In the year 1949 my mother had a son named Shmuel Amiel, in 1952 an unfortunate accident occured, when Shmuel was under the care of his grandmother, he was burned by a kerosene burner, probably in the chest and stomach area. Shmuel was taken to "Assaf Harofeh" hospital, he was bandaged and treated, and admitted for observation. When the mother and grandmother came to visit Shmuel, to the best of the mother's and grandmother's diagnosis, the boy's physical condition seemed good, and he even smiled happily at the sight of his family according to the mother's testimony.

After a few days at the mother's next visit, the hospital informed her that the child had died. In her request to see the child's body, the hospital claimed that they were handling the matter, a death certificate was not provided, and they did not even let the mother see the child's body. Since the incident, the mother became depressed and did not allow her children to visit a doctor regardless of their medical condition until adulthood.

It should be noted that Shmuel has five brothers, one of them is connected to Chevra Kadisha, and tried to find clues in the records as well as in the cemetery to solve the mystery without success.

My mother was always very sad and so was the grandmother and they did not agree to talk to us about the case, and all these years I tried to ask questions because it was very strange to me. And my mother was always mumbling unclear sentences and crying, so I didn't want to upset her. But it doesn't end here. Another brother disappeared after him.

Eliezer was his name, at the age of ten months my mother noticed that Eliezer was not urinating, she took him to Assaf Harofeh Hospital and he was immediately hospitalized. It happened in 1957. It goes without saying that my parents were of scanty means, and the Hebrew language was difficult for them and was not their common tongue. My mother and father claimed that they took Eliezer in good condition and were sure that the next day he would be released from the hospital, but the worst of all happened, and again for the second time it was announced that the baby had died and according to the doctor the boy had swallowed a stone and therefore was unable to urinat .

The grief was great, my mother was in heavy mourning and depression after losing her two children, and since then she also flatly refused to take her children to the hospital. I remember that at the age of seven I got pneumonia, and the doctor referred me to an emergency hospital, my mother refused to hand me over for medical treatment at the hospital, saying that they kill children there, and she doesn't even have a grave to go to. Eliezer also does not have a death certificate. Although my father insisted on receiving the body, they refused and said “we will take care of all the necessary arrangements”, to this day I walk with a torch burning in my stomach.