"It has been four years since we lost Gadi, yet he is with me all day, every
day.
He is with me when I prepare my breakfast in the morning,
using the dishes he had reluctantly washed – only on the side he’d eaten
from, never underneath. He is there too when I drink coffee from a Hull City
mug, or from the Monopoly mug I bought him when he was much younger, because
he and Nadav used to love playing that game together.
I see
photos of him when I open my computer and recall the many adventures we got
up to when the boys were young. I was well known for schlepping Nadav and
Gadi – and yes, probably Richard – off to all sorts of weird and wonderful
places. We took them on short hikes, to museums, to animal farms and of
course on many lovely holidays. Not all of these trips were greeted with
enthusiasm but most of the time they were ultimately enjoyed – and we spent
precious time together.
I remember Gadi when I make lunch and
dinner. He and I shared the same taste in food – apart from meat – and he
enjoyed my curries and chillis and anything with a bit of a kick to it. When
we took the boys out for dinner, Gadi often opted for something he had never
eaten before. Whilst most kids were choosing schnitzel and rice, Gadi wanted
to try something new. It wasn’t always to his taste, and it was sometimes
hard to see good food go to waste, but I was proud of the fact that he was
so adventurous.
Richard uses Gadi’s bedroom when he is working
from home, but it is still and always will be Gadi’s room. I look at the
collection of Coke cans on top of his shelves, and the map of the world
above his bed – the very map he used to plan and dream about all the places
he would visit one day.
I see the souvenirs he collected on the
trips we made together, and the drawings and projects he made and was
clearly very proud of.
In Kitah Hey, Gadi had a school science
project where he had to create the menu, and then a model of a healthy meal.
He took the project very seriously and wrote a great menu with some very
sophisticated choices! Most of the other kids, as far as I can remember,
chose cottage cheese and chopped Israeli salad – which is all very nice, but
not nearly as delicious as Gadi's ideas.
He made whole wheat
bread with butter and olive oil, all from polystyrene and paper. The main
course was St. Peter’s Fish with onions, oregano, almonds and carrots, along
with side dishes of brown rice and new potatoes. Dessert was fruit salad and
a yoghurt drink. He did an amazing job!
Once a week I share a
photo and a short memory of Gadi in the WhatsApp group we created for his
friends. Before Pesach, I shared a delightful picture of him rolling shmura
matza at Kfar Chabad. I have shared pictures of him paragliding at Ein
Vered, a treat for his 10th birthday, and of him creating the totem pole he
made in 2012. I can still see him sketching it at the kitchen table. When we
went to see the finished piece, his art teacher told us that Gadi had
planned for it to go in his bedroom. There was no way it was going to fit,
and it has stood in the corner of our salon ever since. It may not be
everyone’s taste in décor, but I still love it.
These weekly
memories are a tonic for me. It is important for me to keep sharing pictures
of my precious son. And because we are all
"haverim shel Gadi" (Gadi's friends), if you would like to join the
group, I’d be happy to add you.
In January I marked what would
have been Gadi’s 23rd birthday by sharing some of my memories of his various
birthday celebrations on Facebook. A well-meaning family friend wrote that
it was good to see me finally focusing on that. Reading between the lines, I
understood clearly what she meant. That we should stop trying to find out
what happened the night Gadi died. Stop making noise, and move on.
But
that will never, ever happen. Whilst I will always want to share memories of
Gadi and the many wonderful – and not so wonderful – things he did in his
short life, I will never stop telling his story. We have felt silenced by
the wars of the last few years, with all the terrible things that have
happened – but that does not mean that Gadi’s story should be put away
forever.
From the day Gadi died, the police have refused to
cooperate with us or tell us exactly what happened at the Modi’in police
station. We know they switched off their body cameras when they put Gadi
into the police car and, conveniently, only turned them on again when he was
leaving the station.
What happened in between? What did they say
to Gadi that made him tell his friend they were being “aggressive and
mean”?
Why was the tobacco Gadi carried for rolling cigarettes
taken from his tin and measured together with the very small amount of
marijuana he – foolishly – had on him, making the offence appear far more
serious than it actually was?
And when Gadi went missing, why was
a location map not issued urgently? Why did it take so long to begin the
most basic steps that might have helped find him in time?
And
perhaps most disturbing of all – why did an Israel Police officer say to
Gadi, just hours before his death: “Soldier? You’re in trouble”? What kind
of message does that send to a young man already in a vulnerable
situation?
The army has shown no interest either. We have tried
again and again to meet with Rosh AKA, the Head of IDF Human Resources.
Whilst we believe that the police are ultimately to blame for Gadi’s death,
we want the army to hear from us where we feel changes must be made, so that
the indifference shown to Gadi the night he died is never repeated with
another soldier.
Rosh AKA refuses to meet with us if our lawyer
is present. The very lawyer who has reviewed the limited materials we have
received, and understands the exact timeline of events of the night Gadi
died.
What is the army so afraid of?
In more recent
months ERAN, the mental health and emotional support organization that
offers confidential, anonymous help in times of crisis, has also deeply
disappointed us. For those who may not know, Gadi called ERAN in
desperation; the representative he briefly spoke with then called the police
hotline. Incredibly, the young woman who answered had never heard of ERAN,
and instead of beginning a search for Gadi – who was still alive for quite
some time after his call — she sent a patrol car to the home of the ERAN
volunteer in another city.
Because we only learned many of these
details through our lawyer, we wanted to make sure that ERAN understood
exactly what had happened, that it never ever happens again that the police
hotline asks "מה זה ער"ן" "What is ERAN?"
I wrote to ERAN’s Chief
Executive Officer in February of this year, loosely explaining the
circumstances of Gadi’s death and yet making it clear that we did not blame
the organization in any way. We simply wanted to meet with him so that ERAN
too could learn from what happened.
His first reply expressed
sympathy but did not address my request for a meeting.
I wrote
again.
Another generic reply.
I wrote again.
Nothing.
Is
this how systems improve and change? Is this how bereaved parents should be
treated? I hardly think so.
I made aliyah to a country that I
believed was the best place to raise a family. And yet, time and time again,
the major institutions here are showing me that they do not care. We deserve
better and Gadi certainly deserved better.
In May last year, we
shared Gadi’s tragic story with
Yedioth Aharonot, and in June Richard spoke
live on
Galei Tzahal. We have come to understand that this is what we can do
for Gadi now: to tell his story and ensure the truth is heard.
We
will continue to share his story – especially with those who most need to
hear it – and we remain open to any support or ideas that can help us do
so.
The last few years have been extremely difficult for us as a
family, and of course for the whole country. We have lost so many good
people.
I want to take a moment to remember Gadi’s dear friends
Yakir Tatelbaum and Ariel Tsym, both heroes who gave their lives for this
country. Gadi loved them both very much. I also want to mention the children
of our dear friends from our support group, Shirelle Abukrat, Ofek Aharon,
Oded Hagar, Reuven Magen, and Barak Meshulam.
Gadi was loved and
he is deeply missed.
I will continue to share his stories, his drawings, and his photographs, so
that he remains present in our lives. I will also continue to tell his story
and to seek answers.
יהי זכרו ברוך
