Four Funerals and a Funeral

This weekend I attended four funerals. I also attended fifth, but that one was of a wholly different nature to the first four.

Shiva

To be more accurate, I couldn’t physically make all the funerals, as they were on the same day in different parts of the country. I attended the “Shivas”.  But never let the facts get in the way of a good title.

If you’re not familiar, a Shiva is the Jewish period of mourning in the bereaved families’ homes that lasts seven days, starting from when the bereaved return home from the funeral. The family sit at home and receive a host of guests. Not guests, so much as mourners, family, friends, members of the community, even complete strangers come to offer their condolences, more often than not, laden with food, as for these seven days, in theory at least, the bereaved are not to lift a finger.

These four happened to be Jewish funerals. In truth, I could have been visiting the bereaved homes of Jews, Druze, Christians, Muslims and others. In this war, terror, rockets and violent death do not discriminate. This same week in Israel, seven civilians were murdered by Hezbollah rockets. On the northern border, a Jewish farmer and his four Thai workers were murdered in a direct hit from an ant-tank missile fired at them by Hezbollah terrorists from Lebanon. They had gone to tend to their apple orchard. In the Arab town of Shfar’am two young people in their twenties were murdered by another Hezbollah missile. And so, it continues. We are all in this nightmare together. 

Four Young Men in Their Prime

But back to the four funerals, or rather, Shivas... Yonatan (Jonny), Nissim, Naor and Aviv, were four young men in their prime, members of a special-forces team, killed in action in northern Gaza. According to the UN and other disingenuous, bad actors, there are no terrorists in the area. Logic therefore suggests they were killed by “innocent, unarmed, civilian women and children”.

But no, they were killed by a ruthless enemy hiding in civilian buildings behind those same innocent women and children. These four young men were killed while making every effort to avoid harm to innocents, as they engaged the terrorists in a deadly firefight. As they closed in on the enemy and entered yet another civilian building being used by Hamas, an IED in the building blew up, killing the four and wounding others in their team. 

Although I have a personal connection to their unit, I didn’t know these kids, or their families. News of fallen soldiers is so common these days. There are funerals and Shivas nonstop across the country, as far too many of this incredible generation pay the ultimate price.

Every Parent’s Nightmare

Every day seems to bring new tragedies, as more families experience the worst house call imaginable. The dreaded knock at the door feared by all parents of serving soldiers. They pretend to go about their lives as normal. But, at a time of war, with a child on the front line, nothing is normal, and it is constantly in the back of your mind, no matter how hard you try to convince yourself otherwise. 

Some are known to simply refuse to open, in a desperate attempt to deny the news they know awaits them. As they open the door, those that do are faced with two young IDF officers. Nothing need be said to convey the worst possible news, the nightmare of every parent.

They may not be in combat, but these servicemen and women with an unimaginably difficult task are surely among the bravest of the brave.  How does one turn up out of the blue at a stranger’s door, to inform them that their precious child has died a violent death, and is no more. Not surprisingly, they are all volunteers, and we salute them.

It hits you day after day, the constant announcements of the fallen. There is a terrible sadness and feelings of helplessness, and certainly of, “there but for the grace of god’” ... not that I necessarily believe. But when I heard about the tragic fate of these four young men, it hit me hard. From diverse backgrounds and different parts of the country, I felt a desperate need to visit each of the families.

They are all Our Sons & Daughters

I wanted to show up and let their loved ones know that they are not alone, that their sons are all our sons, that we share their pain and their sorrow.  I have no way of knowing if, and how it might help. I have been told however that a hug, a kind word, or just your presence at such a time, is appreciated, and of some comfort by those enduring the unendurable. As is human nature, I expect it was just as much for me as for the families, maybe even more so.

I arrived at Jonny’s family home in a small Moshav in the north of the country. There were hundreds of people in the yard, sitting talking in small and larger groups, drinking coffee, cold drinks, or partaking of the vast amounts of food brought by the mourners. I approached a group of five men, standing chatting. I asked one of them to please point out the parents. He smiled and introduced me to Jonny’s father, one of the five. I was quite unprepared.

Yes, I had been in the car for the best part of two hours, on my way to meet the parents, but hadn’t worked out what I would say. What do you say to a father who has just lost his 22-year-old son, the apple of his eye, killed in the most violent manner?

Well, in a highly unoriginal manner, I introduced myself, offered my condolences along with the traditional Jewish offering of, “may they know no more sorrow”.  He thanked me for coming and went back to his conversation. The others were old friends from his own army service who had come from all over the country to support their comrade.  I stood there somewhat awkwardly for a few minutes, listening to the conversation, unable to participate. I then moved towards the drinks and poured myself a glass of water still feeling awkward, pondering my next step.

I went in search of the mother, who was sitting in a circle, receiving mourners. I approached her, and again introduced myself. She took my hand and then embraced me with an intensity that shook me. She was crying. I grabbed a plastic garden chair. At least a hundred of them had been delivered to the house for the Shiva, the kind that if you lean back on them the wrong way, they are apt to break and collapse. Anyway, I took my chair and joined the circle. Jonny’s father had also joined.

