Even stones can break

by Chen Kotess-Bar
Ma'ariv, March 2, 2007

All those who knew Raphael know that he died on February 28, 1998. Raphael and Erez Gerstein, father and son, died together. The same roadside bomb killed them in Lebanon. Eight years and one day apart.
At 3:00 a.m. Wednesday night, Raphael Gerstein died. Eight years and one day after the death of his son, IDF Brigadier General Erez Gerstein, Commander of the Liaison Unit in Lebanon. Away from the lawns of Kibbutz Reshafim, where Erez grew up, away from the battle field where he became a living legend. Raphael Gerstein died in hospital.
I first met Erez when he was commander of the Golani commando unit. At the time I was a reporter with an army magazine. Oh, those days of innocence... Nothing was more important that the Golani commando. God only knows how much we disliked the paratroopers. We nurtured great dreams. Young people's dreams, oblivious of how quickly time flies. Future became present, then past. The living became the dead. Erez and I became close friends.
Eight years after he was killed, I am still trying to figure out what happened. And I am not the only one. This year we spoke of Erez more than ever. Events came full circle only to break loose again: during the second Lebanon war, while on a helicopter, flanked by Chief-of-Staff Dan Halutz and the Commander of the Ground Forces, Benny Gantz; later in the Golani Division Command Room; in the name shuffle trying to guess the next Chief-of-Staff's identity; during my own private breakdown. Erez was omnipresent with his huge presence, wrinkled brow, ample gestures, half-swallowed words…
Erez was killed on a Sunday. On the same evening we drove to his house to meet the love of his life - his wife Hertel. And Omer, his only son. Raphael was asleep in his living-room armchair. Just like Erez, half-reclining, his body slightly turned. Their body language was so similar. "I never knew", he retorted when he was told about his son's valor and bravery that had earned him mythical status.
For eight years Raphael collected every single detail about his son's death. He kept clinging to his grandson, Omer, in his need to preserve his own son's presence. He wanted to write a book, to tell the whole world about Erez. "Due to Erez I became acquainted with IDF's highest ranking officers", boasted the man who came from Argentina to make his home in a kibbutz. Amiram Levin, Gabi Ashkenazi, Kaplan, Moshe (Chico) Tamir, Mofaz – all were familiar faces in Shula and Raphael Gerstein's home. Erez' death became an open wound for all of them. But Raphael's wound was different. In the words of Erez' friends from the Golani Corps – Raphael was mortally wounded. He let go of life. Israeli poetess Dalia Rabikowicz once wrote – Even stones can break. Raphael Gerstein was once as hard as stone. But then his son died and all that changed.
Raphael's heart grew weaker and weaker. He took almost no interest in the second Lebanon war. He was only interested in the past, in Erez and what he used to be. For the first time he didn't attend Erez' memorial service in the kibbutz. Minister Shaul Mofaz wished him speedy recovery in his speech after the service. But everyone knew he would not recover. He would not return to the kibbutz or ride his bicycle to visit Erez' grave. Raphael was dying and would take his great grief to heaven. Erez would not be there at his graveside to say Kaddish (the prayer for the dead).
A few years ago I quoted from Prof. Assa Kasher's eulogy for his own son who had died in an accident: "The division between life and death is quite clear. But there is a no man's land in between, a twilight zone. I think of my son as of someone who is still alive. As for me, I am living among the dead." Raphael, who was no stranger to this twilight zone, agreed with every word.
On Wednesday, a few hours after the memorial service for Erez, Raphael lost consciousness. "Father of late Brigadier General Erez Gerstein died of a serious condition" said the news bulletins. Just like that. Modern medicine does not recognize dying of sorrow.
For eight years Raphael kept saying that Erez was waiting for him. Erez, as Raphael knew all too well, was never too patient. This week was no exception.