Azchara

This is one of my favorite views from Kibbutz Gazit, the kibbutz on which my son Gregory lived and now is buried. Yesterday was the twenty-seventh anniversary of his death. He was killed on the battlefields of Lebanon on the third day of the first Lebanon War. On that day it wasn't even yet declared a war -- it was then Operation Peace in the Galil. So long ago now.

Gregory went to Israel on a program called Etgar, which means "challenge" in English. He went right after high school. He was sent to Kibbutz Gazit, which is in the Jezreel Valley, a little over an hour southeast of Haifa. He worked in the fields, fell in love with his group leader, Ruti (and she with him), changed his name to Gideon and decided to make his life in Israel. He and Ruti moved to Haifa where he spent a year at Haifa University preparing to enter the university, but in the end he decided that he had to do his military service along with all his buddies, though he really didn't have to do it then because of his new immigrant status. But he did, and after his first year in the army the war in Lebanon broke out and he was killed on the third day. Ruti and I are still in close touch -- she never married. When she was 48 she decided to have a baby and now she and Yehonaton (now 5) and her partner Avram live in a tiny apartment in Ramat Gan. Ruti is an extraordinary woman...

It is the custom here in Israel to visit the grave of a loved one on the anniversary of the death (the azchara). For the last 27 years I have tried to be in Israel on June 9th every year, but in the last few years because of one thing or another I have been unable to be here on the day itself. When we go to the cemetery our friends go with us: Victor and Nurit, his "adoptive parents" when he was here; Amos, who was his other group leader with Ruti, and his wife Sarit; Daphne, a dear friend, and here and there others. Afterwards we go to Nurit and Victor's for sandwiches, fruit and cake. At the grave we tell stories about him and remember him and sometimes cry and almost always laugh and the whole thing is hard and wonderful and a treasure.

Now it is twenty-seven years. Amos and Sarit have a son, Gideon, who was born after Gregory died and now he is 21 and in the army doing difficult and dangerous work. And Amos told a story that just happened. One of Gideon's very close army buddies is a fellow named Ophir. One day Ophir asked Gideon if he knew of a guy named Greg Barry from Gazit who was killed in the first Lebanon War. Of course, said Gideon -- I'm named after him! It turns out that Ophir's father, Ricardo, was in the same unit as Greg and was with him on that fateful day, in fact, standing right next to him. In the battle, Greg was a mugiste -- a soldier who carried a very large and heavy weapon. So the officer in charge (the mefaked) went to investigate something and was fired on so he called for the mugiste. Ricardo warned Gregory not to go, but Gregory said "My mefaked has called me -- I have to go..." and he went. Three of them were killed in that skirmish: the mefaked, the medic, and the mugiste.

There is always more to tell. I got a letter months after he was killed from the parents of a soldier who had been trapped in a tank and Gregory had rescued him earlier that morning. Now Amos says there is a new guy in his son Gideon's unit, a Canadian named Jeffery, who (like someone else we knew) came to Israel completely on his own, decided to make aliyah, joined the army, and now is the modern day equivalent of a mugiste. May he and all the others be protected...

Pat