Mazi Bachar Life Story Mazi (Mazal) Bachar was born on December 24, 1959 in Nesher, a city on the foothills of Mt. Carmel. She was the firstborn of Eliyahu, of blessed memory, and Rachel. Since she was born on the eve of Hanukkah, her parents considered naming her either Orit (Light) in honor of the holiday or Mazal after Eliyahu's mother. In the end, they chose Mazal, yet the light of the holiday remained in her and radiated through the gentle kindness she showed everyone around. When Mazi was a year old, the family moved to Kiryat Yam, where her sisters were born: Etti, two and a half years her junior, and Hagit, who was twelve years younger. Eliyahu worked for the Solel Boneh construction company while Rachel raised the girls, cleaned, cooked, and baked - the aromas of her Friday cakes traveling far and wide. The parents spoke Ladino at home, and Mazi picked it up, charmed by the humor and richness of the language. Even as an adult, she sometimes peppered conversations with amusing Ladino expressions remembered from childhood. She was a very clever child, a good student who liked learning - a "nerd" as she referred to herself. Her homework was always done, her grades were always high, and her parents were always proud of her. As a serious bookworm, she would bring a book even to the dinner table and read until her mother scolded her. Sisters Etti and Hagit admired her, and if Etti sometimes interrupted her studies, it was only to get the attention of her beloved older sister. Mazi attended the Amirim Primary School and the Rodman High School in Kiryat Yam, and though she was quiet and somewhat shy, she made good friendships that remained with her all her life. With her friends, she joined the HaNoar HaOved VeHaLomed (The Working and Studying Youth) youth movement, which may have been the source of her dream of living on a kibbutz – a shared life where the community becomes family. In the IDF, she was in the Nahal Brigade's Bereishit group, based in Kibbutz Ein Gev by Lake Kinneret. During leave from the army, she often visited her beloved Grandma Mazal for whom she was named. Grandma Mazal lived in Jaffa, and her gorgeous garden was famed for its unique plants and objects of beauty. Mazi inherited her grandmother's green thumb and love of plants, which she carried to her dying day. This love reflected her passion for beauty – for Mazi loved beautiful things. She recognized, needed, and created beauty. With a natural aesthetic inclination, she instinctively knew how to place items in space to form harmony. Despite this attraction to design, Mazi chose to focus on education. She studied pedagogy at Oranim College after the army and returned to Ein Gev as a teacher. She taught history and Bible – two subjects that had always interested her – and when a few years later she received the offer to become a teacher in Be'eri, she accepted the challenge and redirected her life to the kibbutz that became her home. Mazi adored Be'eri: its landscape and its people. The students she cared for in Be'eri never forgot her, many coming to visit even after graduation. She had endless patience and would explain things as many times as needed, always quietly and with a profound desire to convey knowledge. Her beloved niece Moran, who saw in her as sort of an older sister, asked for her help preparing for her finals in Bible and history, and though she found the material "really boring", Mazi managed to make it engaging by finding new angles, telling exciting stories and anecdotes. Despite her vast love of her students and the fact that she saw education as her purpose, doubtlessly Mazi's greatest mission in life was realizing her dream of becoming a mother. She called her choice to become a single mother "the bravest decision of her life", since in 1994, when she brought Ofri to the world, single parenthood was still a rare thing in Israel in general and especially on kibbutzim. Ofri, who later added the name Ayala, was Mazi's only daughter, the apple of her eye, and her joy. For her, Mazi would have brought the moon down from the sky. Their relationship was especially powerful: an independent, small, very close family unit. When Ofri was small, her mother nicknamed her "my tail", so inseparable they were. Mazi did everything to afford Ofri the sense that she had a large and caring family. The extended family – Grandma Rachel, sisters Etti and Hagit, their partners and children – were an important and central part of their lives, with whom they spent as much time as they could. At family gatherings, Mazi was always examining the recipes and asking how each dish was cooked, even though everyone knew she would never make them herself. She collected the recipes of her mother's household as rare treasures: like mogados , Turkish marzipan, or bimuelos , a Passover treat she loved so much that she named the family women's lively WhatsApp group after it. In addition to the larger family, Mazi had friends from her teaching days: Ayelet, Mati, Pesi, and Yona – together with their partners and children, they became vital parts of Mazi and Ofri's life. They all dined together on Friday nights, went on trips, and spent time together. In this wise way, Mazi created a warm, loving environment for the two of them. Once the school in Be'eri closed down, Mazi stopped teaching and worked for a few years as a medical secretary. Like everything she did, she was very helpful in that setting as well, and everyone loved her, much like at the kibbutz shop where she worked for another few years until her retirement a year before her death. Since then, she was finally free to engage in her favorite hobbies: traveling the word with her "Octet", giving design advice to anyone who asked, caring for her garden, and dedicating time to the family she so loved. Mazi learned the art of visual journals. Batya guided her in turning her thoughts and feelings into artistic material, and she drew, wrote, collaged, and designed diaries into which she poured her heart in her signature aesthetic. She left behind these creations as well as the funny animals she knitted and the collages through which she expressed her beautiful, sensitive soul. Everything she touched exhibited that soul. Her crafts, her potted plants, her cyclamens that blossomed even in summer because she was the cyclamen whisperer and cared for them even in her final hours, as she was locked in the safe room. But most of all she poured her soul into the people she loved: her friends, girlfriends, family, kibbutz members, and her daughter, to whom she devoted her love and her entire heart. Through all the beloved people she has left behind, her light will continue to shine forever. May her memory be blessed. Back 24.12.1959 - 07.10.2023 63 years old

Anola Retnianka Life Story Anola was born in Kurunegala, a major city in Sri Lanka. She had two sisters and a younger brother. Her mother struggled with poverty and her grandparents stepped in to help raise Anola and her siblings. Anola was a quiet and considerate child, who loved animals and always helped others. Even as a child, Anola was deeply religious. She married at the age of 19 and had two children, a girl and a boy. When they grew older, Anola left Sri Lanka to work in Israel so she could pay for her children’s schooling. Today her son is a chef in New Zealand, and her daughter, Suno, is a student in London. Anola was 39 when she arrived in Israel. She worked in Ashkelon for about three years before moving to kibbutz Be'eri. At Be'eri, Anola cared for Aliza Goral for several years, and after Aliza passed away, she began working for Etty Mordo. Anola lived in Israel for nearly a decade, but she only allowed herself one extended vacation, a forty-five-day visit to Sri Lanka. Anola’s life on the kibbutz was good and peaceful. She was Etty’s eyes and ears, and they became fast friends. Etty describes a bond that went beyond language: “Anola spoke broken Hebrew, I spoke broken English, and we were very good friends.” Anola cared for Etty with sensitivity and a gentle smile. She became part of the family. Anola was a devout Buddhist. She set up a small shrine with a statue of the Buddha, which had jasmine flowers floating in a bowl of water that she kept fresh. She would pray there every morning and evening, and then pray several times more as she went about her daily activities. Anola collected donations for her Buddhist temple. She sent boxes of clothing and other items from the kibbutz’s second-hand shop to Sri Lanka. She would repair stuffed animals, washing and mending them before mailing them. She always added new toys and chocolate to those care packages. Once a month Anola sent money home to her children and family members. She also supported other members of her community, whether they were ill, unemployed, hungry, or needed school supplies for their children. Anola