An Unfinished Life

An Israeli soldier is buried on the kibbutz where he lived, just a day before a cease-fire is slated to begin.

HAIFA,

It is on a small hilltop, under an elm tree, 150 yards from the gently breaking waves of the Mediterranean.

This is where 19-year-old Ya'ar Ben-Giat is being buried Sunday.

Friends, family and fellow soldiers mourn Ya'ar Ben-Giat. » View

He was killed in south Lebanon on Saturday, along with 23 other soldiers from the Israeli Defense Forces (IDF) in the worst single day of fatalities for Israel since the start of their month-long offensive against Hezbollah.

And in an irony befitting this conflict filled with tragic missteps, these deaths occurred while both Israel and Hezbollah intensified their fighting, trying to solidify their positions prior to a

In the late afternoon, family and friends began to gather at the kibbutz. While Ben-Giat's unit is still fighting in south Lebanon, many of those he went to basic training with have come to pay their respects — young men and women, barely out of high school, dressed in the olive green uniforms and light green berets of the IDF infantry.

"We would get weekends off, but Sunday we had to be back at camp," says Dave Rosenberg, a soldier who went through basic training with Ben-Giat. "Everyone would always be depressed on that day, myself included, because we didn't want to be back in uniform. But when Ya'ar showed up, seeing his smile would make everything better. If I would have to describe him I would say he was innocent like a child. In his last phone call to his mother he asked for a Sony PlayStation."

But according to others in the unit, he also had a strong sense of duty.

"He wanted to stand out as a soldier," says Ortal Eliyahu, an administrator in the unit. "He was supposed to go to a non-commissioned officer course. But after the war began, he decided he didn't want to go because it would take him out of the action. He wanted to be on the front line. He wanted to fight. He was a good kibbutz guy."

Israel's kibbutzim were once places of vigorous social idealism, where families raised their children with the values of hard work during the day and spirited intellectual and political discourse in the evening.

And while many of the kibbutzim have become commercialized, turned into hotels and retreats, some residents still feel they and the people who still live there embody the real heart of Israel.

For the Ben-Giat family, that idealism never disappeared and was reflected even in the names of their children. Ya'ar means forest in Hebrew. His 16-year-old sister is named Nof, which means landscape.

"We have fish ponds on the kibbutz," said Ya'ar's mother in an interview on Israeli radio, "but now there will be a new pond for Ya'ar — a pond full of tears."

Israeli reservist Ya'ar Ben-Giat, 19, is buried at the Kibbutz Nachsholim near Haifa Sunday. » View

Tanya Cohen was one of Ya'ar Ben-Giat's high school teachers at the Carmel Beach District School.

"He used to dress like a loveable slob," she says, "always kind of a mess. And sometimes it seemed like he was sleeping during class, but strangely we would find out he was listening to every word and he remembered everything. He had an amazing memory."

Cohen says he also got involved in film classes and enjoyed shooting video and editing short films.

Patricio Weinberg, another soldier in Ben-Giat's basic training unit, was one of his closest friends. He weeps throughout the ceremony.

At first, the army wouldn't let Ben-Giat go inside Lebanon and he was very angry because that was what he was trained to do. "But then he convinced them," says Weinberg. "We rented an apartment on the kibbutz together. We even painted it the weekend before he went into Lebanon."

One by one wreaths of flowers are laid over the casket draped with the Israeli flag. There is a wreath from the IDF, another from the Northern Command, from Ben-Giat's Nachal Brigade, then his battalion, and so on, as well as the kibbutz and other civilian organizations, family and personal friends — all laid over the casket until it disappears completely under the pile of flowers.

"God full of mercy sitting high above," says the rabbi presiding over the ceremony, "please give him rest."

As the ceremony continues, air raid sirens begin to blare and, within moments, there is a muffled explosion on a distant ridgeline, followed by a rising plume of gray smoke.

Immediately mourners turn toward the impact — one of more than 250 rockets Hezbollah fired into northern Israel Sunday. One death was reported from the barrage of rebel rockets.  

They point and murmur among themselves, forgetting the funeral for a moment. Many pull cell phones from their purses or pockets, calling their children, friends or relatives, telling them to go to the bomb shelters.

Eventually they turn back to the ceremony. A popular song for troubled times is played over the loudspeakers — a small prayer for peace.

"It's not a dream, the day shall come," the song goes. "The day for which we've waited 2,000 years has arrived. The last war. We will go back home. We will go back to our friends. We will take off our olive-colored uniforms and wait for other days to come."

When the funeral ends, there is no 21-gun salute, as is usually the tradition. Some say it wouldn't be wise during a time when there is already so much gunfire.

Young soldiers, many who haven't seen each other since basic training, hold each other tightly, promising to stay in touch, exchanging phone numbers.

Some just sit or stand with their arms wrapped around themselves.

Patricio Weinberg, one of Ben-Giat's
closest friends

"He was a free guy, very laid back," says Weinberg of his friend. "All the rules and regulations, the physical challenges, never bothered him. He was so easygoing."

Weinberg says Ben-Giat was kind, and always a good soldier, always on his toes. He tells a story about him before start of the latest fighting in Lebanon.

"We were posted near Ramallah, and Ya'ar and I were left by ourselves to guard a group of Arab suspects. It was hot out and they were thirsty so Ya'ar was letting them drink from his canteen," says Weinberg. "But then one of them picked up a rock and threatened him. We both trained our weapons on him until he dropped it. It was just one of those moments."

The IDF says Ya'ar Ben-Giat was killed in the village of Randuria, Lebanon, after confronting a Hezbollah fighter.

But for Weinberg and Ben-Giat's other friends, it is his life, not the details of his death, they want to dwell on at his funeral.

"I was talking to him on the telephone about a week ago," Weinberg says. "We were saying how after a few years we would move to a big city and maybe open up a pub."

He pauses, eyes welling up with tears that, for the moment, do not fall.

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