This week, our daily kavanot will honor the memories of just some of the men, women, and children killed by Hamas in last week’s horrific attacks.
Zichronam livracha — May their memories be forever a blessing.
This past week my friend Udi sent me the following message on WhatsApp:
“Hi. Long day. Unfortunately, Racheli, the teacher in Beit Shmuel – her son Amir was killed in Gaza. I have been running around a lot sending packages to Kibbutz Kramim in the South. They have taken in people from Kibbutz Nachal Oz whose houses were burnt. I hear that soldiers do not have equipment all around, and it’s terrible. Sending you the bank details for the Sayeret Tzanchanim, who are in dire need of equipment. There are more units, and I’m trying to find solutions for them as well. Thank you.”
I got to know Udi when we made aliyah in 2009. He was the director of the pre-school that our youngest daughter, Naomi, attended, housed on the Hebrew Union College campus where I worked, so I saw Udi almost everyday. We became close friends. I was with him recently, right before Rosh Hashanah, when he came to Los Angeles for a conference.
I haven’t seen Racheli in years, but I remember her fondly. She was warm and friendly and easy to be with. And she was kind to my daughter.
And now her son, Amir Lavi, is gone.
Here’s how one of his friend’s described Amir.
“He was an artist. He was a people person. If you left him alone for five minutes in a foreign country, you’d find him smoking a cigarette with a stranger. He and his family were always hosting friends to stay with them in their apartment in Ein Kerem. His parents, Racheli and Elad, adored him and his sister, Tamar. He loved soccer and good wine and whiskey and music. He was an amazing friend. When one of his buddies ended up in the hospital, he came to visit and brought him a set of tefillin so that he wouldn’t be alone. Amir wouldn’t leave the room until his friend fell asleep that night. He loved life and life loved him back. It’s such a pity that his life was so short. Amir truly believed that every person was created in God’s image. His life was snuffed out by those who believed the opposite.”
A few months ago, he looked his mother Racheli in the eyes and said, “I have something to tell you. I’ve created a playlist. Just in case.”
My colleague and friend, Rabbi Adam Scheier, came to know Racheli when his children attended that same pre-school. Earlier this week, he traveled to Israel and attended a shiva minyan for Amir. At the gathering, Rabbi Scheier learned that recently Amir had made a plan for his own funeral. A few months ago, he looked his mother Racheli in the eyes and said, “I have something to tell you. I’ve created a playlist. Just in case.” I listened to his playlist this week (it’s called שירי הלוויה–Songs for a Funeral) and it made me smile and cry, too.
At the shiva, Rabbi Scheier spoke to Amir’s grandfather, Mordechai. He told him that his own father, Amir’s great-grandfather, had moved to Israel from Morocco. But long before they made aliyah, he spoke to his children in Hebrew so they would be ready for life in the Jewish State. With tears in his eyes, Mordechai said, “I wish the world would love like Amir did.”
I’m asked about it often, but the truth is, I don’t know what happens after we die. Nobody does. But I’d like to believe that the energy that animates us, that makes us more than just flesh and blood, somehow lives on.
May the memory of Amir Lavi be for a blessing. May his soul be bound up forever with the living. And may his kindness, his creativity, his goodness, and his love – somehow – live on and on into eternity.
.יהי זכרו ברוך
Shabbat Shalom.
Rabbi Yoshi
