Eitan Hadad
Nobody is laughing now, because there's no one left to make us laugh; if Eitan were here, we would already be laughing, even in the situation we are in. Eitan would have been making us laugh because that's one of those things Eitan knew how to do best; to crack us up. Eitan was like a promise that always came true, bringing a better time and more fun with him. That's what made him who he was; a man of people, a man who loved people and wanted people around him, and, in return, people loved him and wanted him around them.
Eitan had this energy that reeled us all in to a more complete and more vibrant place: to take us on trips to the wadis and streams of the kibbutz after the rain, to dive in the sea, to the pool and doubles tennis every Friday, to play soccer with the guys, to a good restaurant, to deep, meaningful conversations, to roll a cigarette and drink a quick coffee; to a concert of an African performer that only he knew, to play the guitar for you in the middle of the day and sing, to meet you on the kibbutz pathways with a smile asking, "How's it going, buddy?" and say behind your back, "What a guy," to tell you dozens of funny stories that happened to him, and to have you both roll on the floor with laughter. He had the ability to suck us into the whirlwind of life, because that's exactly who Eitan was: a lot of life in one person.
Eitan talked to us. He instilled in us faith and belief in the power of words, conversation, togetherness, and opened the gates of our hearts. And something in his quiet, gentle voice let us know that we were heard and we were loved, and that we had someone to confide in: Eitan. Eitan, who would drive or fly many kilometers just to see us, to sit with us, to travel with us, just to keep in touch. "The family's foreign minister" was his family nickname, and he was at every event of every relative without exception, no matter how distant the relation.
Eitan made us move. Eitan who produced rhythms with his mouth before he even learned to speak, who drummed on every object and thing in his childhood, where music was his first and eternal companion. Eitan the skilled bassist, Eitan with stacks of records, with a fascination for Brazilian, African, Greek, music from all over the world, and for anything that moved. Eitan, who said that the happiest week of his life was the week he and his band performed the show they created for the children from thirty different kindergartens. Eitan, whose music of life will still be heard, because we must keep moving, because Eitan was, long before words, simply energy in motion.
Eitan was born on Kibbutz Be’eri on April 4, 1980, the firstborn son of the late Na'ama and Meir Hadad, and brother to Assaf and Dafna. On the kibbutz, he was part of "Kitat Ella", and then he studied at Ma'ale HaBesor school. In November 1998, he enlisted in the combat intelligence unit serving in the Golan Heights and southern Lebanon. After the army, he worked in food services at Be’eri, traveled for a year in Australia and South America, and lived in Tel Aviv for several years after he returned to Israel. He earned a bachelor's degree in international relations from Ben-Gurion University, and recently completed his master’s degree.
In recent years, Eitan worked at the Be’eri printing press in sales. He was dedicated and committed to doing everything for the success of the kibbutz he loved so much. In the past year, he met Ga'el, and he was happy to find love, his great love, complete love, after years of being single.
On October 7th, Eitan took with him all of his immense energy, leaving the house with only a bullet-proof vest for protection just ten minutes after the first missile hit. He arrived at the kibbutz clinic and fought for hours against the terrorists who had infiltrated Be’eri. The familiar phrase "like a lion" is used often, but in Eitan's case, it was like a lion with extra strength and determination. Eitan fought against the terrorists as life fights against death and the sons of death: with full anger against their obstruction of the light, beauty, laughter, and melody. And from the power of this struggle and endurance, Eitan killed dozens of terrorists and saved dozens of kibbutz members who would undoubtedly have also been killed or abducted.
Eitan became a hero like he never planned to be, like he never knew he was. Maybe only his father Meir had a deep inner sense and intuition, when he gave his firstborn son the name Eitan, inspired by Rafael Eitan, and hoped his would also be a hero.
In 43 years, Eitan managed to shine light onto the lives of hundreds and save the lives of dozens, but it wasn't enough, and there’s no way it will ever be enough for us or for him. "Hadad Time" – the special and mysterious unit of time that belonged only to him – has come to an end.
But Hadad remains in each of our hearts and souls forever. His death, like the death of beloved and amazing people, is entirely unbearable and incomprehensible. When such a person is taken from our lives we are, perhaps, left with only one comfort: that lives lived with such intensity do not end with one’s death. They continue to glow in the hearts and memories of all who were touched by them. Eitan's energy, humor, and laughter will remain with us. Eitan lives within us, and what he brought into the world, from the moment he came, will not disappear from the world with his departure from it.
May his memory be blessed.
