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)

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

Tair Bira Life Story Tair, the eldest, was as an exceptionally bright child - "the genius of the family". It seemed as though she had inherited all of the talents. She was sensitive and realistic, she painted, wrote, sang, and taught herself guitar. She completed the full math matriculation exam, but chose to complete high school with a focus on the arts. She was a very gentle child who couldn’t harm a soul, the kind of person who asks for forgiveness even when it is others who need to ask forgiveness of her. A present big sister, she helped her siblings with their homework, advised and consulted with them, sought closeness, and sang karaoke on Fridays in the living room with Tahel. A sister who didn't cast a shadow, but rather spread light. It was good to walk in her light, and easy to hold it. When she finished high school, she decided to do a year of national service with Na'aleh (Youth Making Aliyah before Parents), and in this framework she worked at the Kaduri Youth Village where she was given the responsibility of helping new olim acclimate into their new home. The daughter of the new immigrant from Argentina became the bridge to Israeli culture for young men and women lacking language skills – planting new roots in them and serving as a big sister for them as well. It was a significant and transformative year - a year in which she discovered her abilities. In 2021, she enlisted in the army, serving as a non-commissioned classified weapons officer in the Tzrifin camp. She performed her duties with excellence, but upon completing her service, she longed to return home - not to a separate living unit in the kibbutz as her age entitled her to, but back home to Yahav and Tahel and her parents. Tahel at 16, and Tair at 23 were so very young at the time of their murder. They didn't have the chance to gather a long list of life experiences, to realize much of the great loves their overflowing hearts had hoped for. They stood on the brink, full of potential, and were taken away. Adolescence is characterized by the need to differentiate and distance oneself from parents in order to grow wings. It often comes with the distancing from parents and the slamming of doors. But that's not how the children of the Bira family behaved. Anyone close to the family knew of their special bond. They knew that each member of the family preferred to be with the others – family taking precedence over everything. Five people, and Poncho, their dog, who was a constant companion to the family for 12 years until he, too, was murdered — all intertwined with one another. They insisted on shared meals, shared trips, language, and an “internal” family language and humor. A family where each was for all and all for one. And one remains. Three months before the skies fell, Yasmin and Oron went to Portugal for a couples' vacation. Missing their children pushed them to act: they entered a local tattoo parlor and requested identical tattoos. When they emerged, they sent a photo to the kids: on their outstretched arms, the children could read their names engraved on their parents’ skin: Tair, Yahav, Tahel. On Friday, October 6, 2023, the family went out to dinner and a movie. Yahav's girlfriend joined them. When they parted, Yasmin and Oron went home with the two girls, while Yahav and his girlfriend headed to his apartment on the kibbutz. On Shabbat, at 10:58, the last sign of life was heard. Tair called Yahav from their safe room. Through the phone were heard screams, gunfire, silence, and then words in Arabic. Eleven days later, all of their bodies were found in the field next to the kibbutz. Rachel the poet wrote in a poem called "My Dead” about the living dead, the dead in whom death will never thrust its sharp knife. From a distance of years, she wrote: "In whom death's sharp knife has nothing left to kill. They alone are left me, they are with me still At the turn of highways, when the sun is low, They come round in silence, going where I go Ours is a true pact, a tie no time can sever. Only what I've lost is what I keep forever.” (Translation by A.Z. Foreman) Yahav has been left with an overwhelming legacy. May Tair’s memory be blessed. Back 28.12.2000 - 07.10.2023 22 years old

Sylvia Ohayon Life Story Sylvia was the daughter of the late Esther and Makhlouf. She was born in Dimona on August 13, 1954, the eighth of nine children. Georgette, Devorah, Danny, David, Nurit, Shimon, and Ayala were her older siblings, and Dahlia – her younger sister. The siblings were close in age and close with each other. Nurit was Ayala, Sylvia, and Dahlia's bodyguard. They called themselves the Twin Trio, a nickname they carried into adulthood. The kids would walk to school every day from their home on Masada Street to Afikim School, carrying “chocolate spread” sandwiches that their mother had prepared. They only split up when they had to go to their classes. The afternoons were spent out on the street, playing with friends. And there was lots of horsing around and happiness at home – the most memorable was jumping on a pile of mattresses with one of them tucked in underneath. Sylvia’s father wanted to be “as Israeli as can be.” He spoke neither French nor Moroccan with his children – only Hebrew. Their mother, who always had trouble with Hebrew, spoke to the kids in a mixture of the three languages. Despite the many hardships her parents faced, Sylvia did not grow up with a sense of deprivation. She saw her seemingly small world as vast and rich. Every night, in that small-vast world, she’d