Rafi Svirsky

Rafi was born in Tel Aviv on March 10, 1952 to Ezra and Aviva and was preceded by his elder sister, Irit. His mother, Aviva, fled Germany with her parents as a child shortly before the Nazis came to power. His father, Ezra, made Aliyah from Vilnius, a town located on what was then the border between Russia and Poland. Rafi grew up in Tel Aviv on Rothschild Boulevard in the days when, in the words of the Hebrew song, the city was just “a lonely house on the shore.” Even years after leaving Tel Aviv, it remained a second home for him and he would visit at least once a week to soak up the streets of his childhood.

Rafi studied at the Hasmonean Elementary School and from there he went on to study electronics at the Ironi Aleph high school. At the age of thirteen he joined the Scouts movement and was part of the “Kehilah” troop. It was there that he became attracted to the issue of social justice, the pioneering settler spirit and stories of heroism from the War of Independence.

Rafi came from a bourgeois home, but he adopted a socialist way of thinking and planned to join the Nahal-Fighting Pioneer Youth as soon as he was old enough. In the Scouts, he took upon himself leadership roles and was a dominant figure in his age group. Rafi was a quiet leader, good looking, tall and strong. He excelled in mathematics. He was hard working and seen as a bit of a geek, but he was also the best soccer player in his year and would play on the roof of the Scout troop’s building.

Rafi was a walking encyclopedia of soccer players. His good friends were the most important thing to him and they loved him. He also had a deep love for animals and he built the most lavish petting zoo in the city. In his final year of high school, as part of a group of scouts enlisting in Nahal, he visited Kibbutz Be’eri for the first time. It was then that he met Orit. She was chatty; he was a quiet type. The love between them was instant. When he completed his studies in chemistry and economics at the Hebrew University in Jerusalem – after a few, unsuccessful attempts at not being together – Rafi and Orit married and went on a post-army trip to the Far East. Their twins, Yoni and Meirav were born in Givatayim as Rafi and Orit had decided they would not return to the kibbutz until it stopped the practice of children living in a children’s home, separate from their parents. This finally happened when the twins were three and the family returned to Be’eri. Shortly afterward, Itai was born, and Yuval followed four years later.

During his time on the kibbutz with the “Abir” Nahal group, Rafi worked in the fields. When he returned from his studies, he worked at the printing press on a computerized printing machine and later in the accounting department, ultimately serving as treasurer and CFO of the press. Rafi served as the kibbutz secretary and later as kibbutz treasurer. Even after he had stepped down, he continued to manage members’ pensions. They knew that Rafi would always be there to solve their problems, with individual attention to everyone.

Rafi devoted himself to his children. They would go to the beach at Zikim at the weekends, on skiing holidays, he would take them to tennis lessons, basketball practice and on cycling trips. Being a father was always his top priority; he would completely identify with his kids. He was always the first to come to Meirav’s exhibitions, a proud father like no other. Even after he and Orit separated, the family and children remained the most important thing to them. They found special and inspiring ways to maintain friendship and solidarity. The same went for the extended family. Rafi would turn up on every holiday with a bottle of wine, a box of chocolates and a handwritten greeting for Orit’s parents, who continued to see him as a son.

Rafi also enjoyed being a grandfather to seven-year-old Eilam, four-and-a-half-year-old Keinan, and Dror, who is ten months old. Over the last summer, the connection between Rafi and his grandchildren grew stronger; he would host them at his house in the way only he could, with steaks, special desserts and time spent watching football.

Rafi was a man of integrity and values, and his word was his bond. He was someone who made everyone around him wish to duplicate his integrity. He was, at the same time, both analytical and warm: respectful and caring for others. While a man of few words, Rafi was a man of deeds and took care of everyone. He was highly political, believed in hope and the duty to fight for a better world. He believed that everyone should have a chance. That was the way he educated his children. When Rafi spoke, the room would fall quiet, and everyone awaited his words of wisdom.

Culture and art enriched his life – he would attend the annual jazz festival in Eilat, would never miss films at the Sderot cinematheque, operas at the Tel Aviv Opera, and concerts of the Israel Philharmonic. Sport was another significant part of his life; he would follow tennis and swimming tournaments and particularly loved track-and-field. Rafi always carried a book with him and would read four books at the same time, dividing his reading during the day by prose, poetry, non-fiction and English-language. His home was a library that just kept growing and growing.

Rafi always kept dogs. His three Golden Retrievers were soulmates. His friends recall how he would go out for walks with them, a book in hand and his three dogs running around him. They were murdered with him on that day that we will never recover from.

Four and a half years ago, Rafi suffered a sudden, massive heart attack. As he lay in intensive care, his family was warned that he might not survive. He spent three days hovering between life and death. After he emerged from the experience, Rafi understood that this was a turning point in his life. He chose to live to the fullest; he was brimming with joy, became even closer to his family, his grandchildren, his good friends from the past and took part in social reunions of his scout group and his time at Ironi Aleph.

The unforgivable, inhumane separation from Rafi that was forced upon us with such cruelty is something we will never be able to come to terms with. Rafi’s unique qualities will live on in his children and grandchildren and the large group of people who loved him. Those qualities, which we have adopted and which have become a part of us, will keep him close to us, within us, always.

May his memory be a blessing.