Seven members of Yad Lebanim Jerusalem submit a proposal to the Israel Lands Authority to establish a community together near Mount Herzl • "We are a support group," says Shlomo Sharon, a bereaved father. "We want to live together 24 hours a day because we have an intimate connection."
Bat-Chen Epstein Elias
A village of pain. From right: Eli Dahan, Shlomo Sharon, Moshe Mizrahi, Moshe Mamman, Ami Yifrach and Beerey Shmuel. (Missing from the picture: Yaron Baskind)
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Photo credit: Liron Almog |
Most people in Israel know someone who lost a loved one during the country's many wars if they have not lost a loved one themselves. These bereaved families find it difficult to live among the general population, having to explain the pain that follows them constantly, like a shadow. Bereaved parents find themselves jealous of others whose lives were not turned upside down surprisingly one day by the sudden death of a son or brother. The small comfort they do find often comes from other bereaved families. What unites them is the pain of bereavement and the great void left in their hearts – and now they want to transform that unity into something more concrete by establishing a community of bereaved families.
The connection between these families and their pain creates a strong common denominator for them. Recently, a Jerusalem-based group of bereaved parents from Yad Lebanim, an organization dedicated to preserving the memory of Israel's fallen soldiers and that cares for their families, initiated a project to establish a community for bereaved families. Their proposal has already been submitted to the Israel Lands Authority.
The families say they do not intend for such a community to be only a means of commemoration, but also an effort to grow and move ahead with life. Yet they want to live somewhere where they can embrace their emotions, whether it is the ability to rejoice for no reason or suddenly burst into tears. They want to be among people who understand them, who can accept both their happiness and the pain that accompanies constantly since learning of their loss.
Not just for career soldiers
The new community is the brainchild of Eli Dahan, 58, whose son Assaf was killed in a helicopter accident in February 1997. Dahan is a supervisor in the Education Ministry. Following his son's death, he joined Yad Lebanim, and today he volunteers as the manager of the Jerusalem branch. Dahan and a few of his friends from the organization have been toying with this idea behind closed doors for a number of years. They are all residents of Jerusalem, each from a different background, but their shared pain is what brought them together.
Moshe Mamman, 58, lost his son Assaf, killed in November 2000. Ami Yifrach, 63, lost his son Danny in September 2001. Moshe Mizrahi, 57, lost his son Shahar to illness in 1995 during his mandatory military service. Six years later, Mizrahi's daughter was only 20 when she was killed in a terror attack near Ma'aleh Michmash, outside of Jerusalem, after completing her military service. Shmuel Biri, 61, lost his son David in September 2000. Sharon Shlomo, 65, lost his son Assaf in January 1999. Yaron Baskind, 58, lost his son Matan in 2007. Baskind currently works for Yad Lebanim as the director of branches.
"The effect of the pain is our daily reality," Baskind said. "It seems natural that in light of this connection, we could also live in a neighborhood together as part of a communal culture."
The project's initiators are aware that the request to live together may sound strange or melancholy to some, but they are ready to fight for their right to live together. Career soldiers in the Israel Defense Forces often establish communities together and receive assistance for their housing, they say.
Baskind continues, "Why can a group of career soldiers live in a community and we can't? The immediate response is 'you will be surrounded by grief.' But I am surrounded by grief already. This is something that will always be with us, and it is not going to change."
The seven initiators of the project say they understand bereaved parents and their needs. They are confident that a community where bereaved families can live together might ease the sense of absence and loss that accompanies them.
Mamman says, "Even getting together for holidays will be easier than it is with others. The holidays are not what they once were; now they are a burden. We will always have an empty chair."
Dahan adds, "When we meet on Mount Herzl, next to the graves, each person talks about how hard the holiday was."
"There is jealousy," Baskind adds. "You live with a group of friends, and your children are all around the same age. But your son is dead, and their son is getting married and finishing college. Jealousy is natural. As horrible as it sounds, I feel more comfortable being around other people whose situation is similar to mine."
"We are a support group," Sharon says. "We want to live together 24 hours a day because we have an intimate connection. This connection is good for us. A detachment already exists with those outside of this group." With regard to their desire to be near Mount Herzl, Sharon said, "We can't be too far from our sons."
Creating a bubble of grief
Not everyone agrees that a community for bereaved families is a good thing. Gaby Nardy, 64, who lost his son says, "I don't want to open the door and see my neighbor across the way, knowing that he is just like me."
"I would wish for these people not to get stuck in their grief," Ruth, an IDF widow who did not want to give her last name, said.
Psychiatrist Dr. Eran Kodesh, director of mental health services for the Maccabi Health Fund, explained that, "There is no basis for gathering bereaved parents as a group in one place, because in the end of the day, grief is a personal path. For some people, such a group might lengthen the process of return to a normal routine."
However, claims against establishing such a community and the long process that awaits them are not deterrents. "We represent the public and it is our job to take care of the public," Yifrach said. "If the Lands Authority doesn't give us permission, we will turn to MKs and anyone else who might be able to help us. We believe in this community and it is important to us to make it possible."
