My grandfather and grandmother, Rabbi Yaakov and Fanni Ammar, had a 1.5-year-old daughter who was kidnapped, and this is their story:

My grandfather and grandmother lived in Shim’on transit camp near Nahalal. They had a 1.5-year-old daughter, their only daughter whom they adored. A girl of the Land of Israel.

Her birth realized/actualized all her parents’ dreams, all their lives. A baby girl of the Holy Land.

For my grandmother this was a second marriage after her first husband was murdered in Morocco by the Arabs.

My grandfather lost both parents and his whole family who died in an epidemic. Only he, Ya'akov, 10 years old, his brother Binyamin, 9, and a 1.5-year-old niece remained.

He was of course the responsible adult, and had to be the breadwinner and care for them...

After many hardships they had one big dream - to immigrate to the Land of Israel.

He immigrated to the Land of Israel at age 19 with his brother and niece.

In Israel they were put up in a transit camp. There he met my grandmother and married her.

After nine months of anticipation and excitement a beautiful baby girl was born with big blue eyes like gems. And so they called her Dalia.

Dalia was a calm and peaceful baby, who brought light and happiness to the home.

Her parents loved her profoundly. They worked night and day to provide for her. And in her free time grandmother would sew her dresses and special clothes. Everyone in the Ma'abara were impressed by Dalia, the beautiful and well-kempt baby

The doctor of the transit camp also had his eye on her. When she was 1.5 years old, the doctor sent my grandmother with a baby to Ha'Emek Hospital in Afula claiming that it was a routine check-up.

At the hospital the doctor checked the baby and with a grave face said that that she needed to leave her there for two days.

My grandmother did not understand why? The baby was healthy, chubby and happy. But one does what the doctor says.

The separation was hard for my grandmother but the nurses told her not to worry, they would take care of her – she should come back in two days.

The next day, missing her daughter, she came to visit her. The nurses were angry with her: why did you come today? Can't you see that we have lots of work? Come tomorrow.

Grandmother said: "I only want to take a peek at her and kiss her, then I'll leave and not bother your work."

After much pleading they allowed her into the baby's room. She was healthy and sweet and happy to see her mother. Again she was forced to part with her. Come tomorrow, the nurses said.

She arrived early the next morning to take the baby girl. The nurses were angry with her: why did you come so early? Wait outside until we tell you to come in.

A few minutes later a nurse left the building holding a baby covered from head to toe in a sheet. As if trying to hide something. And she ran with her to another department, looking up at grandmother over and over again suspiciously.

My grandmother did not understand what was going on. And after another few minutes the nurses called her into the room and showed her an empty bed.

And with somber faces told her: "The baby got sick and died during the night."

“How did she die?” my grandmother asked. “Yesterday she was healthy, cheeks red, lips shiny, smiling and happy.”

The nurses answered: she was infected by the baby in the next bed over and died.

Grandmother: Where is her body? I want to part from her, to hug her. We must have a funeral.

Nurses: There is no body. We buried her quickly yesterday so that she wouldn't infect other patients. We don't have a place to keep bodies.

Grandmother returned to the Ma'abara crying and despondent: "I went with a healthy baby and returned empty-handed," she said.

My grandfather did not believe the story: How could it be that a healthy baby who had never been sick suddenly dies?

And where is the body? Where is the grave? We are Jews, we must have a funeral!

Grandfather went to the hospital and asked where the baby's grave was. He was given the address of a graveyard and went there. At the graveyard they told him: "We haven't buried a baby in the last few days."

Grandfather returned angry and upset to the hospital. He entered the director's room and screamed: “Where is my baby? If you don't give her back to me I will flip your table over.”

The director told him that there was no baby. She is dead. Go home. You religious people will probably make many more children.

My grandfather said: I am not leaving this hospital until you give me back my girl or at least her body. I want to bury her. I want a grave to visit. With this he sat on the floor, crying, weeping.

The Police were called, policemen came and kicked my grandfather out as if he was some kind of a nuisance.

{The man had this very moment lost his daughter for no reason. Without a body and without a grave. Without saying goodbye, without any documents or anything. As if they had never had a baby girl.}

Their hearts were broken. They lost faith in doctors and in the State that same day.

They didn't sit shiv'a [Jewish week of mourning] because they didn't believe the doctors. But what happened to her? They didn't know.

My grandfather wept with sorrow for his lost baby daughter until his last days, and my grandmother, who today suffers from Alzheimer's and remembers almost nothing, cannot forget her daughter Dalia who disappeared, and still cries over her.

This story didn't end with the kidnapping of the baby girl.

Afterwards, they could not continue their lives as usual. Their entire lives were affected by the disappearance of the baby.

They became suspicious of doctors and welfare services

And when my grandfather would walk in the street with his three small children {who were born later} he would yell at them: "What bad kids you are, you behave so poorly. You don’t give us any peace."

At home, when they would cry and ask him: "Why do you yell at us for no reason in the street?"

He would tell them: I love you. You are good, beautiful children, but I am afraid that you too will be taken from me. Therefore I want everyone to think that you are bad children so nobody will want to take you from me.”

Dalia was born in 1956 and was kidnapped when she was 1.5 years old.