enjoyed cooking traditional Sri Lankan dishes, which she would share with friends and with Sujit, Chaim Zohar’s caregiver, who was a fellow Sri Lankan. Anola knew every jasmine tree on the kibbutz, and was familiar with all the different flowers and leaves: crepe jasmine at Gil and Camelia’s, moringa in Noah Hershkowitz’s garden. She planted a magnificent garden with the plants that she received from her friends on the kibbutz. Anola would tend to the plants while speaking on the phone with her children. Everything was green, vibrant and blooming. Anola had a strong connection to nature and animals. She regularly fed cats, dogs and birds. To her they were all equal souls in the world who needed tending to. She even cared for the neighbor’s elderly dog: changing its bandages, bathing and giving it haircuts. Her neighbor Ariel says, “The tiniest creature, the smallest plant, everything came to life around Anola; she had an inexplicable harmony with the world and the universe.” Anola eventually even got used to the missile attack sirens. Whenever the red alert would sound on the kibbutz, she urged Etty to go to the safe room, but Etty would always say, “My couch is my safe room.” On the morning of Saturday, October 7th, Anola sensed that the situation was unusual, and she insisted that Etty go into the safe room. They both did. Anola lay curled up on the bed; she must’ve known more about what was happening because she received information from her friends on the kibbutz. Etty sat on the other edge of the bed. The terrorists shot at the door handle and forced their way inside. They shot Anola twice. Etty fell and rolled underneath the bed. She would stay there for two and a half days. Terrorists entered and left the house several times. Etty could hear gunshots, motorcycles, and screaming. On Monday morning IDF soldiers came into the home, they found Etty and saw that Anola had been killed. Anola was forty-nine years old when she was murdered. She was a kind, generous, and modest woman, with a unique and inspiring capacity for unconditional generosity. She had deep love and compassion for the world and all living things in it. Suno, her daughter, says, “My mother Anola always thought of others before she thought of herself. She was the most amazing, loving, caring, beautiful, and most of all, the bravest woman I ever met.” May her memory be a blessing. Back 24.05.1974 - 07.10.2023 49 years old (Nursing Assistant)

Yonat Or Life Story Yonat was born in November 1972. Her parents, Aviva and Hannan Besorai, have two older children, Ahal and Noyit. Aviva worked in accounting and Hannan was the kibbutz carpenter. Yonat grew up in the carpentry shop surrounded by the scent of wood and Turkish coffee. She loved the place dearly and it became a significant part of her adult life. Until the age of twelve, Yonat slept in the children’s home on the kibbutz. She was the reigning queen of her kindergarten class, Gan Hatzav , and later stood out in her elementary school class,Kitat Zayit . At night, Yonat would often escape the children’s home, running back to her parents and their warm embrace. Despite strict kibbutz rules, Yonat wouldn’t be returned to sleep with the rest of the children at the communal home, and her classmates got used to seeing her empty bed when they woke up in the morning. Yonat was a strong girl with an inner sense of peace. She became a steady source of love and stability, but she also had a playful and mischievous side. She was a diligent and serious student but at the same time, she was also part of the group of rebellious teens, sneaking into the pool and having late night meals at the children’s home. Yonat was equally comfortable in both worlds, perhaps because of her fantastic sense of humor. Her hearty laugh was never cruel. When she was still a teenager, Yonat worked on the kibbutz doing landscaping and got a license to drive a tractor. It came in handy when she became a bar mitzvah counselor, when she would drive in wearing blue coveralls and heavy work boots. She never drove a car, but still managed to get wherever she needed to go. After her military service in the munitions unit of the Southern Command office and a gap year spent working in the kibbutz kindergarten, Yonat moved to Tel Aviv. She waitressed for a while at the Hard Rock Cafe, and studied for her university entrance exams, living life in the big city. She was accepted to Ramat Gan College where she pursued a degree in psychology. Like all students who are kibbutzniks, Yonat was required to do mandatory work on the kibbutz, which is how she met Dror, who was from kibbutz Reim, but worked at Be'eri at the time. Yonat described how they met: “The encounter between us was cosmic. We’re very similar but also totally different. Dror is a yoga teacher, like me. He’s also a chef and a fromagier at “Be'eri Cheese ''. The young couple moved in together, and lived in Tel Aviv and later in Rehovot, where Yonat worked for Holmes Place Gyms. They got married in 2003 and a year later, returned to live in Be'eri, where Yali, Noam and Alma were born. Yonat was a protective and loving mother; their home was always filled with family and friends. They were busy: attending parties, workshops, yoga retreats, hiking with friends, hosting sumptuous dinners with good food and fine wines. Their parties always lasted late into the night because no one wanted to leave. Yonat began working for the printing press at Be'eri as a production planner. A few years later, she switched to the department of human resources, but while working at the printing press, she discovered a new passion: restoring wooden furniture. She described it as follows: “When we renovated our house, I suddenly discovered my passion for design. There was a real spark in my eyes and my talent for it developed and grew over the years.” Yonat began collecting furniture that had stories to them and renovated them on her porch. She had the instinct to see potential in items that looked like junk. In 2009, her new hobby became official: Yonat opened a small carpentry shop on the kibbutz, renovating furniture and selling the pieces. It was only open one day a week. Vintage furniture hadn’t yet become fashionable, but the trend was beginning to catch on. Yonat recognized the potential and asked the kibbutz to let her use the old carpentry space. She had good people skills and she put together a team that helped transform her ideas into finely designed pieces that had a distinct style. In 2015, she opened her business, “Ayuna, a Simple Story of Wood”. The kibbutz carpentry’s old machines came to life, and a finishing and painting area were added along with a boutique shop. A unique vision was born. The designs were made of solid wood that incorporated antique glass and wooden slats in 50’s-60’s style. Everyone who entered the store was struck by the retro atmosphere, which, coupled with Yonat’s vibrant personality, infused the place with vintage charm. You could sip coffee on the front porch and watch the tractors park in the shed. Every once in a while, mostly before the holidays, the kibbutz held colorful fairs on the road by the studio, selling handicrafts and home-made items. Yonat became a successful businesswoman, but at the same time she believed with all her heart that there was true value, even healing, to be found in the personal connection between a customer and the piece of furniture that she or he purchased. The store and the brand became famous. The online store took off and Ayuna furniture was soon found in homes all across the country. Yonat became a prominent figure in Israeli interior design. In one of her interviews she said: “I really love people; I love meeting people, and all of my areas of interest just came together. I am fulfilling my destiny. I know it sounds like a big word, but it’s becoming more and more clear to me on this journey.” She wasn’t thrown off course by her success. She always spoke humbly of herself and began the story with, “You’ll never believe what happened...” Perhaps Yonat herself was a simple story of wood; a pillar of strength for her family and for her ever-growing circles of friends. Before Rosh Hashana she wrote on her website: “It’s a perfect time to reflect, to take stock, be intentional, focus, request and bless. Remember that it’s not about the destination but the journey, what we learn and who we become. It’s a long one, full of setbacks and successes. I built this business with my own two hands, with a strong will and the determination to succeed…and it’s not always easy. It requires great strength, motivation and a strong connection to my core values, my goals, and what matters to me in life. For myself, I hope to keep forging my path and treading on it safely, and that I will always be true to myself. My wish for everyone is: Don't give up, keep dreaming and fulfilling your dreams.” Yonat was murdered on Shabbat, October 7, 2023. Our hearts are with Yali, Noam and Alma. May her memory be a blessing. Back 05.11.1972 - 07.10.2023 50 years old