hear her father tell her mother about the things he’d learned that day from reading a book or the paper. Makhlouf believed in education and thought that his children would receive the finest education on a kibbutz, so, over the years, each child went to live in a different kibbutz. When she was 13, it was Sylvia’s turn to move out. She couldn’t find her place in the local middle school and moved to Be'eri, where she quickly became part of the place that seemed like paradise to her. She became part of the family of the late Mordechai and Meira Naveh (Meira died in 2000, Mordechai was murdered on October 7, 2023). Throughout this time, she maintained strong ties with her sisters. They constantly corresponded, each from the kibbutz where she lived, and arranged to meet at home in Dimona on weekends and holidays. Sylvia served in the IDF doing communication and encryption work. She made many new friends and maintained contact with them for years. Her friends called her Sulti because one day an announcement came over the PA system “Sultana Ohayon, come to….” Sylvia said, “Who would name their daughter Sultana?” when she remembered that Sultana was indeed her middle name – after her grandmother. After her discharge, Sylvia became part of the Be'eri community and workforce. She worked in the infants’ homes, the cowshed, garage, communal dining room, and most recently in construction and services. She learned the details of every place, became a professional in whatever she did, and did it with all her heart. That very special heart. When she worked in the office, she took bookkeeping classes. During her time in the kitchen, she discovered her interest in the culinary arts and studied pastry making, becoming an amazing cook and baker. She used the knowledge she gained from her studies at Camera Obscura to help kibbutz film productions. She had the gift of organization and production and contributed these to the community. She also painted and made jewelry. Sylvia was a sportswoman. She loved swimming and bike riding. She was mindful of good nutrition, and in recent years devoted more and more time to yoga. Yoga gave her a new, illuminated perceptive on the world, and, wanting to share it with others, she began training to become a yoga teacher. She never got to complete the course. In over four decades of life in Be'eri, Sylvia took only one year off. The kibbutz was her home, and she loved it. Kibbutz life was good for her, and she returned the good she received. But the lessons of her childhood were always with her. She insisted that the children learn that cheese and chocolate, that are “free” and unlimited, were a product of labor. Sylvia had a great talent for connecting to people and excelled at maintaining these connections. She was a warm and generous hostess, and often hosted her family – fifteen nieces and nephews and their eighteen children. Each one had time alone with her in the animal-petting corner on the kibbutz and in the annual celebration of the flowering of the desert – the red carpets of poppies and anemones. Each of them also got a ride on her electric scooter. Her nieces and nephews all treasure the photos they have of their fun days in Be'eri. She kept up a correspondence with all of them, and even before she herself became a mother – they would turn to her for advice. Eden, her daughter, was the love of her life. Eden was born in 1997, and Sylvia raised her practically alone, supported by the kibbutz. She dealt with Eden’s special difficulties without ever giving up. It was important to her that Eden have a relationship with her father and his new family, and to have her own warm relationship with Eden’s younger siblings. She knew, first hand, the power of strong ties. She taught her daughter everything – everything she knew and everything she believed. She was always there for Eden, and Eden was the last person with whom Sylvia spoke. On Saturday, October 7, when the siren sounded, Sylvia locked herself in her safe room, as did all the members of Be'eri. She was on the phone with her daughter and with her own sisters. Around 8:30 am, she said that she heard shots and people speaking Arabic. At 10:30 she told Eden, “Everything’s OK.” Then – the sound of a huge explosion, and the line went dead. It took over a week of uncertainty until Eden and the family were notified of Sylvia’s death. Sylvia smiled a lot. She overcame difficulties with kind words and laughter. She saw the good and humorous side of every situation. She was exceptionally generous, kind and welcoming. She loved life and enjoyed it. She will be remembered as she was – with a huge smile on her face. It was Eden’s request that she be buried in Dimona, alongside her parents. May her memory be a blessing. Back 13.08.1964 - 07.10.2023 59 years old

