March 1, 2024
Menashe Shapiro, Deputy Chief of Staff and Senior Advisor to the Mayor: Good afternoon. My name is Menashe Shapiro. I'm deputy chief of staff and senior advisor to Mayor Eric Adams.
And I want to thank everyone for coming here today as we mark this solemn occasion in the history of our city, the murder a few steps away 30 years ago of Ari Halberstam. I'd like to call up Ari's mother, Devorah Halberstam.
Devorah Halberstam: Thank you, Menashe. Good afternoon, Mayor Adams, Attorney General Letitia James, Madam Speaker, families and friends, members of the NYPD and the media. I would like to ask you all to be in the moment with me. Please close your eyes.
It was a Tuesday morning, March 1st, 1994, 5:30 in the morning. I see my teenaged son, Ari, preparing to leave the house. He was going to accompany 14 of his schoolmates to go with their rabbi, Rabbi Schneerson — a blessed memory — to the Eye, Ear and Throat Hospital in Manhattan for surgery.
I didn't say goodbye to Ari. I heard the door close. Ari left our home for the last time in his life on this earth.
The rabbi had his surgery, and the motorcade prepared to leave the hospital. The vanload of Yeshiva students leave a few minutes later and start their way back to Brooklyn. The boys take the Brooklyn Bridge; and as they reach the merging point at the tip of the bridge, at this very ramp, at 10:21 in the morning, the terrorists begins firing at the van, first at the passenger side with his Cobray machine gun set on automatic.
Then, with his Glock pistol at the driver's side, he has a street sweeper and a .380 fully loaded with the intent of murdering each and every child on that van.
He shot over 40 rounds of ammunition at the van as he chased them across the length of the Brooklyn Bridge. Ari was the first one to be struck with the Cobray. The bullet went straight to his brain. Three of his friends were also gravely hurt, one with lifelong injuries.
And then they came and told me, and I see the ambulance in front of my home and I begin to cry and howl from the place in my heart that only a mother knows and feels. I stayed by Ari's side for five days while he was hooked up to life support.
I prayed and held his hand locked in mine, and I cried from the depths of my soul, hoping for a miracle that would save Ari. I watched my son die. Ari died on the following Saturday night and was buried the next day.
Now open your eyes. It was a frigid day 30 years ago. I could hear the crunch of ice under my feet as I made my way up the stairs of St. Vincent's Hospital. It was a crystal day, broad daylight, much like today.
On that day, at that moment, my life was forever changed. We became victims of terrorism. Being a victim is not a state of mind. It takes courage to survive the death of your child. And I speak for all parents whose children were taken from them. There is no freedom or peace for us. The loss informs our decisions in life going forward.
In his video confession, the terrorist who murdered my son was asked, did you see who was in the van? And he answered, yes, Hasids, and they were on top of each other. I cannot fathom the bloodthirsty hatred that permeated his being, the ideological poison that infiltrated his existence that led him down this path.
Today, as I stand here with you, I want to be clear: hate has seeped into our society like a plague, and we need to make changes. I have worked tirelessly for the last 30 years to do just that. We have to turn the hate and antisemitism that has a life of its own into love.
I am a Jew, and the lessons of our history through the most horrific times have taught us to survive and flourish. Giving up or capitulating to grief is not an option and never will be.
I have not seen Ari for 10,957 days, but I will always remember my first born child, six feet tall, with eyes that were crystal blue as the ocean and shined like two diamonds, with a basketball in one hand and a prayer book in the other, always with a smile.
Hope springs eternal; and Ari loved the spring, and as the hint of spring is in the air, I could see Ari hopping down the street in his size 13 and a half sneakers.
Today we remember Ari, but we must never forget what he lived and died for. Elie Wiesel said the tragedy of the Holocaust was that those who should be shouting were silent. And many in this country were silent when Ari was murdered, afraid to acknowledge that terrorism exists, that antisemitism was alive and breathing.
Say his name out loud! Ari! Ari! Ari! Ari! Each day, men, women and children are being targeted in the crosshairs of murderers who kill indiscriminately not only others, but even themselves. They respect no law. They view anybody and everybody, but especially Jews, as fair game. They believe the more blood they spill, the more ready the world will be to capitulate to their nefarious demands.
But we are here in America, in the land of the free and the home of the brave. The brave must stand up and speak out about the virtues that are polar opposites of terror and hatred. about acceptance and pluralism. We must never, ever give up the fight to destroy terrorism, to destroy antisemitism, to destroy hate, to prevent what happened 30 years ago today from ever happening again.
Ari was murdered and his friends were targeted because they were identifiably Jewish. Today, we need to have Jewish pride. We stand here now on holy ground. Every time I cross the bridge, I stop and say a prayer for my son. His blood is entwined in the steel beams of this bridge. His stature was as majestic as this bridge, and this bridge needs to remind us all to accept and respect each other no matter who we are or what faith we follow.
