As a people, we stand silent and
remember. As a family, we stand silent and remember my brother-in-law,
Arele Katz, z”l, who died when his plane was shot down over the skies of
Lebanon, 32 years ago this July.
I remember – the tragedy that
accompanies the gift which is Israel. Our return did not follow the
prophetic script. God did not pave the highway, nor did God alone defeat
our foes. The blood and heroism of our family members did. I do not
merely owe a prayer of thanks but a debt which I can never repay. That
debt forever haunts me and obligates me.
I remember – that the joy of victory
is diluted by pain. War is at times necessary, but it always remains a
necessary evil. Its end can at times justify its means, but can never
erase its horrific price.
I remember – that if we are to be a
free and sovereign people in our homeland we have to unfortunately at
times be willing to offer the ultimate sacrifice. We, too, like Abraham,
have to be willing to offer our children, not for a senseless and
immoral test of loyalty, but rather as a consequence of living in an
unredeemed world.
I remember – Arele, and am obligated
to do everything in my power to ensure that no other death be an
unnecessary one, that no war be an unjust one. Anyone who saves one
life, has saved a whole world, and anyone who takes one, has destroyed a
whole world.
I remember – Arele and the tens of
thousands of Areles on both sides. Enough is enough. His and their
deaths obligate us to find another way.
I remember – Arele. There are no
“those who have died.” The dead don’t constitute a community. Each one
is an individual who was ripped out of their families and away from
their friends. Death is the most un-personalizing of events. In one’s
grave, one is faceless. It is the living and in the living that one’s
identity, who one was, and what one did, is preserved.
I remember – that it is hard to
remember. As the years pass, memories fade, and it is easy to forget the
tragedy. While part of us struggles to remember, part of us struggles
to move on. Forgetfulness is a blessing but also a curse.
I remember – that some of us move on
and some of us do not. For my sister, there are scars and pain and
loneliness that are permanent. For Arele’s children, the consequences of
his death will forever mark their lives. Some of us move on, but we
must remember, that some cannot, and it is for us to stand at their
side.
I remember – that Arele is still 32
years old. Time has passed, and as we have gotten older, he remains
frozen in time. There are 32 years of life that he did not live, 32
years of experiences that he did not share. It’s hard to tell who has
suffered more.
I remember – the importance of
mourning. Noble circumstances may ennoble the dead, but in the end they
don’t give it meaning. Mourning reminds us that death obligates sadness
and silence. That it be allowed to be, a blackness without light, a hole
that must be forever a part of our life.
I remember – Arele, but I am not
alone. I am blessed to be in the midst of a people who even if they did
not know him, are saddened by his death and mourn with me. Every year
our family’s life comes to a stop. Every year, we re-experience the
power and comfort of living in the midst of a people who do not forget.
I remember – Arele the Cohen, who
loved to bless our people. May your memory be a blessing, and may our
people and the whole world be blessed with peace.
Donniel Hartman
http://blogs.timesofisrael.com/yizkor-i-remember/
