614 days late Judih and Gadi finally laid to rest

Judih Weinstein Haggai and Gadi Haggai were, in their daughter Iris’ words: the original “power couple.”  They used to go for sunrise walks, and October 7th was no exception. Whereas I had planned to leave the house before sunrise to photograph a field of wild squills but changed my mind and chose to sleep in, instead, Judih and Gadi were not so lazy. Or lucky. Gadi was a character. He was born with a flute in his mouth, they say. He was a talented musician on so many instruments, a proud father of 4, grandfather of 7, a professional kibbutz cook for years on Kibbutz Nir Oz to where they moved in the 90’s. He had a wicked wit and stalwart opinions. I knew Gadi but it was Judih who was a colleague and close friend for decades.

In December 2023 the IDF informed the family that they had both been murdered on Oct 7th, and their bodies held hostage for ransom. How the committee decides that someone has been murdered without witnesses and without a body, is a conundrum to me and it leaves room for a question mark rather than a period – leaving room for the thought that maybe, maybe there was a mistake.

Last week their bodies were retrieved by our brave soldiers and today, the punctuation has regrettably, finally, been adjusted. Today we laid them both to rest, one on top of the other, as inseperable in death as they were in life, in the beautiful but crowded graveyard of Kibbutz Ein Hashofet, where Gadi was born.

I had the honor of being invited to write a eulogy for today’s ceremony. This is what I told the hundreds in attendance:

“Judih, you lit up my life, as you did the lives of so many. Your mother-earth wisdom, your old-time hippy-style spiced with modern-day techno savviness. Your laughter and your sense of humor never failed to lift my spirits and encourage me to step out of my comfort zone to achieve that for which I strived. That was a gift  you gave your students, as well: the most challenged of challenged of English students; as well as those who were blessed with your first-thing-in-the-morning mindfulness sessions. Thanks to the app in which you invested so much time and love, your gift continues giving now, even though you can no longer teach in our physical realm.  You were so many things to so many people. Tai Chi, meditation, earnestly using puppets to help children express things for them that they themselves could not utter. My always-there editor, invariably improving my words. My friend. You always rose earlier than I could ever dream of, writing your morning pages. You shared your haikus to greet the world each morning, then hopped on your bike to ride through the fields you never feared – those very same fields where you were so brutally slaughtered. You and Gadi were the epitome of love birds, even after all those years, setting an enviable model of partnership.

I miss your words of comfort when needed. I can still hear your voice in my ears. I miss your love for people (especially kids) and yet you were no one’s fool, and your tongue knew how to swear like a sailor when the situation called for it.  And those gorgeous curls I always envied…. did I ever tell you that? I can’t remember if I did. We don’t tell people how much we love and treasure their friendship often enough. I always admired the tenacity you and Gadi showed, with your sunrise walks in our fields, staying home, on Nir Oz, rather than evacuating despite security threats because…. it’s home, and you felt safe.  The final walk wasn’t even taking chances. There were no warnings from the security services; no imminent known threats.  The fatal flaws in the system let you down, as it let down so many, tragically, finally, so completely, enabling you to be brutally slaughtered. There is a hole in my heart, felt especially when I drive past Nir Oz, knowing that never again will I drive down that windy road to pick you up – always already walking towards me, to go …. wherever. I miss you, and I – as so many others who love you –  take your spirit with me, wherever I go. So as long as we live, in a way, so do you. “

Photograph by Adele Raemer

Reading through a book of poetry which she had printed and gifted me in 2008, I found the following poem which I had intended to read, but refrained from doing so for sake of brevity, (the other eulogies were numerous and long (albeit: loving), and the sun was brutal). I include it here:

Open Call for Peace & Understanding Duet, sing with me

yeah, it’s open

door’s wide open

step in, step out

all roof, no roof

look up and see blue sky

yes, it’s us and it’s now

step into the world

as a quiet nurturing place

where all we need exists

where all we want is only what we need

pure oxygen

pure water

basic food

a look in the eye of another

a heartfelt smile

no one takes from another

no need

unless the other one needs to give

accept the gesture

open call

now, open

for living

peace is here if we want it

come on now

you know we want it

i want it

Judih wrote this poem in 2008. Heartbreakingly, on October 7th 2023, no one joined her duet –  her invitation was mercilessly trampled.

Rest in peace dear Judih and Gadi. I hope we can build a better, safer world here in the Western Negev, for the sakes of our grandchildren.

Postscript: And now, even as I type, 2 more bodies of hostages retrieved. 53 innocent Israelis still left in Gaza, and they all must come home NOW! The living, to heal; the dead for the certainty and the respectable burial that they and their loved ones deserve.