Marina Losev Life Story Marina was born in Zaporizhzhia in 1962 and raised by a single mother, Ludmila, who worked to support her children as a manufacturing engineer in an aircraft engine factory. Alongside her second husband, Nikolai Nikitenko, Ludmila built a happy family, Nikolai adopting Marina as his daughter and supporting her in every way. The two also provided Marina with a brother – Michael. Marina attended a regular school and was a good child and an outstanding student. She loved history and literature and studied music and piano for seven years. Besides the regular Russian holidays, Ludmila and Nikolai's home observed both Ludmila's Jewish holidays and Nikolai's Christian ones. Marina would say that her childhood was simple and happy in a family of industrial workers with organized work, a splendid education system, and a sense of calm and security. At university, Marina studied history and participated in archaeological excavations at ancient sites. She worked in research at the university where she studied and taught history at the local high school. She met her husband Igor when still very young. Two years her junior, Igor was born on the banks of the Dnieper River, in the city of Zaporizhzhia – part of the former Soviet Union, now Ukraine. He was the son of Victor and Antonina, and a younger brother to Tatiana; he had severed ties with his father at a young age – his mother raising both children and working as a department manager in a large factory. One day, after his release from the Soviet Navy but still in love with the sea and boats, Igor was paddling in a kayak on the river, when from afar, in a resort village, he saw a young woman in a red swimsuit, a bright spot on the horizon. He paddled towards her and asked, "Can you show me the way to the dining room?" Thus began the encounter with the woman who would one day become his wife, Marina. Marina and Igor married in April 1988 in a small civil ceremony. Their only daughter Katya was born in January 1989. In the early 1990s, they experienced the turbulent and unstable days of the dissolution of the Soviet Union. When they heard about the Jewish Agency’s "First Home in the Homeland" program, they felt a desire to come and live in a kibbutz, in a secular, egalitarian, cooperative, and socialist society – an ideology they continued to believe in, even after the collapse of the Soviet Union. In October 1994, Marina and Igor emigrated to Israel with their five-year-old daughter Katya, leaving their families behind. They landed by night and were taken directly to a caravan waiting for them in Be'eri. Together, Marina and Igor faced the separation from their homeland and the challenges of absorption in Israel and in the kibbutz. Besides studying Hebrew in the ulpan, they had to adapt to work on the collective farm. Marina worked for many years in the printing house, mainly in the greeting card department, and later moved to accounting management. She replaced Tzipi Zorea in managing the members' personal budgets. Marina loved her work and the team she worked with. She knew everyone: the old members and the newest immigrants. She also volunteered for ten years in a second-hand store with Racheli Suiss. Her leisure hours were dedicated to reading. She loved British detective novels – Sherlock Holmes and Agatha Christie – reading them all in Russian. Marina also loved nature. She nurtured plants in her new home and devoted herself to her household cats and many street cats. She established feeding stations and served as a clinic cum veterinarian for injured or sick cats. When they first arrived in the kibbutz, Igor worked at the dish-washing station in the dining room and then moved on to the printing house alongside Tzachi Gad. Later, he joined the digital department and other departments. In 2021, he was appointed as the safety supervisor in the print shop and maintained daily contact with all print shop departments regarding their personnel. In recent years, he developed a great curiosity, if not obsession, for exploring Russian digital archives that had been opened to the public. He researched his family's origins and compiled a large family tree with roots dating back to the early 19th century. Katya, their daughter, recalls: "Dad's computer was salvaged from the fire along with its entire archive of lives lived." In 2018, Marina and Igor moved to their new home in the Kerem neighborhood. It was a cozy and orderly home, filled with Russian books and Katya's childhood and teenage collections. Igor planted fruit trees – mangoes and citrus. He measured the fruit yield each year and meticulously monitored the data. Katya recalls: "Mom was a very devoted mother. Very caring, sometimes overly so. I could share personal things with her. At every stage of my life, she helped me, and I could rely on her. She was friendly woman with a radiant face. No one escaped her discreet and devoted care. Everyone knew they could rely on her." Anyone who knew Marina and met her would agree with Katya. Marina was a woman with eyes that shone, who only wanted to empower and help. In every role she took on, she radiated grace, out of her desire to respect every person, and from her endless love and dedication to the community. "Dad was a refined and quiet man. He didn't like to be at the center of attention, but in the print shop, he made good friends throughout his years of work. He loved life on the kibbutz, yet he missed Russian culture. As a father, he was very sensitive and emotional, and it was easy to catch him with a tear in his eye." He and Katya loved to watch Russian-dubbed cartoons together and assemble furniture. He was the handy man who knew how to fix and install anything and immediately responded to any call for help from Katya. She recounts that her parents made sure to teach her to read and write in Russian. They did it gracefully and without pressure, arousing her interest in the language and gently exposing her, through music and stories, to the Russian classics. They instilled in her the value of education so that when the time came, she would have the independent choice to pursue what she loves and to fulfill herself. In 2021, their granddaughter Kira was born, the daughter of Katya and Dima. Kira became the center of their world, and Katya occasionally had to remind them that she also exists, so they wouldn't forget her… Ten days before the fateful Shabbat, they returned from a lovely vacation in St. Petersburg