One night when I was just 12 years old, I was given a title, one I never wanted and that is impossible to change: bereaved brother. In the middle of that night, I woke up screaming the name of my eldest brother: "Uriel! Uriel!" That night, the night before his birthday, my brother, Lt. Uriel Peretz, was killed. That night changed my life and the lives of everyone in my family: Years of longing and pain, of tears in the middle of the night, of a mother and father breaking down before my eyes. My whole world became one of memorial candles and a merciful God. I was 18 when my father died. He was never truly able to cope with Uriel's death. The longing for his son hit him every day, until one day he fell ill and died of a broken heart. Then, on the eve of Passover seven years ago, my second-eldest brother, Maj. Eliraz Peretz, deputy commander of the Golani Brigade's 12th Battalion, was killed by terrorists in the Gaza Strip. I shattered into thousands of pieces, like a mirror someone had flung to the floor. I couldn't believe this could happen again. Eliraz, who had become the big brother, who always knew to give advice, who would answer odd phone calls at 2 a.m., who acquainted me with every corner of the country on foot and sweating, who admonished me when needed. Eliraz, with whom I fought shoulder to shoulder in the alleyways of Jabaliya, north of Gaza City. Who picked me up from the ground after my father died. Who would always give me a bone-breaking hug and blow my heart up with love. My good brother with the raspy voice and the fiery eyes that will never look at me again and say, "I'm here, brother, you can rest now, everything will be all right," was killed. I have so many moments to share, but with whom can I share them? There are thousands more like me, thousands of siblings, thousands of stories. Where will their voices be heard? Our stories, the stories of the brothers and sisters, are a bit different from those of the bereaved parents. Sibling stories are full of humor, of laughter, memories of squabbles and hugs, falls, night trips, love and disappointment. Most of all, they are stories of great friendship, forever gone. Our stories are about the lives we lived together -- about all those moments that came before the fall. Like every idea, this one needed someone who would believe in it to succeed. That is how I found myself sitting with Asaf Weiss, CEO of Ma'agalin, a youth education non-profit organization, who told me, "I'm here. For whatever is needed. Come on!" This year, I was lucky enough to found the Our Brothers initiative along with a wonderful group of bereaved brothers and sisters. Our purpose is to bring our stories to Israeli society and tell everyone about our siblings' values and love of the homeland. We talk about giving, our never-ending friendships and our responsibility to remember their deeds so our society may be a bit more united, a bit more patient and a bit more brotherly. Our responsibility to tell the story of our people is shared by each and every one of us. The story of our brothers is the story of the Israeli people. It's time you heard it in our voice. Eliasaf Peretz is the bereaved brother of two officers killed in action defending Israel, and the founder of the Our Brothers initiative.
Bereaved brothers: Sharing their stories
מערכת ישראל היום
מערכת "ישראל היום“ מפיקה ומעדכנת תכנים חדשותיים, מבזקים ופרשנויות לאורך כל שעות היממה. התוכן נערך בקפדנות, נבדק עובדתית ומוגש לציבור מתוך האמונה שהקוראים ראויים לעיתונות טובה יותר - אמינה, אובייקטיבית ועניינית.