Gadi's Fourth Yahrzeit

On 7th May, we marked four years since we lost Gadi. For readers who may not be familiar with his story, on 21st May 2022 my youngest son died by suicide. At the time, he was a soldier in the Israel Defence Forces (IDF) and had earlier been detained after being found in the park opposite our home in possession of a very small amount of weed. We have no idea what was said or done to him at the police station, but Gadi clearly felt that his world had caved in. Since his death, mine has too.

To mark his yahrzeit, the anniversary of his passing, we lit a 24-hour memorial candle. We also recited the Mourner's Kaddish at his grave during a short service at the military cemetery where he is buried. Afterwards, we held a memorial evening for friends, where we remembered Gadi, shared stories about him, and reflected on the joy, humour and creativity he brought into our lives.

These are my words from that day.

"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

May his memory be a blessing"

In 2023, to mark Gadi's first yahrzeit, we held an exhibition of his drawings in a local gallery space. A close friend of ours, the cinematographer and film director Ron Katzenelson, made this wonderful film about it, which we showed at the memorial evening for Gadi.
You can watch it above, or click the link below for a better viewing experience in full screen. Gadi's work was all about the tiny details, and is best appreciated on a larger screen:
https://vimeo.com/manage/videos/1189149133

I hope you enjoy watching it.

* This post has been shared on Mosaic Monday, Monday Morning Blog Club, Busy Monday, Talking About It Tuesdays, Tuesday Turn About