Uri, my dear son
As
the Lebanon war raged, David Grossman, the celebrated Israeli writer,
publicly urged his government to accept a ceasefire. Just days later,
his soldier son was killed by one of Hizbollah's final anti-tank
missiles. This is the eulogy he read at the funeral.
At 20 to three in the morning, between Saturday and Sunday, the
doorbell rang. Over the intercom, they said they were from the army. For
three days, every thought begins with: 'He/we won't.'
He won't come. We won't talk. We won't laugh. He won't be that kid
with the ironic look in his eyes and the amazing sense of humour. He
won't be that young person with understanding deeper than his years.
There won't be that warm smile and healthy appetite. There won't be
that rare combination of determination and gentleness. There won't be
his common sense and wisdom. We won't sit down together to watch The
Simpsons and Seinfeld, and we won't listen to Johnny Cash, and we won't
feel the strong embrace. We won't see you going to talk to your brother,
Yonatan, with excited hand movements and we won't see you hugging your
sister, Ruthie, the love of your life.
Uri, my love. All your short life, we have all learned from you, from
the strength and determination to go your own way. To go your own way
even if there is no way you could succeed. We followed with amazement
your struggle to get into the tank commanders' course.
How you never compromised with your commanders, because you knew you
would be a great commander. You were not satisfied to give less than you
thought you could. And when you succeeded, I thought here's a man who
knows his own abilities in such a simple and wise way. Here's a man who
has no pretensions or arrogance, who isn't influenced by what others say
about him, whose source of strength is internal.
Limitations and strengths
From childhood, you were like that. A child who live in harmony with
himself and those around him. A child who knew his place, and knew that
he was loved, who recognised his limitations and strengths. And truly,
from the moment you forced the army to make you a commander, it was
clear what kind of commander and person you were.
We hear today from your comrades and your subordinates about the
commander and friend. About the person who got up before everyone else
in order to organise everything and who went to sleep only after
everyone else had.
And yesterday, at midnight, I looked at our house which was quite a
mess after the visits of hundreds of people who came to console us and I
said to myself: 'Well, now we need Uri, to help us organise it again.'
You were the leftie of your battalion and you were respected for it,
because you stood your ground, without giving up even one of your
military assignments ...You were a son and a friend to me and to Mummy.
Our soul is tied to yours.
You felt good in yourself and you were a good person to live with. I
cannot even say out loud how much you were 'Someone to Run With'. Every
furlough you would say: 'Dad, let's talk' and we would go, usually to a
restaurant, and talk. You told me so much, Uri, and I felt proud that I
was your confidante. I won't say anything now about the war you were
killed in. We, our family, have already lost in this war. The state of
Israel will have its own reckoning ...
Uri was such an Israeli child; even his name was very Israeli and
Hebrew. He was the essence of Israeli-ness as I would want it to be. An
Israeli-ness that has almost been forgotten, that is something of a
curiosity. And he was a person so full of values.
That word has been so eroded and has become ridiculed in recent
years. In our crazy, cruel and cynical world, it's not 'cool' to have
values, or to be a humanist, or to be truly sensitive to the suffering
of the other, even if that other is your enemy on the battlefield.
Simplistic thinking
However, I learned from Uri that it is both possible and necessary to
be all that. We have to guard ourselves, by defending ourselves both
physically and morally. We have to guard ourselves from might and
simplistic thinking, from the corruption that is in cynicism, from the
pollution of the heart and the ill-treatment of humans, which are the
biggest curse of those living in a disastrous region like ours. Uri
simply had the courage to be himself, always and in all situations - to
find his exact voice in every thing he said and did. That's what guarded
him from the pollution and corruption and the diminishing of the soul.
'In the night between Saturday and Sunday, at 20 to three in the
morning, our doorbell rang. The person said through the intercom that he
was from the army, and I went down to open the door, and I thought to
myself - that's it, life's over.
But five hours later, when Michal and I went into Ruthie's room to
wake her and tell her the terrible news, Ruthie, after first crying,
said: 'But we will live, right? We will live and trek like before and I
want to continue singing in a choir, and we will continue to laugh like
always and I want to learn to play guitar.' And we hugged her and told
her that we will live.' We will derive our strength from Uri; he had
enough for many years to come.
Vitality, warmth and love radiated from him strongly, and that will
shine on us even if the star that made it has been extinguished. Our
love, we had a great honour to live with you.
Thank you for every moment that you were ours. Father and Mother,
Yonatan and Ruthie.
(The Observe.uk)
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