I don’t know the derivation of this expression denoting sadness, but feeling that sadness I’m not much in the mood to look it up right now. Regular readers know that I recently reconnected with my elementary school class and that I flew to NYC for a reunion a few weeks back. Two of our classmates, twins, live in Israel, so they were not at this dinner. They moved to Israel during our high school years and stayed on even after their parents returned to the U.S., marrying and raising their own families there. I have seen them a handful of times over the years and was delighted when our Yahoo group allowed them to connect with us even though so far away.
A few weeks after our NYC dinner, one of the twins came to NYC for a happy family event and a second dinner was held, one that I could not attend, though I did call to say hello to everyone while they were all together. That was last week, and two days later I was on a plane to Chicago, where I remained without access to email for three days. I did see the television news that night, and as I watched the escalating Middle East conflicts I found myself remembering an evening in October of 1973 when sitting in my unremarkable college freshman dorm room, I was trying to understand the Yom Kippur War (that was when Egypt and Syria invaded the Sinai and Golan Heights that had been captured by Israel during the Six-Day War six years earlier) and wondering if my friends were safe.
This time I was troubled for the world in general but not specifically worried for my friends. They are no longer in military service and they live in an area that has so far remained safe. But I was not thinking about their children and did not take “reserve duty” into account. My friends children are alive and well, but the lifelong best friend of one of the sons is not — Eyal, a young Israeli reservist in the Israel Defense Force was on his last patrol along the Israel-Lebanon border in a convoy of two Hummer jeeps when they were ambushed by Hezbollah. Two soldiers were abducted into Lebanon. Eyal was killed.
When the horrors of war take place so far away, even though we may see the gruesome details televised into our living rooms, it is too easy to remain emotionally removed. We don’t know these people, they are not we. But that is not true. They are ordinary people just like us, with friends and families and plans for the future. Eyal’s reserve assignment would have ended Wednesday afternoon and he had planned to visit his girlfriend that evening and meet up with his best friend the next day.
My classmate and his family caught the first flight home, arriving in time for the funeral. Afterwards my friend wrote: “Eyal was a member of our household, and was like a fourth son, and an “extra” brother for all of our three sons. His loss affects us all immeasurably.” No matter what side of a conflict you may support, and regardless of where these atrocities take place, the loss of ALL lives should weigh heavily on us all.