Roni

Roni was Rebecca’s commander in the 414 unit – Gaza.  

Dear and special Rebecca, beloved and special family,

As a firm believer in the power of words and the weight they carry, I express my gratitude. In this sad and complex period for all of humanity and for us as a people, where it seems that we are all experiencing a profound crisis in humanity, in humans, and in deep-rooted cruelty that is difficult to fathom, it might sound strange to say, but the other side of humanity is perhaps the only one that creates light and faith, and it too is connected to humans.

Humans like you.

I acknowledge that it was difficult to see you when you visited the hospital a few days ago; I felt like it was almost not you.

In the early afternoon of the seventh of October, you sent me a brief message that revealed a bit about who you are, and this is what you wrote: “Hi, just a message to say that I’m thinking of you. I hope you are well. If there’s any way I can help, I would be very happy to do so.”

Always thinking of others, always believing and hoping for the best, always walking forward and wanting to help.

I interviewed you towards the end of your service as an intelligence officer in Battalion 727. You took on various roles within the battalion, and I asked you to tell me a bit about yourself, and if possible, share a bit less about your time in the army and more about you as a person. I connected, and although you were not the first female soldier I met, each time I rediscovered you, and people like you, taught me a valuable lesson. In twenty minutes of conversation, with a Dutch accent and some charming mistakes in Hebrew, you provided me with a lesson in values, a lesson in Zionism, a lesson in love for the land, a lesson in seeing something greater than ourselves, a lesson in Judaism, and a lesson in giving.

You left a comfortable life and a family in a war-free country; at least that’s how it looks from here. You could have continued in your comfortable life, but you chose not to. I connected with you, and I thought to myself, “What a fighter!” I didn’t talk much about your training as a fighter; I talked about your personality. Just minutes after the conversation, I remember the proportion that the conversation with you left me with.

You arrived to command the Balloon Unit, a profession and field you were not familiar with at all. A complex control stick over six positions along the entire Gaza envelope, an important profession somewhat similar but often played down, and at times very challenging to find daily satisfaction in it. Rebecca, it takes time and patience to get to know you. At first, I thought to myself that there was something strange about you in those leadership meetings; after all, you read aloud weekly names in strange titles like “When the mice celebrate on the roofs” rather than numbers like everyone else around the table, and you had jokes and a sense of humor that I didn’t always understand. But as time went on, and the deepening acquaintance and layers of defense receded, I understood your uniqueness.

A huge and broad heart, not just a good heart. You loved people and justice, and people like you are those who are capable of seeing every person and finding the good in them. You had the ability to see people from all walks of life, those whom society often tended to label and push aside. You saw them, understood their difficulties. When you couldn’t reach them, or when sometimes they apologized for the good in your heart, you would sit frustrated in conversations with me until tears wondering why people behave like that because you compared them to yourself and to your value system.

Long conversations into the night about the need to set boundaries as commanders. I knew it was difficult for you from the depth of your heart to do that, from a place of true belief and a wonder as to why not everyone can be good. You understood the importance of the role but were frustrated because you wanted to feel much more surface; I’ve already said, you were a fighter in all 248 of your limbs—from the fact that you never saw anything essential in the shower to the fact that you always dug in without asking, you were simply the first and went ahead. That’s how you acted when entering the strip after the balloon that flew from the box, a lone fighter with a collection of fighters that were not part of the battalion. But for you, it was important to be in front, and that’s what you did. And in operations and rounds of fighting when hundreds of rockets landed on the balloon positions and their surroundings, and the imminent threat in the background was to take down Shachar with a truck full of fuel, you reached the positions to see what was the fate of the fighters and to make sure the balloons did not stop working because you understood how important their mission was.

Rebecca, Intelligent and wise, creative and always thinking outside the box, kind-hearted, and a fighter. A fighter for the people of Israel and a fighter for justice, sensitive with many layers of defense, courageous, different, loving the land and this people, modest and simple, loving your orders, loving your family in Holland, and loving your family in Saad. A Zionist, loving to laugh and make others laugh, loving tattoos, always going your way, and it doesn’t matter how many hardships and difficulties you go through on the way, loving the Gaza envelope, a conversationalist and a woman of silence, loving strawberry banana and hummus and tahini on Sderot Street, but more than anything, loving people and believing in them in a way that is hard to find. It doesn’t matter how many times you were hurt by them; you always continued to believe in people.

It wasn’t always easy for us together, command methods almost reversed, but a lot of love and mutual respect, and there were always valuable lessons for me.

Rebecca, as I wrote at the beginning, in times of a great crisis in humanity, you and the lessons you taught me represent a huge light on the ability of this humanity to be different, on the victory of good over evil, and on faith in man, always.

Thank you on my behalf and on behalf of the commanders and commandresses of Battalion 414, the friends, and the commanders, for the privilege of commanding you and serving by your side.

You promised me a beer together when I finish my duty, one that we didn’t get to drink, so I promise to fulfill it in your spirit and drink to your memory.

Thank you for everything. I hope I was worthy of you, salute you, and love you very much.