Yona Fricker Life Story Yona was born on August 4th, 1954 in Tel Aviv, to Yerachmiel and Rachel Tenenbaum, the elder sister to Aviva and Itzik. Yerachmiel was a Holocaust survivor from Poland, and Rachel immigrated from Romania. Rachel was a homemaker, while Yerachmiel made his living as a plumber and was a talented musician who played a number of instruments, and often included Yona in his performances. The family spent much time at the beach, close to where they lived in Jaffa. At home, Yona learned to love Israel. The grandmother, who lived with them, was religious, and they were observant and lit Shabbat candles at home. Yona accompanied her grandmother to synagogue, spoke Yiddish with her, and went with her to the Yiddish theater. When Yona was three years old, the family moved to Holon where she had a pleasant childhood. Every day the neighborhood children gathered for games and adventures. They loved digging bunkers and setting up tents, putting on shows for their parents and coming home late in the evening. Yona was also involved in the Scouts, loved reading and could be absorbed by a book, reading until dawn. When Yona was 12 and a half, misfortune befell the family. Aviva, her 8-year-old sister, was killed in an accident along with her best friend. Her parents never got over it, and the family fell apart. Her grandmother, who had been like a second mother to Yona, died a year later from cancer. At 14, Yona went to the “Ayanot” youth village boarding school. Two years later, she returned to her parents’ home, studied in an external program, and participated in drama and theater groups of the youth movement ‘HaNoar HaOved VeHaLomed’ . In 1972, Yona enlisted in the IDF as a lone soldier. She served as part of the ‘Shelach’ (‘Field, Nation, Society’) program in Kibbutz Be'eri, and met the man who was to become her first husband. Together they traveled to Switzerland, married, and Yona worked in a large Swiss bank. Four years later, they returned to Israel and joined Kibbutz Be'eri. In 1979 Aviv was born. She was named for Aviva, Yona’s sister. Two years later, Yona and her first husband divorced. A short time later, Yona and Ablum became a couple. In 1992, Sigal was born, followed by Stav a year later. Ablum was already the father of Shani, Gal and Niv. Yona also looked after Ablum’s children and he, in turn, was like a father to Aviv. The good bond between the family was kept up even when Yona and Ablum split. For the last 23 years, Yona enjoyed a special relationship, like a pair of doves, with Mordechai Naveh. Mordechai accepted Aviv, Sigal and Stav warmly. Yona loved his children and made a point of holding family events and festive meals. Yona worked in the accounting department and graphics at the printing house. Later she found her true place in the sewing workshop, where she worked for many years, even after retirement. She always loved to sew. She had a sewing machine at home and when Sigal and Stav were little she would sew them dresses and make a matching dress for herself, too. She continued to sew dresses for her granddaughters as well: Leah, Ori, Zohar and Lynne — Aviv’s daughters, and Tohar, Elinor and Sapir — Sigal’s daughters. The dresses she herself wore were the fruits of her own design and creation. She used to wear floral, colorful clothes, and loose, brightly-colored dresses, and unique shoes and boots, in a style unusual in the kibbutz landscape: she was very well put together, made up, blow-dried hair and coordinated dress, shoes and jewelry. Yona was an artist. She painted impressive oil paintings on canvas. These paintings decorated the walls of Ablum’s house. She also made jewelry and did beading. She loved cooking and baking. Her mille-feuille cake was the best in the world. Yona was gentle in speech and touch. She avoided quarrels and confrontations as much as possible, always meant well, and always had a smile lighting up her face. Yona was very family-oriented; she was a loving sister, generous and caring to her brother Itzik, and a loyal daughter to her mother when they lived in Jaffa. In her mother’s old age, she brought her to live beside her in Neot Be'eri. She was a devoted and attentive mother and grandmother, supportive and making sure that everyone had what they needed. Family was more important to her than any academic achievements. She told her daughters: “No matter what you do — the main thing is that you be a good person.” She was proud of each of her daughters and supported everything that they did. Her granddaughters who don’t live in Be'eri loved to come spend time with Grandma on the kibbutz, at the pool, at the petting zoo, in the dining room, to ride her golf cart with her. The granddaughters who live in Be'eri spent time with her at every opportunity. Yona loved her house, her family and the kibbutz. After meals in the dining room, she and Mordechai loved to sit in the smoking pavilion outside, with the coffee with foam that Yona meticulously prepared; there they sat and chatted with friends. On Wednesday, three days before the disaster, the whole extended family met on Yona’s porch: Mordechai, Ablum, Aviv with Asaf and the girls, Sigal with Andre and the girls, Stav with Roey, the new boyfriend whom Yona managed to meet and even wrote to Stav how lucky she was. Everyone enjoyed the peacefulness of the kibbutz, and the fun of being together as a family. On Saturday, the 7th of October, terrorists broke into Yona’s home. She held the door to the safe room so that they could not enter, and when she could not hold it any longer, she called Mordechai to help. Mordechai was murdered on his way to her. Ablum was also killed on that same day. Yona was thought to be missing for an entire month. She was 69 when she died. May her memory be a blessing. Back 04.08.1954 - 07.10.2023 69 years old

Inbar Boyum Life Story Inbar, the eldest son of Gil and Ayelet, was born on December 4, 2000 in Be’eri. He was a fair-haired baby, and the color of his hair suggested his name (“Inbar ” is “Amber” in Hebrew). But it wasn't only Inbar’s hair that was yellow. He was born with severe jaundice. It was a week before Ayelet and Inbar could leave the hospital for her parents' home in Sderot, where Inbar’s brit took place. Inbar's great-grandfather was the godfather. From the moment he was born, Inbar was engulfed in love. His father, Gil, used to take him for rides on the kibbutz tractors. He was the most sensitive child in the "Cocos" class; when a child in the kindergarten cried, Inbar would go up to the child and simply say, "I'm here with you." Up to the age of two and a half, Inbar ate everything, even zucchini. But as he grew up, he became a true carnivore. He loved steak. As a teenager, he enjoyed grilling tuna. He once did it on the roof of the house, and the whole family thought the house was on fire. That he was a bright boy was evident from an early age. He was intelligent and conscientious. He studied computers and physics, played soccer and practiced judo for years. Like Gil, Inbar loved music. His headphones seemed to be permanently on his head, even in class. He loved rap and black music, but also Ehud Banai. Inbar did a year of service at Kibbutz Magal. When he received an 82 Military Profile, he did what he could to raise it. He underwent surgery so that he wouldn’t have to wear glasses and began preliminary screenings to become a pilot, but his vision problems interfered. He decided to enlist in the Golani brigade, and after enlistment, he declared his intention to join a sayeret (special reconnaissance unit). The skinny boy became a medic in the Golani sayeret . To be the best, he would practice bandaging and other skills on his friends. From the moment he enlisted, he became a fitness freak. He would go to the gym in the base at two o'clock in the morning and also worked out on the kibbutz and in Sderot. The family was worried about his well-being and anxiously awaited his discharge. After his discharge, in April 2023, Inbar debated his next step and decided that he did not want to take on a job that required a long commitment. He was hired as a security guard at the EAPC (Europe Asia Pipeline Co) in Ashkelon. To be closer to work, he went to live with his grandmother, Simcha, in Sderot. The night before he was murdered, he sat with his mother and told her that he was contemplating studying medicine, but the seven years of schooling worried him. Ayelet told him that he would definitely succeed. Inbar was a big brother in every sense of the word, always protective and helpful. He would have heart-to-heart talks with his sister – about relationships, the army, and everything under the sun. When the four siblings