He was my husband's uncle's father-in-law. But I knew him before I ever met my husband — while studying in Israel for a year, he was my chiropractor. A good man, a 70-year-old man who led the life of a 40-year-old, always busy, running from the synagogue to his clinic to a Torah class to volunteer work to caring for his family to... the list is endless.

On that awful Tuesday morning of June 18, I went online and recoiled at the shrieking headlines: "Jerusalem... suicide bomber... 8:00am... 19 dead... 55 injured (the toll of the injured later climbed to 70)..." I felt terrible, I prayed for the families of the dead and for the injured, whose lives had been irrevocably changed by the terrifying attack.

I was very upset and thought about "the situation" for a few minutes longer, and then went on with my life, almost as if nothing had happened.

A few hours later, the atrocity hit home when I heard that Dr. Moshe Gottlieb, of Gilo, Jerusalem had been on Bus number 32a... He'd been on the bus, and was supposedly no longer among the living. His daughter (my acquired aunt) and son-in-law were already on the plane, traveling from New York to Israel for the funeral.

When you know someone, your entire perspective changes. The tragedy affects you deeply.

Many thoughts rushed through my mind in those moments: "He's such a nice guy" and "He's not on the list of identified bodies, maybe he's in shock, suffering from amnesia and wandering the streets of Jerusalem, some kind person will bring him to the hospital, he'll be treated and everything will be fine." Then: "Maybe he sat in the back of the bus and 'only' got injured" and so on and so forth, my brain was generating more hopeful ideas by the minute.

Jewish tradition teaches that until the last moment, until a death is determined and ascertained — hope, no matter how thin a chance of it, never dies. And indeed, until the 10-hour DNA test came back positive, hope remained.

I knew him. He was a good man, a caring man, a man who loved his family, loved his people, loved humanity, loved his country and who dedicated himself to helping others and making this world a healthier, better place.

Dr. Gottlieb was on his way to treat three Down's Syndrome children, something he did every Tuesday, gratis. He was on his way to perform an act of chessed — loving kindness to others, and inadvertently saved his wife's life. His wife was also his secretary in his Jerusalem office. Every week-day morning, the Gottliebs boarded that same bus that took them from their home in Gilo to their work place in the center of Jerusalem. Except on Tuesdays, when he volunteered in B'nei Brak, she stayed home. She stayed home and today she is alive, thank G‑d.

I knew him. May his memory and legacy be for a blessing. May we be reunited with him and all of our people with the coming of our righteous Moshiach speedily in our days.