Many of you may remember the story that I shared in talks after returning from my late-October visit to Israel.
The sky was still overcast as rain fell in Yerushalayim. We sat in the same meeting room in the Jewish Agency that we had spent time in earlier in the day. Drinks and snacks from lunch were still on the perimeter. Sitting to my right was Dan. His dark curls fell carelessly on his forehead framing his youthful face. At 17, Dan seemed a full decade younger than his 19-year-old brother Ron. Younger sister Eden, just 15, was not in the room. She was in Petach Tikvah caring for her grandmother during these difficult times for the family and everyone in Israel. Their mother, Maayan sat beside Dan and told us Ron’s story.
Ron just finished high school three months prior to our meeting. He did exceptionally well on his bagrut exams before entering the IDF. Because of his asthma, he could not serve in a combat role and instead joined the army’s communications-connection unit. His job on the border was to work with the people and businesses in Gaza that brought their goods into Israel for sale to help support the Gaza economy.
Maayan says that Ron loves people. Each day someone else comes up to her to say “I am Ron’s best friend!” Ron loves to travel and was set to go to Cypress and Budapest the next week. He had just gotten a Playstation. He loves soccer, and being part Argentinian, it is no question that his favorite player is Lionel Messi. Ron was born to be a lawyer. The way his mind works, the way he speaks. Ron is stubborn in a good way. “He works hard for what he wants,” she says just before Dan – with a broad smile filled with brotherly love and a bit of admiration – interjects, “And he knows how to not work hard for what he doesn’t!”
On the morning of October 7 just before 6:30 a.m., Ron awoke to the red alert on his base. Following procedure, he ran from his bed to the migunit in the shorts and t-shirt he had been wearing while asleep. As the bombs fell, his mother called to check in on him. He heard explosions. Gunfire. Shouting. He told his mother that terrorists had breached the base. She did not believe him. The call got cut off and they switched to Whatsapp. More explosions. She told him not to worry. At one point he said, “I hope I don’t get kidnapped. After a little bit, he said he could hear Arabic outside the migunit. At 7:12 a.m. Ron texted, “That’s it, Mom, they’re here, it’s over, I love you,” with heart emojis. She believed he was dead.
Five hours later a Hamas Telegram channel posted video of Ron, still wearing his shorts and t-shirt, taken back to Gaza alive, along with over 240 others. Maayan said that since October 7 she cannot breath, like there is a heavy stone on her chest. She fights for him every day. She knows he is alive. She will accept no condolences. She wants the Red Cross to bring him his medicine. She wants the Red Cross to visit all of the hostages and verify their conditions. She is fortunate. She saw her son alive. Others lost children, siblings, parents, whole families. Others do not even know if their loved ones were taken dead or alive. She feels no sadness for herself, just hope. The world must know. The world must fight for them. “We must,” she declares, “bring them all home.”
At 2:51 Friday morning I received a text message. Hamas killed Ron in Gaza. The IDF recovered his body and brought him home. יהי זכרו ברוך
Every person has a story. Every name is someone’s child. Every death is another world lost. מן המצר קראתי יה. We call out to Hashem. We cry. We beg for mercy, for salvation. We know Hashem answers.
May He bring comfort to those in pain and the גאולה שלימה to us all.