were at home together, they liked to play games like Catan and Rummykub. They also loved going out, bowling and picnicking together. Ayelet called him "Mommy’s Prince." “The Royal Family" was the name of the family's WhatsApp group. He was always surrounded by friends – from the kibbutz, from the army. Inbar was handsome, a party man who loved get-togethers. He devoured life with gusto. Inbar had his first girlfriend already in third grade. He was a gentleman and charmed the ladies. He met his girlfriend Yuval about three months ago at "Hummus Shel Tahini" in Sderot, while meeting some guys he knew. The two discovered that they had the same tattoo, and from there sprouted a great love. It wasn’t long before he was considered a member of Yuval's family in Mabu’im. They started planning a trip to Thailand. Inbar loved tattoos. On his right hand he had the birth date of his late grandfather, Shimon, in Roman numerals. He also had tattoos of coconuts, for his kibbutz cohort (Cocos), an alien, spaceships, a paddle boarder, and also the icon of a rapper he loved. His aim was to add more and more. On October 7, 2023, after a 12-hour shift at work, Inbar was at Yuval's house. As soon as they heard what was happening in the area, Inbar told Yuval that he could not sit idly by and decided to go to EAPC, get weapons and return to defend his house in Be’eri. Yuval begged him to stay, but Inbar was determined and set off. At 7:34 am on Route 34 – almost the same moment his father Gil died – Inbar's phone died. In the words of David Grossman: "His gaze had just opened / but began to bloom. / It had just been given to me and immediately withdrawn ." On his finger, Inbar wore, as always, the black ring of his and his comrades in the commando unit. May his memory be a blessing. Back 04.12.2000 - 07.10.2023 22 years old

Yoram Bar Sinai Life Story Yoram Bar Sinai was the son of Avraham Borisonik and Miriam Eckstein, of Kitat Dror , and a member of Kibbutz Be’eri. Yoram was born in July of 1948, at the height of the War of Independence. The young kibbutz was built on a patch of land in the northern Negev, just a stone's throw from Gaza, on the "Eve of Eleven Points" – Yom Kippur, 1946. At that time, there were only men and single women. The married women and the children, among them Miriam and Yoram’s older brother Udi, remained in the training camp in Gedera. Due to unusual circumstances, Miriam, already in the advanced stages of pregnancy, had to go down to the Negev to relieve the medic. When she felt her first labor pains, she was taken by command car to Rehovot. The driver dropped her off at the beginning of the path to the hospital, and by the time Miriam reached the ward, Yoram had practically wriggled himself out. Yoram was taken directly to the children's house, where children slept apart from their parents, but together with their peers; he and Meira even shared a crib. In 1951, the kibbutz became a permanent settlement. The women and children were transported from Gedera to the kibbutz by trucks, together with the iron bed frames and the straw mattresses. The young parents lived in tents, along with an additional "friend" (the kerosine lamp known as a “primus”). The children lived in one of the two remaining abandoned houses and witnessed the kibbutz’s first – and last – snowfall. One night, Fedayun (a group of Palestinian militants) snuck in from Gaza and stole all the coats. While communal education was difficult for his mother, Yoram thrived. He was a very sociable child, trusting the world, content with his lot. He liked to wander through the fields, walking on his hands, running and jumping; he was always curious. Rivka’le, his preschool teacher, enchanted him with her stories. Like all kibbutz children, Yoram participated in every aspect of farm life: calving in the cowshed, working the fields, picking fruit in the orchards. His father, an amateur astronomer, taught him the names of constellations and their paths in the sky. At his grandparents’ home in Nesher, he saw his first synagogue and restaurant, and his three siblings provided abundant opportunities for lively clashes. Kitat Dror was the young kibbutz’s third class. The majority of the students were from the kibbutz, with an ever-changing contingent of "yaldei hutz " who lived on the kibbutz, but whose parents lived elsewhere. Yoram was a good student and a well-behaved child. He learned from his house-mother, Hasya, how to wash floors (making sure not to overlook the corners) and mastered all thirteen pre-Bar Mitzvah tasks (including learning how to sew a button). Additionally, because he was skilled in calligraphy, he may have been the one who wrote the sign “We pledge our allegiance to the flag and to nothing else.” It was no surprise that he would take the youth movement’s leadership course. The friends he made there remained with him throughout his army service and his entire life. He loved working in all the different branches, and learned a little of everything: carpentry, plumbing, welding, auto mechanics, and milking cows. Like all the kibbutzniks of his day, he finished school with an abysmal knowledge of the multiplication table but a deep familiarity with all three volumes of The History of the Labor Movement. In between all his other activities, he learned to play the mandolin and guitar, took drawing lessons, grew a glorious pompadour, and knew how to park a tractor and trailer in reverse. During his third year of community service, he was a counselor in a branch of the youth the movement, HaNoar HaOved in Holon; from there he went on to the army. To his delight, he was drafted into the Seventh Brigade. He loved the jeeps, the terrain, the cheerful vibe in his squadron. He did his part, drawing caricatures of all his friends and of the commander, Shlomo Baum, who had come from the legendary Unit 101. His comrades relied on his innate navigation skills, the campfires he built, and the coffee he prepared at every opportunity. And then there were the chocolate "snakes" his mother Miriam would send from the kibbutz. At the conclusion of his military service, Yoram returned to the kibbutz and relieved Omri in overseeing the orchards. He learned to remove caterpillars from the apricot trees, to thin out peach blossoms, and to organize groups to pick fruit. He was tanner and handsomer than ever. This was when he met Nili, his future wife. They were both guests at friend Ariel’s wedding, he from the groom’s side, she from the bride’s. When she saw him walking across from her, rejoicing at the prospect of seeing his friends, she couldn’t resist the temptation and stopped him. Asking him to show her his hands, she said, “If you don’t have a ring, I want to marry you.” He was naïve and didn’t realize she was serious. Meanwhile, Yoram began studying in a preparatory program for the Technion. When the Yom Kippur War broke out, he was called in for reserve duty. He spent eight months in the sand dunes of Tasa, while Uziel helped prepare him for the entrance exams in architecture. He was surprised, and pleased when he was accepted. During his five years of study, he married Nili, and had two children, Michael and Ruthie. Every two weeks he returned home to his family, working a Shabbat shift in the cowshed, organizing meetings, working in the orchard, and assembling groups to work in the cottonfields. When they returned to the kibbutz, his wife gave him an ultimatum: either they did away with communal sleeping arrangements for the children, or they moved back to Haifa. Yoram understood what this entailed but agreed to broach the topic anyway. He facilitated discussions, attempted to convince the old-timers, participated in local politics, examined the economic feasibility, negotiated with the movement – whatever was necessary. By the end of the year, the decision was ratified: they would make the change. The conditions were agreed upon: an extra room would be built for every house, the transition would take place in a single day, and the public services would be at a higher level than the private houses. And so it was. Yochai was three years old when he left Ofarim; Noa was born into sleeping at home. Yoram planned the expansion of the houses. He was also asked to help out with building, as everyone who came back from studying had to serve the kibbutz for a year. He poured cement, learned from Brandy how to supervise the execution of architectural plans, and led the Dagan class. At the end of the year, he was told that the teacher of the Kitat Haruvi had left, and so he, Yoram, would have to take his place. Architecture would wait another year. Finally, he began his work in the planning department, studying under Vittorio Corilandi. He loved sketching houses and trees with B6 pencils, drawing maps with special markers, and studying his impressive set of rapidograph pens, back when