Being a bereaved brother, or sibling, means being a member of the least attractive club in Israel – the bereaved families club. Being a bereaved sibling means not being able to stand that term, "bereaved family," but knowing that the tired epithet is, nevertheless, correct.
Being a bereaved brother is knowing that that life is divided into "before" and "after." It's remembering that your parents, who were dealt a terrible blow that could have finished them, are the real heroes. It's feeling a punch in your guts every time you think of the immense pain that they have carried since the disaster. It's knowing that they did everything they could so we, the siblings, would grow up in a happy, loving, living home. It was clear that their life as they knew it was over and now they needed to begin again.
Being a bereaved brother is always asking your dead brother questions that can't be answered. Could your fate have been different? Where would you be now if the terrible disaster hadn't befallen us? Do you see us from up there? And why are the best ones always taken from us?
Being a bereaved brother means knowing that no celebration, no matter how big, will ever be complete and that there are holes in the heart that can never be filled. It means deleting "full attendance" from your vocabulary and feeling a stabbing pain at the sight of an imaginary empty chair at family meals, one that will always be empty.
Being a bereaved brother is remembering the doorbell right, the awful news and the funeral – even though you still weren't born when it all happened. It is missing an older brother you never knew and accepting that you will never meet him. Being a bereaved brother means dreaming he comes home after years and waking up soaked in sweat, but it was only a dream.
Being a bereaved brother means knowing that Memorial Day for Fallen Soldiers and Victims of Terrorism is for everyone except the bereaved families. They don't need any reminder. Being a bereaved brother means looking at your brother's picture and imagining him looking back at you with a big smile. Being a bereaved brother means not knowing what the ceremony at your school is like because you were always with your family at the military cemetery along with tens of thousands of other families who wept over their loved ones' graves.
Being a bereaved brother means being used to getting looks of pity when you mention your fallen sibling. It means knowing that people mean well, but refusing to put yourself in a position to be pitied.
Being a bereaved brother means meeting your brother's friends from childhood, his teenage years and the army, and looking into their children's eyes and feeling pain for the husband and father your own brother will never be.
Being a bereaved brother is to hesitate every year about whether or not to go out and celebrate on the eve of Independence Day, knowing that sadness and joy are intertwined and that we must live on even after their deaths, but also wondering who the hell decided on the sudden move from remembrance and grief to celebrations and independence.
I was born a year and four months after my brother Amitay was killed fighting Hezbollah terrorists in South Lebanon. I never got to meet Amitay but I was born into his story and his image will be in my heart forever.
