So this time a painful story... close… personal.
Ever since I can remember myself, in our house we grew up with the story that before I came into the world, my parents had a daughter who died immediately after birth.
In April 29, 1969, my mother gave birth to her third child in Assaf Harofeh Hospital, a healthy daughter weighing 2.9kg. A beautiful girl, fair-skinned, with straight black hair, (my mother still remembers stroking her hair as if it were yesterday), and with green eyes with a dark honey hue just like my father’s, blessed be his memory.
My mother had an easy birth, with no problems and got to breastfeed her baby for three days. On the third day, the morning my mother was supposed to be discharged with her baby, a nurse gave her the bad news that her daughter had died. My mother asked the nurse to see her daughter but was not allowed to do so.
My father, blessed be his memory, arrived shortly after to take them both to our home in the transit camp and found my mother weeping, informing him of the bitter news. My mother could not bear the torture of seeing other mothers receiving their babies to be breastfed and with great pain and helplessness left the hospital.
My parents emigrated from Morocco in 1962, they did not yet speak Hebrew well, they were young (my mother was then only 25 years old), parents to two sons, and lacking in everything (my father was unemployed at the time).
Because they felt something was not right and because they realized that they needed her body to be able to bury her they returned to the hospital, but they found nothing there.
No body, no ID card, and of course no death certificate. They were sent to the hospital’s archive. Within two weeks however, it turned out the girl disappeared with all her documents (ID, and birth and death certificates).
A few days ago, my mother contacted the hospital archive again, as well as the Ministry of Interior—needless to say there is no record of the birth or the baby.
Meanwhile, we, the children, started to turn every stone and from an unauthorized source we learned that our sister, my mother's daughter, lives in Jerusalem or in Yavneh. That she is probably a doctor and that there is someone very close to her by the name of Sarah.
If any of you know of someone that matches these details or looks similar to the photos attached we would be most grateful to receive any piece of information.
I ask for your help in spreading this information publicly and maybe salvation will come to the land of Zion.
'Our youngest sister, Chen Danziger.'
'My Mom image in her late 40's.'
'My mom with my older brothers Gabriel and Simon in the Ma'abara (transit camp) of Lod. Late 60's. '