they still erased ink from parchment paper with an exact-o knife. Eventually, he specialized in planning settlements. He had a comprehensive understanding of the rules of planning and construction, mastered the politics of the local and national planning committees, and assisted many kibbutzim through the exhausting process of getting their building plans approved. His expertise in planning agricultural settlements brought him to Africa. His favorite project was Elda Nova, a village in Angola where people wanted to build an agricultural cooperative for soldiers released from both sides of the civil war. Not far from there, he also planned and built a neighborhood for wealthy expatriates who had returned home. There were other projects, and dreams of projects, in a range of places – from Senegal to China – but the house he loved most was Kibbutz Be’eri’s print shop. He was particularly excited by the ability to build The Calanit Site – the new division of credit cards – that was carried out according to the highest international standards. And all within one hundred days. In his personal life, Yoram was a beloved space cadet. Most people forgave his chronic lateness and absent-mindedness. They loved his intelligence, his gentleness, his equanimity, and his remarkable ability not to fight with anyone, ever. He simply refused to get drawn into any power struggles or hidden agendas. He was a decent man, the kind of kibbutznik proponents of cooperative education envisioned: a hard-working, cooperative man with a socialist and politically-aware conscience – and at the same time, a creative individual. “The grandfather who can do anything,” he liked to say when people asked him to repair something. On Shabbat morning, when he realized that the terrorists had infiltrated the kibbutz, Yoram took the automatic pistol he’d received from his grandfather Yehoshua, got on his bicycle, and rode to Ruthie’s house halfway across the kibbutz. He went out to her porch, chose a good lookout point on the stairs, and stood there with his coffee in one hand and his gun in the other. He was killed while trying to prevent seven terrorists from forcing their way into his daughter and grandchildren’s home. He was seventy-five years old. This is how we will remember him: The story of the Tree Project is best told by the trees themselves. Some of them ten years old, the tallest of them are those that were planted at the edges of the rows of jojoba trees, allowing them to be attached to the nozzles of the irrigation pipes. They were initially supported by wooden stakes, and marked in a different color every year. He checked on them whenever he rode his bicycle, and once every two or three weeks he would go with his golf cart and his blue barrels of water, the electric saw he’d recently purchased, and his top-of-the-line pruning shears. He tended to every tree until it was a head taller than him; then he took it out for financial independence. Eventually, Dan and the grandchildren joined the project, along with members of his kibbutz and his unit. May he rest in peace among the carob-tree plot that he planted, at the fork between the road leading up to Nahabir and Derekh Habitzurim. Back 25.07.1948 - 07.10.2023 75 years old

Eviatar (Tari) Kipnis Life Story Tari was born on February 24, 1958, in Kibbutz Ma’agan Michael. His father, Doron (Donny) Kipnis, was a native of Tel Aviv who came with the Israeli Scouts to Ma'agan Michael to establish the kibbutz. His mother, Ofra, immigrated to Israel from Tunisia. He was a brother to Avner (Kippi), who is eleven years older than him, to Guy, who is five years older than him, and Zefra, who is a year and a half younger than him. Tari grew up in the old-fashioned communal children's house and could easily connect with people. He would call out to the guard of the children’s home in the wee hours of the night: “Hey sleepy heads, come play with me, blow up a balloon for me.” Even if they were tired, the guards couldn’t say no to him. So they would get up to spend time with him. Tari had a lazy eye, which made him stand out. From the age of three, he alternated between wearing glasses and an eye patch. He was remembered as someone who walked around the kibbutz with his head always tilted slightly up, as if he were trying to read the world. As a very active child, he didn’t care much for formal studies at school, but he absolutely loved the sea. The older he got, the more that love grew. As for that eye, it must have been the only lazy part of his body. After all, Tari was always busy and knew how to do almost anything with his talented hands. The strong handshake, which was his trademark, attested to that fact. As a boy, when the sea was the center of his world, he was an initiator and a guide, bringing excitement and life to any event, no matter what setting: camps, cruises, training, rowing, and diving. At the same time, Tari worked in various branches of agriculture. He was always loved by children and was naturally accepted as a leader. He always endorsed peace and reconciliation, avoiding quarrels, disputes, and harm. Upon his enlistment in the IDF, he was assigned to the Armored Corps, but he persisted, as only Tari knew how to persist, until he joined the Navy. From there he fulfilled his dream: becoming a naval officer. Tari arrived at the long-awaited naval officer course with his “brother” from the kibbutz, the late Oren Linder, who was a charismatic leader himself. All the way from Ma’agan Michael to that course, Oren and Tari were born, grew up, dreamed, and fulfilled their dream together. Tari had a quiet, introverted leadership style. He would be the first one under the stretcher, without question, always true to the task. He was the one you could trust, and with whom any task could be executed successfully. Tari turned out to be a real sailor, as well as a professional in anything he did, such as being a skipper, kayaker, and diver. The sea surely carries many of Tari's secrets, but there was that one night, which none of his teammates could forget, when two weapons sank into the middle of the sea and Tari did not give up until he managed to find them. Along with those weapons, which he drew out of the sea, Tari also acquired the honor of finishing with the 19th class of naval officers. From there, he went on to study goldsmithing at Bezalel which, at first, he did not choose, but eventually he embraced this field as if it was his decision. He took much pride in his thesis: a series of kitchen knives that garnered him much praise, even from Chef Israel Aharoni, who used them until their last sharpening and then asked for more. The sea was also Tari's groomsman: on one of the many voyages he went on, after his release from the army, he met Lilach, and they fell in love. They built their shared home in 1993 on Kibbutz Be’eri. Their two sons were born there: Yotam and Nadav. Tari transitioned from goldsmithing to repairing old watches, becoming the person to turn to for anyone who had something in their possession that required special or painstaking repair. He later worked at the kibbutz printing house, leading the implementation of the most up-to-date equipment which contributed to perfecting the work flows and capabilities of the printing house. After completing his master's degree in sustainability at the University of Haifa, he dedicated himself to environmental issues, as part of his role as a "community manager" — first in Be’eri, then in Kfar Azza as well as in Kibbutz Zikim. He was deeply enthusiastic and curious, always wanting to explore and learn more and more. He expected the same from his boys, Yotam and Nadav, whom he sometimes challenged with character-building questions, trying to find what interests them, and also encouraging them to find the answers on their own and in their own way. He had acquired vast knowledge on his own, which he shared generously. You could ask Tari any question on any subject and in any field. He was a walking encyclopedia, knowledgeable about the heavenly bodies, nature, and everything in between: When will the moon rise? How does a lock work? What did Darwin discover in the Galapagos? How do you know the speed of light? He was a man of principles, who knew how to stand up for his opinions and say them directly and sometimes with a lack of tact that could lead to embarrassment. Nevertheless, his integrity and natural curiosity along with his warmth and love aroused sympathy and many smiles. On the kibbutz, he was active in the Residential Emergency Team (“Tzachi”), and in various committees, such in the Growth & Development Committee, where he took on an important role supervising the donations to associations that he thought needed help. He volunteered at the "Pa'amonim" [Bells] NGO, becoming a coordinator who helped many people organize themselves and conduct their personal