For some Israelis, the war will never be over - opinion

The author recounts the emotional complexity of his grandson Lev Valeri's brit milah, a ceremony that should have been a moment of unalloyed joy but was instead shadowed by grief. His grandson was named in honor of Valeri Chefonov, a devoted husband and father of two, who was a close comrade and sniper in the army with the author's son, Bobby.

Valeri Chefonov was killed by a drone on the Lebanese border. At the brit milah, Valeri's widow, Avigayil, held the author's grandson, Lev Valeri, while the name was given. The author notes that language often fails to capture the depth of such heart-wrenching moments.

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Le’at, le’at.

He recently attended the memorial service marking the second anniversary of Valeri's passing, arriving with a palpable sadness. The gathering included family, friends, and soldiers, all remembering a man who should have been present, sharing life with his wife and children. Avigayil, though strong, appeared visibly strained, embodying a resilience born from exhaustion and the daily demands of raising children.

When Bobby asked Avigayil how she was coping, she responded with a stoicism often acquired by grieving Israeli war widows, saying, “Le’at, le’at” – slowly, slowly. She offered a tight, brave smile, a testament to her determination to carry on despite her loss. The rabbi's words at the service, urging attendees to value their present moments and express love to their families, resonated deeply, especially when observing Avigayil's quiet strength.

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Hug your children, he said. Compliment your spouses. Tell the people you love that you love them. Do not spend your life scrolling through the next piece of nonsense on your phone while the living, breathing people who matter most sit beside you unseen.