We Give Life, They Take It, And The World Just Shrugs

The story of Yoni Jesner remains a poignant reminder of lives cut short by senseless violence. Yoni, my friend's son, was just 19, a vibrant young man from Glasgow, Scotland, with dreams of becoming a doctor. On 19th September 2002, he boarded a bus in Tel Aviv, unaware that a Palestinian suicide bomber, driven to the stop by Ashraf Zughayer, would detonate an explosion that shattered everything. 

The blast ripped through the vehicle, leaving behind shattered glass and a heap of skinless bodies at the front. For a few silent seconds, an aura of death hung heavy in the air before piercing sirens and screams filled the void. Yoni lay on the floor with a mortal head wound, his strength and bravery in life giving way to tragedy. His cousin, Rabbi Gideon Black, who barely survived, still carries the physical scars on his torso and the emotional ones etched into his soul.

In the wake of that horror, Yoni's family chose a path of extraordinary compassion. His mother, Marsha Gladstone, made the heart-wrenching decision to donate his organs, saving five lives in total. One kidney went to a seven-year-old Palestinian girl, a child from the very community that harboured the hatred leading to his murder. 

This act of selfless giving stands as a beacon of Judeo-Christian values, where forgiveness and mercy prevail even amid profound loss. We've extended kindness time and again, hoping to pierce the veil of animosity, yet the ideological poison spread by bad-faith actors, including influential figures in organisations like the UN, seems to deepen the divide. The hatred feels insurmountable, a wall too high for human hands alone to scale. Sometimes, it whispers, we need divine intervention to bridge such chasms.

That sense of futility only grew in the shadow of the October 7th 2023 atrocities, when Hamas militants unleashed unimaginable wickedness upon innocent Israelis. They recorded their own acts of murder, rape, and torture, reveling in the suffering of helpless victims. Babies were strangled to death, two little red-haired ones among them, another burnt alive, and yet another cut to pieces with knives, all while mothers screamed in agony. 

These heinous acts strip away any romantic notions of easy reconciliation, forcing us to confront the grim reality of evil that defies comprehension. How do you reach through such darkness with open arms? The sheer brutality makes continued forgiveness feel almost impossible, a burden that tests the limits of human decency.

And yet, that decency endures, as seen in Marsha Gladstone's response to a recent twist in this painful saga. In January 2024, Ashraf Zughayer, the man who orchestrated the bombing and served only 22 years of six life sentences, was released as part of an Israel-Hamas deal to free hostages taken on October 7th. He received a hero's welcome in East Jerusalem, paraded through streets draped in Hamas flags amid cheering crowds. Marsha, not even notified by the Israeli government, felt a surreal disbelief and sickness at his freedom, the very liberty he had stolen from her beloved son. Still, she reflected on the greater good, acknowledging the awful price paid to bring hostages home. If Yoni's loss could somehow contribute to saving others, even years later, it offered a sliver of comfort in this chaotic world.

Rabbi Gideon Black echoed this anguish in a moving column, warning of the impossible corner such releases force upon Israelis. He fears they endanger future lives, much like the 2011 deal that freed Yahya Sinwar, who later masterminded the October 7th massacre. It's a deal with the devil, he wrote, yet we must move mountains to rescue our people, even if those mountains might bury loved ones down the line.

Through it all, Yoni's legacy shines as a testament to persistent goodness. He connected hearts across divides, urging us to meet people where they stand, to listen deeply, and to learn from one another. The Yoni Jesner Foundation carries this forward with initiatives like the Yoni Jesner Conversations, fostering dialogue in a world that desperately needs it. Two decades on, these efforts feel more crucial than ever, reminding us that in the face of rotten hatred, our decency isn't weakness, it's the quiet force that outlasts the storm. May we find the strength to keep extending that light, one act of kindness at a time.

There is no greater Mitzvah than saving a life. 

Yoni had always dreamed of becoming a doctor and dedicating himself to healing others, so when the question arose, we knew without doubt that he would have wanted his organs donated to give as many people as possible a chance at life. In the end, his organs saved three individuals: two Jewish men and a young Palestinian girl. We learned that a seven-year-old Palestinian girl named Yasmin had received one of Yoni's kidneys only when a reporter rang our home to ask how we felt about it. Our response was simple: anything that could bring some good from this senseless tragedy felt truly wonderful. A life is a life, and every single one holds infinite value. 

It mattered deeply to us to meet Yasmin, and we were finally able to do so a year after her transplant. The moment was profoundly moving: this little girl had a photo of Yoni above her bed and called him her brother. Remarkably, my daughter, who was ten at the time, had the very same photo above her own bed, a coincidence that brought tremendous comfort. It felt like a full-circle moment, proof that Yoni's gentle spirit lived on in all our lives, even in the heart of a young Palestinian girl he never knew. 

Years later, when Yasmin was eighteen, I visited her again and was overjoyed to see her grown into a healthy, strong young woman. Yet amid all this beauty born from loss, the deeper truth remains: hatred, violence, and retribution have had their chance for far too long, and they heal nothing, only breed more pain and division. Only forgiveness and love have the power to cure us of these wounds, to break the cycle and truly mend what has been broken.

Written by Brian R McGoy