affairs in practical and financially responsible ways. Tari had no hobbies because whichever field he dove into, he became a professional: for example, after discovering a new interest in coffee, he quickly became an expert, who could identify varieties, types, growing and roasting methods and, of course, he planted two coffee trees near his home. The home that Tari and Lilach built was warm, open, and inviting. Friends from different periods of their lives came all year round, including, of course, the traditional winter gathering with the friends from the Navy and their families, when everyone would enjoy lying in Be’eri’s famous patches of red anemone flowers. People would come from around the country — including from the surrounding settlements, Rahat, the Bedouin settlements, and West Bank villages — to see those beautiful wild flowers. Majda, a resident of Hebron, was adopted by Tari and Lilach into their circle and, under her leadership, they organized workshops for making stuffed vine leaves, satisfying all of the residents of Be’eri. Tari was a man of peace, who believed in sharing life: he once donated a special treatment bed to a hospital in Gaza. He was an atheist, abiding by a religion of respect, doing, and giving to others. His heart was open to everyone. In the last eight years, he suffered from an autoimmune disease. Despite his physical weakness, Tari connected with the strength of the soul within him. His characteristic handshake did not weaken, though his spirit was diminishing. Tari did not give up on his dreams and even managed to go as part of a research expedition to Antarctica. Even when the help of his devoted caregiver Paul was needed, Tari continued to volunteer as a guide for a group of at-risk youth, and went out to sea with them in kayaks. At the same time, he insisted on continuing to help with bicycle repairs at the local shop and, when people would come to the south to see the wildflowers, he would help the kibbutz youth run a hummus stand. He loved children and children loved him. Members of his extended family, especially the youngest ones, were drawn to him like a magic wand. They sat on his lap, hoping to receive his attention, which he shared generously. Tari also found his way back to art. He set up a studio in his home, where he painted beautiful images of nature, animals, and people. Most of these paintings survived the fire. In the last months before his murder, he watched classic movies with his family, and spent quality time in their company as they recalled past experiences. About a month before the attack, he sailed with Lilach and his sisters on a cruise through the French canals. They returned from that trip exactly a week before his murder. During the trip, Tari was grateful to the people around him for what was given to him, especially for the joy of being together. He appreciated every glass of wine, every song, conversation, and meeting. Tari was happy about the quality time he spent with his loved ones. Tari hoped to find a cure for his disease and continue with his plans. He was dedicated to his recovery, working every day to get stronger. But it was not the disease that conquered Tari. After long, difficult, and nerve-wracking days of uncertainty, Tari's body was identified. The body of Paul, the devoted caregiver who lived with Tari and Lilach, was found days earlier. As these lines are written, Tari's love, Lilach, is still missing and classified as a hostage. His friend from the naval officer course, Danny Goldbaum, wrote: "Eviatar Kipnis was a sailor, skipper, professional, man of learning, smart, loving husband, family man, volunteer, strong man, diver, kayaker, coffee lover, with many hobbies, and beloved." May his memory be a blessing. Back 24.02.1958 - 07.10.2023 65 years old

Ofra Keidar Life Story Ofra was born to Penina and Dovale Gitel, Ofra was their middle child, a sister to Hana and Ilan. Her parents were among the original members of Kibbutz Kedma, which is where Ofra grew up in the first years of her life. In 1962, when Kibbutz Kedma disbanded, the family joined a group of friends and together they moved to Be'eri. In their honor, Be'eri veterans gave up their new duplexes. Dovale and Penina received a room on the second floor above the Efrat family. They arrived during summer vacation. Ofra, Hadas, and Ada, who were finishing third grade, joined “Kitat Shibolim”. Ofra had a hard time coming to terms with the move, especially with being separated from her best friend, who had moved to another kibbutz. It took a long time before Ofra began to feel at home and join the local community of youngsters. She proved to be very athletic, especially excelling in any games that used balls. In dodgeball, her delivery was exceptionally strong and accurate, and the children of Shibolim learned to be careful when Ofra played. They would even warn her not to hurt their stomachs! She was a good girl who took every project seriously. She participated in the customary class plays that regularly took place as a part of the local education, and even then, she showed a rare responsibility and diligence among the youth. As a girl, her big dream was to skydive, so she volunteered to be a parachute folder for the paratroopers. She did this with characteristic precision and efficiency, and also got to parachute from a plane several times. As many Israelis did after the army, as a third year of service she went to help at the newly established Kibbutz Elrom. There she met Sammy. After one year of courtship, the young couple moved to Tel Aviv. Before another year passed, Ofra informed Sammy that they were going to return to Kibbutz Be’eri. There, Ofra started working in the dairy, and Sammy joined the blacksmith shop. Their wedding was held in the spirit of those days. It was a kibbutz style wedding of 5 couples together. Their son Elad was born in 1978, followed by Oran and Yael. Despite her restraint from expressing physical affection, Ofra was a devoted mother. Her great loves were clear to anyone who visited her home: animals and agriculture. There were always dogs in the house. She mainly kept poodles which occasionally participated in dog shows. Ofra tended the garden and loved pots and flowers very much. She cherished beauty, making sure the house was comfortable and pleasant, and did not hesitate to buy things she liked. She didn't like to cook but she would make excellent pastries, without even needing to use recipes. She would always eat quickly because she needed to get back to doing something useful. Ofra worked in the dairy for about 30 consecutive years. She was responsible for taking care of the newborn calves and feeding them with milk. At first, she gave them colostrum and then she would prepare bottles of milk from powder. She had extraordinary physical strength and, like her father Dovale, she never asked for help. In general, her work embodied the qualities she inherited from Dovale and Penina; she was a quiet and efficient worker, who never uttered unnecessary words. She also exhibited diligence, accuracy, cleanliness, and order which were so basic to them that there would have been no need to mention them. Most importantly, she would never fuss about small matters. If there was a need to do something, it was done. She believed that everything either was fine or would be fine. This attitude helped her to move on. She was a working woman and an old-fashioned kibbutznik. When the dairy moved to the edge of the kibbutz, Ofra made a brief attempt to go back and forth with carts, but it was no longer the same. Ofra returned to her old love, working at the children's farm, a local little corner filled with life. She worked there for 15 years and, even when she reached retirement age, she never slowed down. She would do hard physical labor, managing every detail of the maintenance and operation of the farm. There was no task too large or too small for her to handle. She was responsible for ordering the food for the animals and, just like with the calves, she would come every Saturday morning to make sure that the shift workers arrived and that everything was in order. Always in a hurry to work, she was always practical, which led her to never be enthusiastic about taking time off to study, though she happily participated in field trips. Ofra eventually took in Shmil to work with her, promising him that she would stay with him until he retired. Shmil discovered that behind the faҫade of tough armor, she was like a mother to him. When the children grew up, Ofra established a regular routine: in the summer, she would leave at five in the morning in order to get to work on time; she would go to the pool a little before it opened to get the lane she liked and swim 60 laps; and then return to work. After her lunch break, she would watch tennis or NBA games on TV, solve crossword