A group of young support soldiers from the unit were telling stories about Jonny who had been an officer. He was actually the team leader. Jonny’s father then began telling us all about Jonny as a child, recounting some of those golden moments, the ones that make the memories that parents cherish with their kids. There was joy and laughter in the remembrances. Jonny’s mother sobbed as her husband spoke.

Fatigue, Frustration & Profound Sadness

I stayed for about an hour, then took my leave, as I headed to the next Shiva, just over an hour’s drive away. On the road south I found myself tearing up. I suppose I should have stopped the car, but I didn’t. I continued driving even as I began to cry. It came out of nowhere and only lasted for a few minutes or so.

I suppose I was crying for Jonny and his family, for Nissim who’s family I was on my way to meet, and for the others. Not just the four whose families I would also visit, but for all  of them, all those who have died, some murdered horribly, others who fell in battle, for them, for their families, for their communities, not to mention the thousands who have been injured and scarred, along with the terrible toll, the price being paid by all Israelis in what is undoubtedly the worst year in modern Israel’s short history.

Never Ending

I was also experiencing a kind of Deja vu. It is just over a year since October 7th, when two of my daughter’s best friends were brutally murdered at the Nova party, along with over 1,200 others who were slaughtered like sheep on that terrible day. Then just as now, I was jumping from funeral to funeral and, from Shiva to Shiva. So many families, so many lost souls. It was so hard, so sad, so utterly all consuming. Yet here we are, a year later, the same devastating pattern, with no end in sight.

I got to Nissim’s family home and again went in search of his parents. As it happened, all the immediate family were taking a break form the chore of receiving mourners, handshakes, hugs, kind words and tears of the seemingly endless line of visitors. They were sitting in a corner having a late lunch, just being with themselves.

One thing you notice at Shivas is that often, when a mourner goes to offer their condolences to one of the parents, it is the mourner who breaks down, while the parent offers comfort. It seems odd, but the whole Shiva thing can seem odd, and often awkward. Yet there is a method in the madness, where those seven intensive days of mourning surrounded by family, friends, comfort and support, not to mention a ridiculous amount of food, has by all accounts, the desired effect.

As they all lived so far from each other, there was no way I could make all four in one day. It was a Friday. The sabbath was approaching. Families do not sit Shiva over the Sabbath, so I would have to wait until Sunday to visit Naor and Aviv’s families.

Number Five - A Staggering Contrast

As it was on my way home, I was able to visit the fifth funeral, or rather Shiva I mentioned. A good friend Alon lost his father, who had died of natural causes, just weeks shy of his 90th birthday. I arrived as the Shiva was winding down ahead of the Sabbath, but there was still time, and I was welcomed by Alon and his family, grateful that I had come. 

As I said, it was an altogether different experience. And as we mourned his loss, the contrast with those I had attended that morning was staggering. We celebrated his life, a journey complete, a life well-lived. Yes, there was sadness at the passing of a beloved father, husband, brother and friend, but also acceptance of the natural and inevitable end, in the circle of life.

As for the other four funerals, there was no relief, no celebration of life, no acceptance of the inevitable, only a stark, unrelenting reminder of what it means to live in Israel today. Four young men, whose futures, love, family, careers and infinite potential were ripped away, leaving shattered families and communities in mourning.

As ridiculous as it may sound, compared to these four, this Shiva was an almost "happy" occasion. I mentioned as such to Alon as we chatted. Despite their loss, he, and indeed, all his family agreed.

Second Round

Sunday arrived and off I went to the next two Shivas. I arrived at Naor’s home, where rather than receive guests in their small apartment, his family set up a mourning tent, behind the apartment block. I have a feeling the local council provided what is perhaps, better described as a large marquee tent.

Naor’s family are religious. I entered the tent where his father and brother were sitting receiving mourners. His mother, no longer alive, at least she never had to endure the tragic loss of her child.

A group of Naor’s friends were sitting around the circle telling stories about him to his father. I approached the father and brother, introduced myself and once more offered my condolences. They thanked me for coming and invited me to take a seat and join the circle. His father explained that he had been abroad, about to embark upon a cruise from France, when he received the terrible news. Thank providence that the ship had not sailed, or he would have had an agonizing wait for the ship to reach its first port of call. Helped by the Israeli embassy, he caught the first plane home, to bury his son.

Interestingly, while I was there, as high-profile politician (who shall remain nameless) arrived to offer his condolences. Apparently, he had just come from Aviv’s Shiva, that I would visit next. He sat down, was treated with great reverence, and spent half an hour or so in conversation with the family. Naor’s brother asked him a couple of political questions, which of course he didn’t really answer. What he did was offer his own solution to Israel’s current “challenges”.

As I listened, I was desperate to comment. I decided that this was not the time, nor the place to engage in political debate. Naor’s brother did argue some points, however, I wanted to respect the family and bit my lip. I remained silent while getting increasingly agitated by the nonsense coming out of this politician’s mouth. It was time to leave.

