Twenty-three years ago today, my dear friend Daniel Lewin fell victim to al-Qaida terrorists aboard American Airlines Flight 11 – the first casualty of the September 11 attacks.
At just 31, Daniel's life was tragically cut short. The 9/11 Commission report suggests he was stabbed by a hijacker seated behind him, likely while attempting to confront another terrorist in front of him, unaware of the danger at his back. Knowing Daniel as I did, I have no doubt he fought against the attackers on Flight 11. It was simply in his nature.
Our families both immigrated to Israel in the summer of 1984, settling at the integration center in Mevaseret Zion near Jerusalem. The Lewins arrived shortly before us, and Daniel and I quickly formed a close bond. We played in a rock band together, shared shifts at a local pizza place, explored Jerusalem's Old City, and traversed the country side by side. I vividly recall the night Daniel met his future wife – within moments of their first dance, it was as if they were the only two people in the room.
For years, I declined to speak publicly about Daniel's life. It wasn't until after I joined the ranks of bereaved families myself, following my father Richard Lakin's murder by Hamas, that I felt able to address such loss.
Much has been written about Daniel over the past 23 years, including a biography. Most accounts capture his essence accurately. Daniel was truly larger than life: more brilliant, stronger, more determined, more charismatic, and more energetic than anyone I've ever encountered. His intellect was so formidable it likely defied measurement, and he possessed enough drive to fuel an entire team of professional athletes.
Daniel was a force of nature, combining the stature of a giant with the raw power of a brontosaurus. His achievements speak volumes: an officer in the IDF's elite special forces unit Sayeret Matkal, top of his class at both the Technion and MIT, and the tech visionary who built Akamai Technologies into a multi-billion dollar enterprise that revolutionized internet speed and reliability.
While Daniel's public legacy is well-documented, one crucial aspect often goes underemphasized: his unwavering Zionism. Despite his success in Boston, Daniel's heart remained set on returning to Israel.
During a visit to the US in 2000, Daniel and I took a long walk along the Charles River, followed by lunch at a quaint Cuban restaurant. Afterward, we stood gazing at the Akamai building – a former MIT structure Daniel had commandeered for his company's headquarters. His eyes gleamed with pride and possibility as we discussed the future – both his own and Israel's.
Our conversation turned to the pressing need for electoral reform in Israel, which we both viewed as critical to the nation's long-term viability. We lamented how the current system rendered the government nearly dysfunctional and predicted the problem would only worsen.
While I expressed concern, Daniel outlined his solution with characteristic confidence: he would eventually return to Israel, we would establish a new political party, and he would personally fund an unprecedented campaign. His goal? To become prime minister and lead a new ruling coalition.
"It's simple," he asserted. "We'll adopt a constitution, overhaul the electoral system, and then tackle all of Israel's other challenges."
Daniel spoke with an unwavering determination uniquely his own. I have no doubt that had he not perished on September 11, Daniel would have returned to Israel and ultimately ascended to the role of prime minister. That day, I lost a cherished friend. And Israel lost precisely the kind of leader it so desperately needs today.
Micha Avni is a businessman and public activist who lost his father to a terror attack.