and brought Kira many Russian children's books that survived the fire. "It's a shame we didn't postpone this vacation until Sukkot," Katya said to herself many times since. On the 7th of October, Katya was in touch with her parents until 10:00 in the morning. Marina managed to whisper on the phone that the terrorists were in the house. Katya waited and hoped they had only been injured. Two days later, the realization fell upon her, receiving confirmation a week later, that her parents were no longer among the living. "We were a small family and now we're even smaller. Now the kibbutz is my family, and Dima's, and Kira's. Nobody will ever understand me anywhere else." Marina and Igor lived together for 35 years, almost 30 of which were in Be'eri. Their daughter Katya, her husband Dima, their granddaughter Kira, and the entire community of Be'eri, along with the kibbutz's cats and the mango and citrus trees, will continue to remember their love and their gentle touch. May their memory be blessed. Back 06.12.1962 - 07.10.2023 61 years old

Sujith Yatawara Life Story Sujith was born in the ancient town of Polonnaruwa in Sri Lanka. His early childhood was especially difficult. He grew up without a family, without a home, and without any possessions. He worked at the fish market just to get by. As a boy, he’d made up his mind that he would transform his future. In his vigorous search for opportunities to change his life, he went to work in Kuwait, where he found a job as a house boy, and where he met Jiani, who would later become his wife. In spite of the obstacles set in the path of work migrants in Kuwait, Sujith held on for two years before returning to Sri Lanka. Sujith and Jiani married in 2009 and had a boy and a girl. But their financial strife continued, and with no other options, Sujith went to work on a farm in severe conditions that resembled slavery. Determined, he continued to fight to sustain his family, searching for new solutions. In 2014, he came upon an opportunity to work in Israel. He borrowed money from his uncle to pay for the trip and banished himself from his beloved family in order to forge a path out of poverty for them. Every month he’d send his salary home, saving money for his children’s future education, and keeping only the bare minimum he required in order to spend the occasional weekend in Tel Aviv or Jerusalem. Sujith spent nine years working in Israel, and only went back home once. He maintained his relationships with his wife and children over the phone. They spoke every evening, for nine years. When he came to Be’eri, Sujith worked first with Arik Mor, then with the Zohar family, and in the last four years of his life he cared for Haim. He was a dedicated worker who operated with Buddhist solitude and modesty. Responsible and punctual, he made sure Haim received his medication on time and was very quick and professional in operating machinery. He seemed to have plenty of experience in facing challenges, and was often able to predict them. “Sujith was an angel,” Erga said about him. “He loved Haim, and we loved him.” Sujith appreciated everyday life on the kibbutz. He liked strolling through the fields, picnicking with friends, watching television, playing videogames, talking to his family, and talking to people in general. He was like a big brother to the other caregivers on the kibbutz. Fernando, who worked with him, said Sujith liked to joke around and laugh like a kid. He loved to smile, and smiling helped transform his mood so that he could cope with his longing for home. Sujith planned to return to Sri Lanka and live with his family in the new house they built with the money he’d sent them. On October 7th, he called his wife at 7:48 in the morning. She was surprised to hear from him so early. She heard rockets or gunfire in the background, and he said, “There’s a little more than usual today.” He wanted to go to the dining hall for some breakfast, but she asked him to stay inside. They chatted about the house they were building, as well as other everyday topics. His older sister, who lives in Jordan, heard about the attack, and tried calling him later in the morning. He didn’t pick up the phone, but sent her a voice message, whispering, “I can’t pick up. There’s a war going on. I’ll call later.” He never got a chance to call her back. As time went by, his wife became more and more worried. People thought he may have been kidnapped. His daughter posted a video online, calling for his release. In the video she says, “To the President and the Prime Minister, I’m approaching you with regards to my father’s disappearance. Nine years ago, my father moved to Israel to work as a caregiver. He returned to Sri Lanka for a month, after which he went back to Israel. We haven’t seen him in six years. That morning, we tried to call him, but he didn’t pick up. We tried and tried and tried. We are very worried and afraid for my father’s safety. I’m pleading with you to help track down my father immediately. Thank you.” For a month, Sujith was presumed missing, possibly held hostage in Gaza. But on November 3rd, the Sri Lankan embassy announced that his body had been identified, using his children’s DNA samples. After a religious ceremony in Petah Tikva, his body was sent to Sri Lanka for burial. Sujith left behind a wife and two children—fifteen-year-old Stoli and eleven-year-old Sahas. His life was cut short in a land far away from home, in a terror attack that did not spare migrant workers who found themselves embroiled in the conflict. May his memory be a blessing. Back 31.07.1975 - 07.10.2023 48 years old (Nursing Assistant)