Wednesday, April 14, 2021 is Israel's national Memorial Day. It is similar to America's Memorial Day in that it is the moment when an entire nation remembers its fallen.
In Israel, this day is called, Yom HaZikaron. A loose translation of these two words is, the day of/for remembrance.
In Israel, we remember soldiers killed in actions against Israel's enemies, both in a war and between wars. It is also the day we remember those killed in terror attacks.
Israel is a small country. In a way, the entire country is like one extended family. A new immigrant (new Oleh) learns about this sense of family from one's shul (synagogue) because there is hardly a single shul in the entire country where at least one member has not either experienced such death in his/her own family, or seen such death among his/her extended family--or among social acquaintances, co-workers, former co-workers, neighbors or former schoolmates.
Even among a segregated new immigrant community, a new Oleh (immigrant) can learn how close death touches. In our own family circle, for example, we have learned of other new immigrants (whom we knew/know/heard of) who have themselves personally experienced a terror attack. We have heard of others we know/have heard about who have lost friends in combat. Indeed, one of our own friends died while in uniform during the 2014 war with Gaza.
His name is Cpl. David Menachem Gordon. I understand he was serving in the 424th IDF Shaked Infantry Battalion, Givati Brigade. This Brigade (Givati) appears to have been the most highly decorated IDF Brigade during the 2014 war in Gaza. Cpl Gordon, as I understand it, saw combat in 2014.
Givati has been called, a "prestigious" combat unit. It is not easy to get into. It is not for the faint of heart.
As the 2014 war was winding down, David was on an "open base" (where anyone can enter and wander around). He disappeared one day after finishing with a dental appointment. A couple of days later he was found on the base in a field, in uniform, dead.
No one knows what happened to him. Many say it was suicide. Some say, he was murdered in a "Nationalist" attack. A 'Nationalist" attack is a euphemism for 'killed by a Palestinian Arab as part of the Palestinian "Nationalist" effort to destroy the Jewish State".
I do not know what happened to David that day. But I know that some who promoted the 'suicide' narrative also indicated that anyone who thinks otherwise about that day would be wise to shut up.
Such a message was, for me, a red flag--or, perhaps, a veiled threat. I don't know. But today, almost seven years later, one thing seems certain to me. All such talk is now irrelevant.
David is gone. He is dead. A different narrative will not bring him back.
He will never marry. He will never have children. We will never see him again.
I spoke to him just a few days before he died. I had asked him at that time what his combat experiences had taught him. Maybe such a question was inadvisable. But I was prompted to ask because of his behavior. He was, you see, upbeat.
His answer to my question went something like this: when you go into combat, you do not know what will happen. You do not know how you will respond. Combat taught me something. It taught me I am (not 'was') a warrior.
He was buried on Israel's Har Herzl, Israel's National Cemetery. Har Herzl is similar to the US's Arlington National Cemetery.
Cpl David Menachem Gordon was buried with full military honors, including an honorary set of rifle-shots fired into the air by an honor guard brought to his gravesite ceremony specifically for this final salute to him.
During that gravesite ceremony, if I remember correctly, both his Commander and his Commander's Commander eulogized him. They honored him for his military service.
For me, Cpl. David Menachem Gordon will forever be a warrior. On the occasion of his first 'yahrzeit' (a 'yahrzeit' is the anniversay of a decedent's passing), I spoke before his grave. I ended with these words: "David, for me, you were a warrior. You are a warrior. You will always be a warrior".
He will forever be for me a young man who felt good about his military service, his combat experience, and his future. That was what we had spoken about just days before he was found dead. The young man I saw that day did not seem to me to be a candidate for suicide.
In fact, I could be right about that. Then again, I could also be wrong. Suicide victims are not all "alike".
His status at death just doesn't matter to me any more. What matters to me is he is gone.
He was a good soldier. He was a good man. May his memory be blessed.
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