Ron Arad: Forty Years Missing

Forty years ago today, on October 16, 1986, Israeli Air Force navigator Ron Arad was captured in Lebanon. He was 28 years old, a husband, a father, and a man serving his country.

He never came home.

Ron and his pilot, Yishai Aviram, ejected over Lebanon after their aircraft malfunctioned. Aviram was rescued. Ron was taken by the Amal militia. For a while there was proof he was alive: letters and photographs reached Israel. Then the signs of life stopped. Four decades of effort have still not told us what happened to him.

I was a young boy when Ron disappeared. I grew up in an Israel where his photograph was everywhere. His name was part of our childhood, and the hope of bringing him home belonged to all of us. Younger generations barely know who he was. Those who don’t know should learn. Those who know should remember.

Years later I served in the IDF, first as a soldier and then as a commander. Israeli commanders lead with one word: Acharai. Follow me. When I said it, I understood that I was taking responsibility for the life of the soldier behind me, and that I had to be worthy of his trust when the decisions got hard. That responsibility never leaves you.

Israel carries the same responsibility as a nation. We ask young people to leave their families, accept the authority of their commanders, and walk into situations they may not return from. In return, we promise to do everything in our power to bring them home. That promise shaped generations of Israeli soldiers, including me. Israel has gone to extraordinary lengths to keep it, recovering missing soldiers, rescuing hostages, and returning the remains of the fallen. Sometimes the answers take years. Sometimes they never come. The promise stands. It’s why a young soldier who hears “follow me” can trust the country he serves.

We sent Ron Arad to protect Israel. We have yet to bring him home.

I won’t use this anniversary to second-guess the decisions made over the past forty years, including those of Yitzhak Rabin, who was defense minister at the time. I wasn’t in the room. I didn’t have the intelligence or carry the responsibility, and hindsight makes every choice look obvious. I believe the people who worked to bring Ron home felt the weight of it, and many carried him with them long after they left their posts. My reason for writing is simpler. I want Ron remembered.

Behind the photograph is a family. His wife, Tami, has lived with his absence for forty years. Their daughter, Yuval, was a baby when her father disappeared. She grew up, built her own life, and reached every milestone without him.

The search has never stopped. In March 2026, nearly forty years after his capture, Israel carried out another operation in Lebanon to learn his fate. After all this time, people are still trying.

I don’t know if we will ever find out what happened to Ron. I hope we do, and I hope Tami and Yuval finally get the answers they have waited for. Until then, one thing is fully in our hands. We can keep his memory alive. We can tell our children who Ron Arad was, what happened to him, and why Israel has never let him go.

Today I think of Ron as a fellow Israeli, as a soldier, as a commander, and as a father. He went out to serve his country and expected to come back to the people he loved.

Forty years later, he is still one of us.

May we never forget him. May we one day bring him home.

Do something amazing,

Tsahi Shemesh