puzzles, or pick up the young grandchildren from kindergarten, and spend time with them in the playground, in the animal farm, or go out to the fields to watch the potatoes and carrots get picked. Always on foot, without a scooter, she felt like she always had to move so as not to be lazy. Her days sometimes included tennis and gymnastics classes, or a daily visit to the shopping mall, where she sometimes bought new sports clothes. On Fridays and Saturdays, she went on her traditional walk, alone or with friends, listening to radio 88FM with oldies from abroad (Ofra especially loved Elvis Presley and Paul Anka). She often laughed when telling people about changes in nature that no one except her noticed, for instance, a new family of foxes, or the sowing of chickpeas in a distant field. Her weekends were dedicated to her daughter Yael. After her morning walk and making a fruit salad, she went out again with Yael for a walk around the kibbutz. They sat leisurely to eat lunch, updating each other as they sat in the dining room. Those were her quiet family Shabbats. Ofra loved the blessed routine of her life: work, sports, music, garden, home, family, kibbutz. She stayed away from entertainment and travel, living life as it is, without unnecessary claims. Until her last Saturday. As usual, Ofra went for a walk at five in the morning. It was still dark outside, which didn’t bother her because there was nothing she would have thought to be afraid of. Near Nakhbir, in her favorite fields, she met terrorists. Yael waited at home and many hours passed before she was evacuated. It was only after two months that we learned of Ofra’s fate. She was 70 years-old at the time of the murder. May her memory be a blessing. Back 02.09.1953 - 07.10.2023 70 years old

Yona Cohen Life Story Three members of three generations of the Cohen family—grandmother, son, and granddaughter, Yona, Ohad, and Mila—each had different birthdays, but they all died on the same day, October 7, 2023. Yona was 73, her son Ohad 43, and his daughter Mila was a baby not yet a year old. Yona was born in Jerusalem, the second child of Sami and Rosa Levy, sister to her elder brother Jacques and her younger sister Varda. She grew up on Agrippas Street, where her parents ran the well-known Sami restaurant. Her parents worked long hours outside the home. Yona and her siblings learned to be independent at a young age. In her childhood, she told her children, she was so thin that the wind would send her flying as she walked up Agrippas Street to school. Her family later moved to Tel Aviv, where Yona attended the Alliance Française school. She was a quiet girl and a hardworking and diligent student who loved to read. As a teenage athlete - she related - she could run as fast as her classmate, the future Israeli champion and Olympic sprinter Esther Shahamorov. After graduation, she enlisted in the Nahal Corps and, along with her high-school boyfriend, David, joined the “gar'in,” (the nucleus) - the collective of soldier-pioneers who founded Be’eri. They were married after completing their military service. The young couple began their life together in Petah Tikva, where their three sons were born—Itay, Ido, and Ohad. The members of the Be’eri gar'in refused to give up on Yona and David and entreated them to return. They did, in 1982. Ohad, the youngest son, found it difficult to get used to sleeping in the children’s house, and often ran away to his parents’ home at night. Yona considered leaving, but the family was swathed in the love of their old and new friends. It was that love that tipped the scale in favor of the kibbutz. The birth of their daughter Danielle, and the addition of Ro’i, for whom the Cohens became an adopted family after he arrived at Be’eri as a member of a youth movement detachment, expanded the family. There were now five children, four boys and a girl. The home was joyful and warm. Yona showered the family with Ladino endearments and was renowned for her skill as a cook and baker. Yona loved kibbutz life and the kibbutz loved her. She was a natural of the old school in her work with children, forming strong and loving ties with her charges that endured for years into their adulthood. For ten years, she and her good friend Hezi ran Be’eri’s procurements and disbursements of food and supplies, ending her term as radiant and beloved as on the day she began. Her next position was as a kibbutz bookkeeper. She loved the work and the people she worked with, and stayed on the job even after she retired, up to her final day. Yona was goodhearted and loved life, and had a broad and jubilant smile. She knew how to make everyone around her happy. Israeli and Greek music were a special passion; she and her brother Jacques liked to go to tavernas together. But more than anything else she enjoyed reading new books, getting up in the morning for a walk or a gym workout, going to plays and films, spending time with friends, and to travel around the world. She made frequent visits to her grandchildren and children overseas—Ido’s family: Ellen, Zoë, Anuk, and Eden; and Itay’s family: Keren, Ariel, and Eleni; and to her youngest, her daughter Danielle and Amir. And, of course, there were Ohad and Sandra, who lived on the kibbutz with their children Liam, Dylan, and little Mila, whom she saw almost every day. Yona valued family togetherness and was good at fostering it. Yona’s story is the story of the kibbutz. She never left when it was under attack. “If I die,” she told her worried family, “it will be here at home and not anywhere else.” With an optimism that now seems frighteningly naïve, she added: “And what can happen to us, really?” May her memory be blessed. Prayer - Avraham Chalfi I don’t know the words from which prayer is born. All words are lost to my voice, have become a mute darkness. But my eyes still see the spark in the eyes of a child, and my eyes still see: A star of unmatched brilliance, and worried-faced mothers steering their small ones to the light. What will be with them? What will be? Listen to their breathing joy in the spring, which seems as if it will never end. I will bow before the role of God even if he has vanished from my eyes. Do no wrong to the innocent, they do not know why lightning strikes a fruit-bearing tree. Do no wrong to the innocent. They do not know why man desecrates his image. I don’t know the words from which prayer is born. All words are lost to my voice, have become a mute darkness. Back 18.01.1950 - 07.10.2023 73 years old

Rotem Calderon Life Story Rotem Calderon was born on October 14, 1956, in Kibbutz Be'eri to Leah Lili Leicha née Elazar, who immigrated to Israel from Bulgaria, and Michael Goodrich - later Gadish – who immigrated to Israel from England. Her mother was both a farmer and a seamstress, and her father taught physical education. Leah never got to know her older brother Ilan, who died from an illness at the age of six. Yet Leah maintained a close, loving relationship with her two older brothers Yuval and Raviv for her entire life. From childhood, Rotem knew how to be both the little sister who never hesitated to take on the role of the big one when needed, as well as knowing how to fill the house with free-flowing, fun, bubbling, contagious laughter. Rotem grew up in the "Gefen '' group on the kibbutz. A sports-lover and a swimmer, Rotem was very popular in the Gefen’s group of nine girls, and some remained close friends for life. Rotem served in the Israeli Army in Sharm al Sheikh. When she returned to the kibbutz, she met the man who would become the father of her children, Moshe"Caldi" Calderon. This meeting has a mythological version: Caldi, a charismatic young man, arrives at the kibbutz with his cohorts from Bat Yam, spots the beautiful girl from the kibbutz in a checkered flannel shirt with long hair down to her buttocks, and declares, “This shirt will be mine.” And Rotem, in true form, confidently follows her heart, opting to share her life with the distinctive, talented city boy leading the way. Soon after they wed, their oldest son Adam was born, followed by Omer’s arrival two-and-a-half years later. Even as a young mother with two toddlers, Rotem managed to advance her career by studying Physical Education far from home in Seminar Hakibbutzim in Tel Aviv, returning to Be'eri only on weekends for a long period. Upon completing her studies, Rotem worked as a well-loved teacher at the Ma’ale Basor High School where Caldi also taught. At the birth of their daughter Mika, Rotem nurtured her small, close-knit family, a lioness of a mother who spoke of her children with sparkling eyes and boundless love. In 2005, tragedy struck: Caldi was killed in a motorcycle accident, at the age of just 49. The kibbutz members enveloped Rotem with support during her deep mourning. Gradually, she mustered the strength to redirect her