On the day I drove up to Telford, I heard the horrific news about what had happened in Jerusalem that morning. Knowing the route that the Jaffa Road takes, as it winds its way through the heart of downtown Jerusalem, I could visualise the location where the events had taken place.
Obviously, at the time, details of what had happened were still sketchy and the names of the victims, particularly, the young mother who had saved her six month old baby, within seconds of losing her life, were unknown. That said, I couldn't shake the image from my mind.
A few days later, I found out that the mother, Batsheva Unterman was married to a guy I went to school with in London.
I don't know whether I feel any worse being in possession of that knowledge. Does it make me feel more angry, more frustrated, more tearful knowing that one of my contemporaries, someone whom I remember from school, is having to cope with such an unimaginable situation?
The emotions run wild. What if my wife had been in that car? What on earth could this poor, poor woman have done to deserve such a fate?
It is at times like these, that I really struggle with my belief in the Almighty. I know that I should accept everything that happens as being destiny, but....