary human being,” he says. “Outside of his medical profession, he was known as a scholar and a man of vision; he cared for every human person with respect. In the field of emergency medicine, David was a pioneer and developed many of the systems that are used in emergency rooms. He also organized a network for clinics that don’t have access to the resources of the big hospitals. David wanted every patient to receive equal compassion and attention, always. No case was ever too much for him, and he stuck to this until the last days of his life.”
Asked how Applebaum reacted to suicide attacks, Halevy replies, “David lived a few minutes from our hospital, so he was always one of the first to arrive. His presence helped to manage the chaos that follows such an attack. Although these attacks are sensational in their scope and nature, it is essential for a doctor to remain calm and give everyone the same attention. David always had the same level of compassion for the victims of attacks.”
Dr. Applebaum always showed the close connection between medicine and Judaism, says Todd Zalut. “David was a rabbi, and studied with one of the greatest rabbis of our time, Aharon Soloveitchik. David also taught at the seminary for women. He was an ardent Zionist who thought that Jews all over the world should come to Israel, the land that God gave to the Jewish people.”
Applebaum’s name has been placed alongside those of the great Jewish masters. According to Yonatan Halevy, “David was a teacher of religion, and, like Maimonides, he was also a doctor. Medicine and Halakhah, the Jewish law, complement each other. There is no doubt that David’s faith in the tradition and values of Judaism had a great impact on his role as a doctor, and in particular on the sense of compassion that he demonstrated to all.” His death was a tremendous loss for all of Israel. “There are no words to explain this tragedy. The irony is that he was killed in an attack, when he had helped many victims to recover after similar attacks. The medical community will never get over his death. He was a true giant, and his example inspires many students of medicine here in Israel and all over the world. His witness lives on in the Weinstock Department of Emergency Medicine here at the Shaare Zedek hospital.”
Applebaum’s father-in-law, Shubert Spero, said this at his funeral: “Dear David, you should have accompanied your daughter to the khupah (wedding canopy), and instead we are accompanying both of you to your final resting place.” Nava’s fiancé, Chanan, put the wedding ring on her finger, saying, “She will always be my wife.” Nava’s grandfather said that “God gave man the ability to weep, but sometimes the tragedy is so painful that the mind refuses.” There are many ways to mourn the dead. “At the celebration of the Tabernacle, the high priest Aaron saw his two sons die, but remained silent. When Job saw his family die, he said, ‘God gives and God takes away, may the name of God be blessed forever.’ We must talk about those who have passed away. David was a born leader, a wonderful father, a husband, a scientist, a teacher, and a friend. He saved human lives every day.”
Addressing his family, someone quoted the words of Rabbi Soloveitchik, who said that Applebaum wanted them to live “a life according to the Torah, in the Holy Land.” Israel’s chief rabbi, Yisrael Meir Lau, compared Applebaum to the greatest saints of Judaism: “He was a true descendant of Maimonides. David and his daughter were great souls.” His grandson Natan called him “one of the thirty-six just of the earth.” According to an old legend, every generation has thirty-six righteous people, lamedvavnikim or tzadikim, upon whose piety the fate of the world depends. It is the minimum number of righteous men required to prevent the destruction of the world. The biblical book of Proverbs (10:25) says that the just man is the basis of the world’s existence: “When the storm wind passes, the wicked is no more, but the righteous is an everlasting foundation.” A tzadik is a just man, a saint and a sage, chosen by God to share his gifts with the rest of humanity. That was David Applebaum.
Israel’s determination in tackling head-on the physical problems that arise either from natural causes or from war is astounding. There is an amazing quantity of research, inventions, new techniques for curing the ill and helping the blind and the paralyzed return to normal life. It is common to see children with Down syndrome or other disabilities on television programs and in the military. One leader in this work was Moshe Gottlieb.
“A tzadik,” sobbed the mother of one of Gottlieb’s patients. In Israel, Moshe was known as the healer of Down syndrome children and someone who could help people deemed by others to be untreatable. He was murdered on his way to another day’s work of charity in behalf of the sick and disabled. Moshe Gottlieb was one of the nineteen victims of the suicide attack in Jerusalem on June 18, 2002.
After leaving a high-paying job at a fur coat factory in New York, Moshe had studied chiropractic in Los Angeles. He visited Israel in 1972 and fell in love with it. Six years later, he went with his wife and children to live in Jerusalem, where he expanded his medical practice and began an intensive study of the Torah. It was in a Jerusalem clinic for the chronically ill that he saw most of his patients, including a girl who was diagnosed with a brain tumor, whose wedding he attended as a guest of honor.
“We moved to Israel after spending a summer there a few years before,” says Dr. Gottlieb’s son, Seymour. “Simply put, my father ‘fell in love’ with the land and the people there. His love for community service was so great that he would usually prefer to stay home for the Sabbath and tend to the religious and social services of his community in the Gilo neighborhood of Jerusalem rather than take a weekend off to visit his children and grandchildren living elsewhere. He was also instrumental in creating the core of the neighborhood community services, and he continued to play an active role in these services for over twenty years, until his very last day.”
Moshe Gottlieb lived at the far southern end of Jerusalem. For months, during the Second Intifada, the neighborhood was hit day and night by rockets and mortar rounds from the Palestinian suburb of Beit Jalla. Moshe always kept his chair in front of the window, where he could see all of Jerusalem. “His chair will always be there,” says his wife, Sheila.
Every Tuesday, Moshe Gottlieb took the bus to Bnei Brak, the impoverished suburb of Tel Aviv inhabited by Orthodox devotees, and worked free of charge in a center for children with Down syndrome. He chose Tuesdays because in the Jewish tradition it is a day “twice as good,” and therefore one must give twice as much glory to the Lord. Every other day, Gottlieb saw patients in his office starting at 8:15 on the dot. Many of them were desperate cases, chronic patients and the seriously disabled. “Moshe started working with one girl with Down syndrome when she was two years old,” Sheila recalls. “At first she was completely withdrawn and terrorized; she didn’t even want to be touched. She had been abandoned by her natural parents, and Moshe cared deeply about her adoptive parents. He always worked with special people. Well, to make the story short, the girl is about ten years old now and she plays the piano very well.”
On Tuesdays and Thursdays, Moshe worked with seriously ill patients at Tel Chai. He cared for a woman in a