life to achieve another dream: to live for a time in the big city of Tel Aviv. Alone. Like the best of Tel Aviv’s young women, Rotem rented an apartment with a roommate and pored over want ads for job openings. At the start, she found a job as a clerk in a law firm, a position she left in favor of working in a neighborhood coffee shop and a clothing store in Neve Tzedek, jobs that brought her closer to the throbbing pulse of the city and its people. Two years later, when she returned to the kibbutz, Rotem became the preschool director before working in the kibbutz secretariat. At retirement, Rotem was drawn to volunteer at The Negev’s Sexual Assault and Domestic Violence Support Center, as well as the "No Soldier Left Behind” therapeutic rehabilitation community for PTSD victims in the Gaza vicinity. These two specific centers were ideal for Rotem’s unrivaled expertise: interpersonal communication. Rotem was the grandmaster of listening to others, able to not only look, but see. When you spoke to her, you felt you were the most important thing in the universe. And when she spoke, she always said what she thought. Apparently, this characteristic – her captivating honesty – helped so many to bare their hearts to her and to support her. Rotem was a passionate mother to Adam and Omer and Mika, a wondrous grandmother to Aviv, Gal and Bar, and a beloved and loving persona to Mika and Roi, her children's spouses. She was also a youthful 66-year-old woman who knew how to set out on life adventures that others could not imagine. Rotem was a people-person who also knew how to enjoy going to the movies alone. She was efficient, creative, productive -- the one to depend on to arrange great trips for her circle of friends. But Rotem also knew how to enjoy a walk, or just sit and talk with her children, or watch TV together in pajamas. She was an extremely sensitive person, yet also a rock of stability for so very many. When Adam and Mika, both creative cinema people, shared their wish to shoot a film on the kibbutz, Rotem recruited all her friends for the mission of transforming the kibbutz into a film location. As she turned her own home into the bustling production center, she did it as Rotem – with total ease. In her hands, this production looked like the most natural, simple task ever. Rotem was a champion of minimalism in life, with her heart as her guiding star to clearly direct the way. She was the friend you want at your side in crises and in joyous times, the grandmother who enjoyed giving parents a little break from the kids, and the grandmother to run to when your parents annoy you. She never pushed or became involved without being asked, but she was always there. All who needed her knew easily how to find her. Over the last three years, Rotem found new, beautiful love with Baruch, a native of Hatzor. Baruch’s children immediately fell in love with Rotem as well, quickly realizing her greatness. They also called her a lioness. On Saturday, October7, Rotem was alone at home. Although she spent most of her weekends with Baruch, this time, to celebrate the kibbutz holiday, she decided to remain in Be'eri. From her WhatsApp messages, it is known that she struggled for hours to keep the door of her bomb shelter locked. It is known that the terrorists shot her in the hand. Afterwards, her cellphone battery went dead. When the rescue squad reached her house many hours later, Rotem was not to be found. For many long days, she was thought to have been kidnapped, until her lifeless body was finally located. Rotem Calderon was a woman who could light up the darkness with her smile. She was the woman you would want to introduce to the entire world. A woman whose wise eye and listening ear held the power to strengthen and heal. Responsible and practical, free and brave. A woman the entire world so desperately needs. May her memory be blessed Back 14.10.1956 - 07.10.2023 67 years old

Eitan Hadad Life Story 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. Back 04.04.1980 - 07.10.2023 43 years old

Ayelet Godard Life Story Ayelet was a valued educator and fighter for justice, who shaped generations of people and never stopped working for the nation and the country she so loved. Ayelet was born in June, 1960, in Kfar Galim, the daughter of Rachel and Yosskeh Pereg. Yosskeh was one of the founders of Nakhbir (Be’eri’s original name). He died when Ayelet was three, and she and her sisters, Ruthie and Tami, moved with their mother to Kiryat Bialik, where they became a household of strong, determined women of action. Ayelet was an active teenager and a counselor in the local Scouts group. That was where her skills as an educator first blossomed. Her love of people, nature and hiking led her to join the army as a tour guide at Har Ha’Negev Field School. During her service, Ayelet lived in Yamit, in the final years before it was evacuated. Along with her friends, she led tours of both young and old, new recruits and General Staff officers, taking them all over the region, from Sheikh Zuweid and Bardawil Lake in the northern Sinai Desert, to Ali Muntar Hill and the “potters district” in Gaza. She was attentive to the smells, tastes, traditions and stories. She acquired a huge amount of local knowledge, and was able to add context full of humanity to the country’s spectacular mosaic. Her military service led her not only to encounter extraordinary places, but also to meet the love of her life. On one of her trips to the beach, she met Meni, Yamit’s good-looking, charismatic life guard, “the king of the beach.” They quickly became an item, “Meni-and-Ayelet,” and were married on the beach where they’d met. It was the last wedding in Yamit. The young couple wanted to live on the kibbutz, but Ayelet’s mother pressured her to acquire a vocation first. And so they moved to Tel Aviv. Meni worked as a lifeguard on Hilton Beach, and Ayelet studied special education and history at the Kibbutzim College. In 1983, their daughter Mor was born. Her name (Hebrew for ‘myrrh’) alludes to the Spice Route that Ayelet loved. After they moved back to the kibbutz, their children Gal and Bar were born. While raising her family, Ayelet was also a legendary teacher at the school, where each graduating class has a name: Savyon, Ellah and Petel were the groups she taught. She was an exceptional teacher with traditional methods, who brought nature into the classroom and took the children outside frequently. In 1997, she was appointed principal of Nofim, the elementary school. Ayelet integrated the informal education network into the school, including a petting zoo. Everything she touched thrived. Upon moving to the regional school at Ma’aleh Ha’Bsor, she stepped into the role of supervising the “Shin-shin” program members (who commit to a year of community service before they enlist in the army) in the United Kibbutz Movement. In that capacity, she guided hundreds of young people through their year of service. Over the years, Ayelet always managed to combine her great loves: family, friends, nature and good books. She went hiking whenever she could; more than her favorite pastime, it was a way of life. When the kids were grown, she set off on her big trip: she and her friend Edna travelled to India and Nepal, where she encountered the magnificent Himalaya mountains and the orphanages that operate in the region. She then informed her family that it was time for her own year of service. In 2005, Meni and Ayelet adopted their fourth child, Goni, a sensitive and captivating boy. Ayelet was an exemplary mother and a beloved grandmother. She always came up with something personal and special for each child, whether an art project, an invitation to an activity, or dough for cookie-making. Her personal attention and ability to treat every person as an equal made Ayelet a professor of human relations. She displayed the same generosity and simplicity whether hosting kindergarten children or members of the “Valley Parliament” singing troupe. Together with Meni, she kept a home that was always open, buzzing with guests, children, grandchildren, adopted children, students, family and friends—a great number of friends. Ayelet believed with all her heart in the kibbutz and its residents, and took an active part in the kibbutz life. She left her mark everywhere: on the children now grown; in the petting zoo; on the bike paths she helped plan; in the “shin-shin” communal housing she brought to Be’eri; in the cultural events she organized; in her faith that one can make a change and have an impact. She was driven by an inner fire, endless dedication, and a sense of purpose that knew no bounds. On Saturday morning, October 7, 2023, she and Meni were murdered side by side, in the home they loved, on the kibbutz that was their home. May her memory be a blessing. Back 28.06.1960 - 07.10.2023 63 years old