When a child disappears, the clock does not merely tick – it condemns. Every hour that passes narrows possibilities, weakens evidence, exhausts families, and erodes public trust. In such cases, time itself becomes the enemy.
Nearly two years after the disappearance of Haymanot Kasau, the recent arrest of a suspect offers a measure of hope to a family that has lived too long with silence and uncertainty. Any serious investigative step deserves acknowledgment.
Yet an arrest so long after a child vanished also forces Israel to confront a difficult but necessary question: what was missing in the earliest days, and what must change so this never happens again?
I write not as a distant commentator, but as a member of Haymanot’s community, someone who knows the family personally and as a former investigative officer in the New York City Supreme Court system, where I worked closely with law enforcement, prosecutors, and child-protection cases. That dual perspective compels me to speak carefully, but honestly.
Israel is a nation renowned for urgency. When rockets fall, responses are immediate. When intelligence surfaces, agencies coordinate within minutes. This is not criticism; it is evidence of Israel’s extraordinary capacity to act decisively when life is clearly understood to be at stake.
That is precisely why missing-child cases must be treated not as routine police files, but as national emergencies from the first hour. In modern investigative practice, the first 24 to 72 hours are decisive.
What is often missing in prolonged cases is not effort, but structure: immediate escalation to a unified, inter-agency command; early forensic preservation of locations, digital data, and social networks; continuous, documented communication with the family; and a legal framework that prioritizes speed over bureaucratic sequence. When responsibility remains fragmented – when urgency is assumed rather than enforced – time is quietly lost.
The urgency of finding a missing child
HAYMANOT KASAU was not just any child. She was an Ethiopian Israeli child living in an absorption center, a setting formally supervised by national institutions, including the Jewish Agency, whose historic mission is to protect, absorb, and safeguard Jewish lives – especially of those newly integrated into Israeli society.
That context matters. Children in absorption centers are, by definition, known to the system. They live in monitored environments. There are records, supervisors, routines, and responsible authorities. When a child disappears from such a setting, automatic escalation should occur immediately, without hesitation or ambiguity.
What appears to have been lacking here is not goodwill, but clear ownership: No single authority appears to have taken full command in the earliest hours; responsibility was diffused between agencies rather than centralized; escalation was not mandatory, but discretionary; and communication with the family and community was inconsistent and opaque.
When a child under institutional supervision disappears, delay is not neutral: It signals a gap between responsibility and accountability. That gap is where time is lost and hope begins to fade. Respect for Israel’s police and security professionals is essential. Investigations are complex, evidence is fragile. Decisions must meet legal thresholds.
But respect for institutions does not require silence about process failures, especially when a child’s fate is unknown. Accountability is not to blame; it is prevention. Justice delayed is not only justice denied, but justice weakened.
THE LESSONS from this case are clear and achievable: What must change is not complicated, but it must be mandatory. This writer therefore recommends the adoption of a clear national law defining the disappearance of any minor as an automatic national emergency within the first 24 hours, regardless of presumed risk level.
International best practices, including FBI and Interpol standards, are unequivocal: the first 24 to 72 hours are decisive. Delays caused by risk classification, assumptions, or administrative discretion cost irreplaceable time and evidence.
Such a law should require automatic escalation to national coordination within six hours, eliminate discretionary thresholds that slow action, and guarantee equal urgency for every child – regardless of background, neighborhood, or community. When a child is missing, hesitation is not neutral; it is failure. A mandatory framework saves lives.
None of these compromise investigations. On the contrary, they strengthen them. And even now, it is not too late. Cases do not expire because time has passed. Renewed investigative strategies, re-interviews, data reanalysis, and international cooperation can still matter. Hope must be operational, not symbolic.
Israel’s strength has always rested on a simple moral promise: No life is invisible. That promise must apply equally to every child, in every neighborhood, without exception – not because of politics, optics, or pressure, but because this is who we are meant to be.
A democracy is judged not only by how it defends its borders, but by how relentlessly it protects its most vulnerable citizens. The arrest connected to Haymanot Kasau’s disappearance must therefore mark not the end of scrutiny, but the beginning of institutional learning.
The family deserves answers and dignity. The public deserves clarity. And the state deserves systems that ensure no future child’s case drifts into silence. The arrest offers hope. But hope alone is not enough.
If Israel is to honor Haymanot Kasau and every child who depends on the state’s vigilance, it must remember this truth: When a child disappears, time is the enemy and urgency is our only defense.
The author is a former NYC Supreme Court Investigator/Detective/educator in conflict resolution, restorative peace, and a moral diplomacy expert. His upcoming book is Moral Diplomacy for a Broken World, inspired by the late Rabbi Jonathan Sacks.