My message is we will survive and hate will not win. May Ari's light shine down from heaven where he is with God. Thank you all, and God Bless America and Am Yisrael Hai.
So, now I want to move on to something else. You know, 30 years is a long time. And I know one thing. People come and people go, not everybody stands for the long haul and stays with us in this path. Right behind me is our mayor, and for today, I have to call him Eric because that's who he was when I met him.
This man, to me, is not only a friend and my extended family. None of you know this, but he's knocked on my doors at ten o'clock in the evening, never missing anything that took place in our family, spending hours talking about Ari with not just myself, without cameras, without people to watch.
Always reaching out. This went on for decades, my friends, not just when the cameras were there, not just the first year, but 30 years is a long time. Mayor, I cannot… This stands for who you are. You spoke truth to power, you're a man of great compassion and deep thought, and a very thoughtful man.
And I will never forget, and I always know I not only have a friend in you, but you are family to me. And I really, really mean that. It is not only an honor and a privilege, much, much more than that to have you really speak on behalf of this day. Thank you so much.
Mayor Eric Adams: Thank you so much, Devorah. And my commitment and dedication to remove our city from hate, antisemitism and all other forms of hate is not unique to my character, it's unique to the character of the members that stand here with me. Attorney General James has been very much part of this family, the speaker, Adrienne Adams, Councilwoman Hudson and our amazing district attorney, District Attorney Eric Gonzalez, Kalman Yaeger, as well is here.
We know how important it is for our city to live in a level of diversity and commitment, to weed out hate no matter where it is, no matter where it shows itself. It is unbelievable when I reflect on the fact that 15 young children, Chabad children, were merely traveling back home to their community in Crown Heights over 30 years ago, March 1st, 1994.
When you think about it, you have to reflect on your own family. I'm so happy that Devorah told us all to close our eyes, but think about your children. Think about that knock at the door. As we stand here with men and women of the police department, how many times they had to knock at the door to notify a family member or loved one.
What Devorah did, many people don't really understand. A mother turned her pain into purpose. When Ari died on this ramp, there was no understanding or belief that we were having sleeper cells in our city waiting to wreak havoc and violence. She spent 30 years of her life. Those 10,000 plus days not only mourning the loss of her son, but recommitting herself every day to prevent the loss of other children.
She spoke anywhere and everywhere that people would listen to talk about the dangers that lurked in the shadows of our city. That confession that came from the terrorists sent us a chilling reminder and it compelled us all to take notice of the hate that was lurking.
If we would have listened, there may have been a different approach to September 11, 2001. If we would have listened, there may have been earlier responses to the terrorist actions that have become pervasive across our entire globe.
We hear you now. We hear you loudly and clear, and we want to thank you for your strength and courage. It is so hard when you're in a dark place to believe that you're only buried, but it is also a planting. You turned your pain into purpose; and because of that, so many lives have been saved and so many lives will be saved. This country takes a different view towards terrorism because of what happened on this bridge and on this ramp.
And so we stand with the family and we stand with the communities of this city and state. Hate has no place in New York, hate has no place in America, hate has no place on this globe. Thank you very much.
New York State Attorney General Letitia James: I want to thank Devorah for those remarks. I want to thank her for her courage, for her valor, for standing up and teaching all of us about love. I want to thank the mayor of the City of New York for talking about antisemitism and how we can come together against forces that hate each and every one of us, because when you hate one group, you actually hate all of us.
I've known Devorah for over 20‑some‑odd years, and Devorah has turned her pain into a promise for all of us. The Jewish Children's Museum is a museum where all children — children of all faiths, of all races, of all ethnicities — can come together to talk about the Jewish experience and also to talk about love and our commonality.
On the front of the Jewish Children's Museum is the face of a child, but as you get closer, it's actually the face of thousands of children. And what we need to do as a community is to talk about love, to talk about our commonality and to talk about respect for one another.
That day 30 years ago is a day that we will always remember. It was a day when I was trying to decide what I was going to do with my life, and it was a day that I'll always remember Devorah, seeing her on television and seeing her tears and how she spoke, just powerful, through her tears and through her grief.
And she touched my heart and the hearts of millions of others in New York and all across this nation. And it's as a result of those words, it's as a result of that experience that I've committed my life to again bringing us all together and making sure that there is no division between us, no space between us, that we walk arm in arm, shoulder to shoulder, to talk about love and to talk about our beliefs and to talk about us coming together.
We find ourselves now in this nation more divided than ever, and it breaks my heart. And the only way that we can come together is to speak about our commonalities. Today the sky is blue, and it reflects the eyes, the blue eyes of Ari today. He's looking down on all of us.
And it's up to each and every one of us: if we are to honor his legacy then we must leave this place together, united and in strength and as we stand up against hate. Thank you.
