Just a few days ago I received a heart-wrenching message from a dear friend of mine. Lainie and Shmarya (Sammy) Richler, originally from Montreal, made aliyah 30 years ago with three young children. They live in Efrat and now have five children. After several years of working in a totally different field they ventured into something new and different and opened the Muffin Boutique in Yerushalayim. It always prided itself on making Montreal bagels, delicious food and catering. Its location is on Ben Yehuda and now they have expanded to another store in Arnona.

I cannot express to you how much I love and admire this couple. When I read this I cried and immediately reached out to Lainie for permission to publish what she had written.

When is this calamity going to end? Every one of these soldiers being mortally wounded is related to us. Let us never forget that.

Written by Lainie Richler (Dubrow)

Today, I attended the funeral of a beautiful soul.

Alon Farkas was 27 years old—a neuroscience student at Ben-Gurion University and a reservist in the Paratroopers unit. He served alongside my son.

On Wednesday morning, my phone rang. I answered immediately, knowing my son is in Gaza—for the third time since the war began—my heart pounding with anxiety.

There was sobbing on the other end.

“Elisha,” I cried out. “Are you OK?”

I asked again and again—“Were you hurt?”—each time more frantic.

Finally, he choked out the words: “It’s not me. It’s my friend, Alon. He was killed by a terrorist while we were on a mission.”

Unable to comfort him, I asked Elisha to tell me about Alon. Through tears, he described someone who loved to laugh—and to make others laugh—but who also knew how to hold deep, serious conversations. Alon put a smile on everyone’s face. You felt safer when he was around. More confident. Like things would be OK.

Today, at the funeral, surrounded by hundreds of mourners, I learned even more about Alon—from his close army buddy, a childhood friend, his loving girlfriend, and his mother. Each described, in their own way, a young man of deep loyalty, fierce love for his country, and a generous spirit.

From a young age, Alon was a passionate Zionist. He was committed to being a combat soldier and always reported for reserve duty. On October 7th, he was abroad, vacationing in Europe—but he rushed back to Israel to defend his homeland. And he kept showing up—each time he was called.

In so many ways, Alon and I couldn’t be more different. I’m old enough to be his mother. I’m Anglo; he was Israeli. I’m religious; he was secular. I grew up in Canada; he grew up here.

But I felt a deep kinship with him. I admired the values he lived by—and mourned the life he should have had.

On the way to the funeral, we listened to a podcast—”Piers Morgan Uncensored.” His guests were comedian-turned-commentator Dave Smith and international legal expert Natasha Hausdorff. For over an hour, Piers interrupted and shouted down Natasha at every turn, never letting her finish a sentence. Dave, on the other hand, was interrupted only once—when Piers voiced agreement with his anti-Israel stance.

Listening to Piers peddle every vile falsehood—genocide, ethnic cleansing, disproportionate response—then attending Alon’s funeral, I couldn’t help but ask:

Why do we risk the lives of our selfless sons and daughters to minimize civilian casualties in Gaza when we could bomb from the air and spare our own?

Why do we tie one hand behind our back—only to be accused of monstrosities by bad-faith actors like Piers Morgan and Dave Smith, regardless of the moral precautions we take?

As I write these words, I am sitting in a bomb shelter, yet another missile aimed at my home.

To Piers and Dave, I say this:

You are hypocrites.

If even one missile were launched at your neighborhoods in your cushy “land of the free,” I dare say your tune would change. Israel has endured thousands. We are a tiny nation, surrounded by 22 Muslim countries, many of which overtly or covertly call for our destruction. And yet we hold our fire, measure our responses, and pray our children return home alive.

Alon won’t.