By Leah Garber
When we played in the sand and I taught you to fall, I never thought you would jump and give it all.… In the green field when I asked you to throw, I never meant for you to throw yourself into danger.”
– Gilad Segev singing for Aner Shapira
In a normal year, the first of September, the first day of school in Israel, is a festive day, full and overflowing with anticipation and excitement for new beginnings, a day that symbolizes a step up, a change of status. Last year’s kindergarteners are now in first grade, carrying new, shiny backpacks decorated with unicorns, princesses, and other characters from fairy tales, radiating a charming, childish naivety.
This year their bags are particularly heavy; their backs are bent as they try to hold the extra weight in the bags. Among new notebooks and sharpened pencils lay hidden fears, sounds of explosions, and horrific sights that have been part of Israel’s reality for 333 days. In some bags are painful memories of those now gone—a friend, a sibling, a parent.
And while many youngsters hold both their parents’ hands cheerfully, not all of them can do that. Some hold Ima’s hand tightly while the other hand hangs empty, feeling the pain of loss. Abba is gone, killed in war. They confuse mom’s tears of sadness with her tears of joy; this is not how she imagined her child’s first day of school.
And while these children have a parent’s hand by their side, others don’t even have that. For all too many, both mom and dad were murdered on October 7, and so they are accompanied to school by uncles, aunts, or grandparents. Surely these sweet little children are looking up, trying to spot a twinkling star among clouds, their parents bright smiles gazing down at them from above, watching their steps, sending a caress from heaven on a light breeze.
Many children walk through the gates of unfamiliar schools. They were forced to leave their homes, in charred, burning kibbutzim and towns in the north and south of the country, almost a year ago.
When they are settled at clean desks that await cheerful paint spots as decoration, the small children hesitate when picking a color from their pencil case. Red? This color, more than any other reminds them of the alert, the sirens: “Code Red, Code Red.” Perhaps bright yellow? No. For 333 days, yellow has represented solidarity with the hostages. How about orange? No, that won’t work either. It’s the color of fire that consumed their homes, and gray is the thick smoke that almost suffocated them as they sat besieged in their home shelters for many hours. Their palette pales in comparison to the harsh reality of their lives.
For other students, older than these youngsters, friendships formed at school remained for life, weaving shared memories and childish mischief into a wonderful fabric that will warm them forever.
Ben Zussman, Aner Shapira, and Hersh Goldberg-Polin were in the same class in a school in Jerusalem. They shared dreams about new loves, plans for the future, thoughts about life. Little did they know that all their lives would be cut short—so painfully short.
Aner Shapira is one of the extraordinary heroes of October 7. A warrior on vacation, he spent his last day on earth at the Nova Music Festival. During the attack, Aner hid in a concrete structure located throughout the south of Israel to protect people in case of rocket fire. Aner protected 30 people and deflected seven rounds of grenades thrown into the shelter by the terrorists until he was killed. An extremely talented musician, he left behind a rich collection of songs, including “Brotherly Hatred,” which calls on us to remember that at the end of the day, we are all one people. Shaanan Street, one of Israel’s leading artists, produced this video that features both Aner’s lyrics and his friends and family. Musician and artist Gilad Segev, as part of his October 7 Heroes Project, wrote “Hero Child” in memory of Aner. Hersh Goldberg-Polin was there with Aner until he and other survivors were dragged into Gaza by the terrorists.
Ben Zussman, a combat engineering fighter, fell in battle in the northern Gaza Strip on December 3. Ben knew when he went into battle that the danger was great, and he left behind this will:
I am writing this message to you on the way to the base. If you are reading this, something must have happened to me. As you know me, there is probably no one happier than me right now. It was not for nothing that I was on the verge of fulfilling my dream soon. I am happy and grateful for the privilege I will have to defend our beautiful land and the people of Israel. Even if something happens to me, I don’t allow you to sink into sadness. I had the privilege of fulfilling my dream and vocation, and you can be sure that I am looking down at you and smiling hugely.…
If, God forbid, I’m dead and you are sitting shiva, make it a week of friends, family, and fun. Let there be food, meat of course, beers, sweet drinks, grains, tea, and, of course, mom’s cookies. Make jokes, hear stories, meet all my other friends you haven’t seen yet. Wow. I’m jealous of you. I would like to sit there and see them all. And one more very, very important point: If, God forbid, I fall into captivity, alive or dead, you do not have my consent that anyone, soldier or citizen, will be harmed as part of some deal for my release. Do not conduct a campaign or struggle or anything. I’m not prepared that terrorist[s] be released for my exchange. In no way, shape, or deal do not dismiss my ask, please… I left home without even being called up to the reserves. I am full of pride and a sense of mission, and I have always said that if I have to die, I wish it would be in defense of others and the country.
Hersh Goldberg-Polin’s parents’ piercing cry for his release along with his own courage and bravery, despite the severe injury he suffered on October 7, led them, reluctantly, to be a symbol in Israel and across the world, throughout the nearly 330 days he survived in cruel captivity.
Thousands attended Hersh’s funeral and thousands more crowded the streets of Jerusalem with Israeli flags to accompany the mourners sending Hersh to his final resting place.
Three 20-something friends. Three worlds among so many others who didn’t get the chance to fulfill their dreams, yet left us with so much of their worldview.
God picks the finest flowers from His garden, leaving the rest of us to wonder how evil and cruelty exist in such a beautiful, divinely created place.
Aner, Ben, Hersh, we don’t need more heroes. We want our kids to grow up to live long lives. From heaven above, please grant the blessing of life to the children of Israel and wish them friendships that will last throughout their long, full lives.
Together, united, we will overcome.
Leah Garber is a senior vice president of JCC Association of North America and director of its Center for Israel Engagement in Jerusalem.
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