City Council Speaker Adrienne Adams: Thank you. You know, as I'm standing here reflecting on the life of one that was taken way too soon, the life of one who was brought here for a purpose, I stand here in awe of the strength of a mother. I stand here in awe of the strength, as the mayor and the attorney general said, of someone who turned her pain into purpose.
I stand here in awe of someone that continues to voice her strength through her work. The Jewish Children's Museum continues to bring forth the light of Ari.
It is through the children that we are going to make a change. It is only through the children, the innocence. the eyes, the spirit of our children, that is going to show the world the way that the world should go.
And so my hope is that in every school in the City of New York, in the United States, across the world, every school can show that the children should be taught not just the differences of who we are, but the similarities of who we are as human beings, as human spirits, as humans who bleed the same red blood when we are hurt, when we die, when we are killed, when we are murdered.
As humans, the children have to bring forth the wisdom of our generations. The children have to bring forth the strength of our ancestors. The children must be taught the similarities in the human spirit, the humanity, heart to heart and breast to breast. The children have to show us the strength.
And my sister, Devorah, epitomizes the strength, because through her were born children. Through her, Ari had life and Ari gave his life. Through her, Ari is sustained. Through — as the attorney general said — through this beautiful blue sky, through her, the depth of love and hope and forethought as to the way that we all should live through love through her.
Let's not just take Ari's memory with us today, as we know that we will and we should, but let's take his spirit, let's take the work of his mother. Let's take the model of his mother, the work that she has done. The beginning and the end is with the children. Thank you.
Shea Halberstam: Good afternoon elected officials, members of law enforcement, friends, family and fellow New Yorkers. 30 years. It has been 30 pained, long years for our family since Ari's death and Ari's murder.
Our oldest sibling was murdered in cold blood because of his Jewish identity. I was merely four years old. Speaker Adams, I was that child that you referred to, that child of a past generation. And in a moment, our entire family, life as we knew it, would change forever.
Our normalcy gone, shattered by a bullet of a hate‑filled person with a misguided ideology that sought to inflict death, destruction and carnage solely because his intended victims were Jewish.
In New York, we often say an attack on one of us is an attack on all of us; however, for our family, Ari's murder is so much more than just a slogan. It represents all of the milestones missed: college graduations, weddings, births, birthdays, and so many other precious life moments that we no longer have the opportunity to share and celebrate.
I would like to invite everyone here to think for a moment about your own families. Your parents, brothers, sisters, nieces, nephews. Think about what they mean to you and all those cherished life moments that you share together. And then, in a single moment, it stops, never again to experience those feelings of warmth, love, security and embrace of that person.
There's an old Talmudic idiom that states when one life is taken, an entire world is destroyed. That pain is excruciating; and with time dulls, but never fully heals. We are reminded of Ari's absence each and every day when we wake and then again when we return to sleep, silently mentioning a prayer for his eventual return.
Ari's life and legacy does live on, however. Through tireless efforts of my mother and our family advocating for Ari, his legacy is memorialized in the Jewish Children's Museum in Crown Heights, Brooklyn. No child is born with hate in their hearts, and Ari's museum — the Jewish Children's Museum — serves to educate our youth from all backgrounds on the principles of mutual respect and acceptance of all people.
It is the lessons that we take from Ari's murder to value life, treat all people with dignity regardless of their race or creed. These are Ari's true legacy. For us, Ari lives on through our family and our children. In the next generation, each sibling has an Ari of their own to remind us that we haven't forgotten and we will always remember.
As I stand here today and every day, I wear my yarmulke — my kippah — this skull cap with pride in what it means and what it represents and in defiance of those who tried and continue to target our community here and abroad for our Jewish identity.
I wear this yarmulke in deference to my brother as an act of homage for what he represented as a 16‑year‑old teenager, just because beginning his life and proudly presenting his truest self as a proud Jew every single day.
Ari, we miss you. We continue to yearn for your return, and are hopeful that when we are reunited, the senseless hate and intolerance that took you from us will be no more. Until then, we carry on fighting each and every day in love and in deference for what you represent. Thank you.
Shapiro: And now to offer words of prayer from the New York Board of Rabbis, Rabbi Joseph Potasnik.
Rabbi Joseph Potasnik, Executive Vice President, New York Board of Rabbis: Devorah called me yesterday and said, could you please offer a prayer for the return of the hostages? And I thought to myself, what a rare quality, to come with heartbreak for the loss of a child and at the same time to have hope for the lives of others who are hurting.
It is said that you can go three days without food, you can go two days without water, but you cannot go one hour without hope. So, we come here and we offer that prayer of hope and return. In Hebrew, the words are [speaks in Hebrew].
May God have compassion and bring about the return of those hostages from the hidden places to the homes of their families, from suffering to celebration, and may it happen now. Devorah, you taught us heartbreak and hope can come together. Thank you.
Shapiro: Just wanted to thank everybody. This was the first half of the program, as some of the elected officials and dignitaries need to depart.
I'd like to call up Rabbi Michael Miller to continue with the program. Thank you.
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