There’s a building under construction right near Azrieli in Tel Aviv. I pass it everyday on my way to the station. I see the workers entering the construction site every morning. I see them laughing. I see them drinking coffee. I see them putting on their hard hats and getting to work.

Up until about a month ago, I didn’t really notice them. But one afternoon we got a call there. We’re the first ambulance on scene. Two ICU ambulances are on the way.

We get out of the ambulance, and the project manager gives us hard hats and we start going up the external elevators. The view is beautiful but that’s not why were here.

We start getting bits and pieces of the story. Honestly, I still am unsure of exactly what happened there but what I was able to make out from the frantic workers was that two workers had been standing together on some kind of beam, it broke and they both fell — one to the twenty-second floor and one to the fifteenth.

We tried. We tried so hard. But after many attempts we confirmed the death of two workers in their thirties.

There’s a building under construction right near Azrieli in Tel Aviv. I pass it every day on my way to the station. I see the workers entering the construction site every morning. I see them laughing. I see them drinking coffee. I see them putting on their hard hats and getting to work.

But now when I pass it, I notice. I see the big tough worker leaning on the railing and I remember how much he cried that day. I see the project manager scribbling on his notepad and I remember seeing him trying to comfort the big tough worker that day. But I also see them working. Dragging heavy beams. Mixing cement. Moving forward.

The people who will be working in the shiny glass office building once it’s finished construction will probably never know. They’ll never hear about what happened. And it’s better that way.

Because that’s the funny thing about life. It moves on.