Once again, I had plans to write a completely different post. One day soon, I will answer some of the most pressing questions that I have been receiving. But that is not today.

Yesterday morning, I received news from a friend who first saw it on a Facebook post. The city had also sent out text messages to the residents. Of course, it was announced in the news and spread throughout the army. The family was notified and then the relatives and friends. Another solder had fallen from our city. A 28 year old reservist in the tank division in Gaza.

In the Jewish religion, a body is supposed to be buried within 24 hours. Ido Aviv had been killed on Sunday night, but it was a holiday (last day of Passover/day of complete rest like Shabbat) , so the funeral was set for 3pm Tuesday. My friends and I showed up over an hour early. This was the fifth or sixth funeral since 7October. Forgive me for losing count.

The streets leading up to the cemetery were already lined with people holding Israeli flags, some singing softly in unison. This is typical here. Citizens form a patriotic display on both sides of the streets for the family in honor of the fallen. An hour early and there were already scores of groups gathered in the parking lot, at the entrance to the cemetery and throughout the cemetery itself. I’ve never seen so many soldiers, both regular and reservists, gathered in one place. Young and middle aged men and women.

The tent had been erected graveside, covered with Israeli and battalion flags. Chairs set up for the family. Seven soldiers stood at attention at each end of the gravesite. Within minutes of our getting there, hundreds of people were gathered round. It is so truly moving. I’m on crutches, so a soldier insisted people make room for our party at one side of the barrier just outside the mourning tent. He insisted that I sit down, finding me an extra chair, and made sure I had a bottle of water. Soldiers hand out water bottles to all the people at any kind of event. It’s pretty crazy how considerate these people are.

We stood next to two sisters. I asked them if they knew Ido. They had just heard the news as well from the town. They did not know him personally. Their parents were around somewhere with the two younger siblings, but the girls wanted a front row view. One was 14, the other 17. The older sister was hugging the younger and both were visibly crying. Then their 16 year old brother joined them. It brought back memories of my teenage years and how emotional I became during the Yom Kippur War upon hearing the news of all the fallen soldiers. Soon they, too, will be called up to defend the State of Israel. An older soldier, came over to hug the younger sister and just be there to comfort her. There was absolutely no ulterior motive as he put his arm around her and gave her a packet of tissue.

Of course the mayor and mayor emeritus showed up along with the head of the regional council and other government officials. Because there were higher ranking military and so many soldiers gathered, the drones in the sky and circling helicopters were incessant. I’m still not used to any of this. I don’t think I’ll ever get accustomed to it.

As the family arrived, I realized I knew them. They are Anglos, and members of our local English Speakers club. I recognized the parents, and know the grandparents. They are also our neighbors, living three streets down from us. This makes the fourth soldier in our neighborhood who has been killed. It is not getting any easier. On the contrary.

The opening Psalms were read. Then the Kaddish prayer, or Mourners’ Prayer, praising, glorifying and extolling G-d above all, for eternity. It is probably the last thing a mourner wants to do, but essential to keep the tie with faith in the Eternal this time.

The father spoke first. A beautiful eulogy to an oldest son. Incredibly moving. Incredibly tragic. Each member of the family spoke: the grandfathers, the teenage brothers, and then the mother. It is always the eulogy of the mother to her beloved child, a part of her soul that has been ripped away, the hugs she will no longer give or receive, her futile attempt to reconcile that fact that her beloved son sacrificed his own life – her life – for the country. Hearts rip out at this point in the service. To hear the anguish of a mourning mother.

Soldiers, grown men weep. They hug and hold one another. They tenderly wiper the tears from their face, and holding the face of their brother in arms, wipe the tears from his face. I really can’t take it. I push it all deep deep deep down inside me. The bottle of my soul seems like it will soon spill out. His fiancée speaks. They have been together for six years and were planning their wedding, their home, their family. She will not wear the dress she picked out. She will not be escorted to the marriage canopy. There is not a dry eye.

Ido’s friends and army buddies give short eulogies. He loves the sea. He loves to surf. He is a surf instructor. Ido and Dasha had plans to travel to Sri Lanka. His smile. He helped everyone. He was a leader and commander of his troop and everyone loved and respected him. He had an amazing spirit. He loved his country….

Members of his battalion laid floral wreaths at the grave. So many flowers. The grave is completely covered. More Psalms and ElMalay Rakhamim…a prayer to the most merciful G-d was chanted. Kaddish said again. And it was over. We estimated that, as usual there were about 2000 or more present.

Later that night, long after I’ve been sitting up in bed catching up on the days’ news, we read that Ido and another soldier were killed by friendly fire, it seems. The worst news of all. From my (rough) translation of the Hebrew: on the evening of the holiday, following two-sided shooting by our forces and Hamas terrorists in a corridor near the Turkish hospital in the center of the Strip. A tank mounted a charge and was hit by an anti tank missile. Another tank came out of a secure area and returned fire at a building that was outside the boundaries of its sector, where our forces were stationed. Ido and Kalkidan (another IDF soldier) fell, and another fighter was seriously wounded.

This morning eight friends and my son sent me the same post. Tomorrow, my friend and I will go to the house of the mourning family to pay our respects. In Judaism, the family mourns for seven days, sitting on the floor or on low chairs receiving guests. The army sets up a large tent outside on the street and provides chairs and tables of refreshments. There will be photographs from the life of the fallen soldier. People arrive with foods a which will be set up for those coming to pay their respects. Usually, when a soldiers dies, hundreds and hundreds of people come each night to pay their respects to the family. They come from all over the country. Not just Jewish people, but Druze and Christians and others who are there to comfort and offer support. I’ve never ever seen anything like this anywhere else. Living in Israel has been the most beautiful, most connected experience. And the most heartbreaking-