A Smile That Lingers: Remembering Ariel
In 2014, a young man from Brazil arrived in Israel. His name was Ariel.
A big smile that lit up every room, sparkling eyes, and a sense of mission and purpose.
On his back, a modest backpack. On his lips, excitement that could be heard all the way from Kibbutz Na’an.
He spoke a little Hebrew with an unmistakable Portuguese accent, and he couldn’t wait to learn more.
He had been waiting for this moment for a long time: arriving in Israel, really getting to know the country. He was thinking seriously about Aliyah, about enlisting in the IDF, about contributing to this state that already felt like his own. He longed to live here, to see how he might fit in. He dreamed of tasting falafel and shawarma, of relaxing on the beaches of Tel Aviv—Brazilian at heart, he loved the sea—and of climbing up to Jerusalem, for the soul.
That’s how I imagine him. I don’t actually know if all this is true. It’s a vision born from meeting so many young people like Ariel who come to Israel through Masa programs.
But I do know how the story continues:
Ariel made Aliyah. He met Barbara, herself an Olah. Years later, they married and welcomed a sweet baby boy, Lior.
Lior was born into the surreal reality of a war with no end in sight. When he was six months old, his father Ariel went back to reserve duty in Gaza. He was supposed to return in time to celebrate Lior’s nine-month milestone—and to walk him to his very first day in daycare on September 1st.
But Ariel never got that chance. Lior never got his father’s hand to hold.
The day before his release from reserve duty, Ariel was killed by a bullet in Gaza. He left behind a devastated Barbara and little Lior, who will never know his father.
When you look at Ariel’s photo, it’s almost impossible to believe he is no longer with us. That smile shines so brightly, so vividly, that it’s hard to accept it’s just a frozen image now. Maybe that’s why it’s so easy to picture him arriving in Israel years ago, or rushing home in dusty fatigues into Barbara’s arms and Lior’s embrace.
There was something profoundly Israeli about Ariel—so much so that it’s easy to forget he never had to be here. He could have stayed in Brazil. But his heart brought him here, to become part of our collective story: the story of the Jewish people in Zion, and perhaps of the Jewish people everywhere.
His story is tragic, but also deeply meaningful. It reminds us that there are tens of thousands like him—from Brazil and Argentina, the US and Canada, France and the UK, South Africa and Australia. Young Jews who continue to see Israel as their story, who continue to come and take an active role in writing a new chapter of our history. Every soldier in our army deserves a heartfelt salute; perhaps people like Ariel deserve two.
Ariel carried a heartbreaking distinction: he was the 900th casualty of this war. It’s almost impossible to know each one, to remember all, in the rush of daily life. But it matters to pause and tell his story: that once there was a young man with a huge heart, who—together with his family—paid the ultimate price.
I, and all of us at Masa, salute him.
Ariel Lubliner Z”L. May his memory be a blessing.