Fourth & Final

I headed towards the fourth and final Shiva. Aviv’s family are also religious. As I arrived at their home in a small predominantly religious village, once again I saw that they had set up a mourners’ marquee. In true religious fashion, the family were sitting on very low seats.

This time it was Aviv’s mother, father and his sister, surrounded by extended family, along with friends. Once again, I introduced myself. Aviv’s father was clearly in shock, barely functioning. I turned to his mother. Many religious Jewish women will not touch a man who is not her husband or immediate family, I was unsure as to how to greet her and whether I should offer my hand. To my surprise, she stood and hugged me and thanked me for coming. Again, I was asked to take a seat and join the circle. I ended up sitting beside the Rabbi of the unit, who had come directly from the front in Gaza.

Personally, I am somewhat sceptical when it comes to religion. But that is a conversation for another time. I wasn’t sure and was genuinely curious as to what a Rabbi does in a special-forces unit. So, I asked him. He was friendly and happy to explain that in addition to looking after the religious and spiritual elements for religious soldiers, he was also responsible for the care and treatment of the fallen, and of the wounded. There are strict rules as to how bodies are to be treated and looked after as they are evacuated from the field. He also explained that he was also a fully trained combat soldier, as he had been in a combat unit before becoming a Rabbi.

The unit was still operational in Gaza, so most soldiers could not visit with the family. One friend however, who had trained and fought with Aviv, did arrive. He related many stories and incidents about his friend, offering examples to the family of what a great soldier and friend he had been. You could see the family were grateful for his willingness to share. It was clearly difficult for the young man, but he was determined to do what he could to comfort the family of his friend and brother in arms.

We all listened intently, and I watched the reactions, particularly of his father, as they held on to very word. I cannot forget his father’s look of pure anguish and his hollow eyes. It was painful just to look at him.

Never to be Forgotten

So, those are my four funerals. As far as the fifth is concerned, I paid my respects, acknowledged the loss of my friend and his family, and well, life goes on. 

But not with Jonny, Nissim, Naor and Aviv. They and their families remain in my thoughts. They are etched in my memory.  To be honest, it’s not just them. I have been to too many funerals and Shivas in the past year, witnessed too many tragedies, while attempting to comfort too many bereaved parents, siblings and friends. Trying to make sense of it all seems impossible. Life doesn’t just go on. It can’t.

In Israel, there is life before October 7th, and life after that terrible day. On October 7th everything changed for everyone, forever.

It’s impossible to escape the pervasive, almost palpable collective trauma and deep sadness that permeates throughout the country. Funeral after funeral, Shiva after Shiva, the country is exhausted. People are tired of war, of death and destruction. Parents are at the end of their tether as they send their sons and daughters to fight yet another war, in this case, the longest war in our history.

Resilience is a Necessity

In Israel, each generation defends and protects the previous and the next generation, while every generation prays that their generation will be the last that needs to do so. All Israel lives for that day!

As we mark and mourn our dead, we have the added agony of those kidnapped on October 7th, those who still languish in Hamas terror tunnels and dungeons. It is thought that many are already dead, but there an unknown number who continue to suffer untold horrors for over fourteen long tortuous months. Their families hope beyond hope that they may see their loved ones once more, as they themselves endure indescribable stress and strain. 

These families are doing everything and more, to ensure as many as possible come home alive, and that those who have perished are returned to be buried by their families, providing some sense of closure. Israelis are out on the streets constantly, protesting and demanding a deal for their safe and immediate return.

And so here we are. This small, resilient country, the Jewish State, the Jews, the same people, enduring the same trials we’ve endured for generations, albeit in a different guise. While the world turns a blind eye, or worse, sides with those who celebrate our destruction, we carry on. We attend funeral after funeral, we mourn our dead, then we go back to living because there is no other choice. In Israel, resilience is not a choice, it’s a necessity!

Not Just Exist, But Thrive

For now, we grieve. We mourn our young men and women who didn’t get the chance to live their lives. We bury our elderly with gratitude for the life they were given. And even as we fight this battle on multiple fronts, against terrorists, against a biased international community, against an indifferent world, we stand firm, obstinate, and determined. We will not apologise, for being. We will assert our right to live, and our right, indeed obligation to fight and defend ourselves when necessary.

To those who vilify us, those bad actors who peddle the lies and propaganda, those who chant for our destruction, be it through ignorance, naiveté, or unbridled hatred, know this...

We are here. We are here to stay and to thrive. Currently, we are paying a heavy price, yet we will continue to choose life over death and peace over war, if at all possible.  We are unbowed. We know who we are and who we will continue to be.

As write this, we just heard that another boy from our village has been killed in action. His name was Dor. He was twenty years old. His funeral is tomorrow. One more funeral, one more Shiva.

May his memory be a blessing. May all their memories be a blessing and may their sacrifice bring peace and prosperity to our people, and to this land.