Yad Vashem
Just yesterday, we received the official confirmation of what our hearts had quietly feared. Alex, you are no longer with us. It feels strange to speak of you in the past tense because you were always so present. Even after you were taken into captivity on that fateful dark day in October, we never lost hope that one day the sun would rise and this hellish nightmare would end with your safe return. Sadly, that day will not come.
In the moments since, I have been flooded by fourteen years of memories. There were funny, moving, irritating, and educational moments- memories of the fiery redhead you were, even when your hair turned white. We experienced ups and downs in our joint work, and you were always wise and witty, charismatic and articulate, knowledgeable, yet also grumpy and irritable, and perpetually hungry. Not just for a good meal, drink or some salted nuts, you were hungry for a new survivor's testimony, a captivating book to discuss for hours, for new experiences, and for challenging philosophical ideas.
The Holocaust was infused in your DNA; being born into a family of Holocaust survivors, your Polish identity was strong and proud. Nonetheless, your Zionistic pride brought you to settle in the Gaza border region of Kibbutz Nir Oz and work the land that you cherished.. You were extremely dedicated to the cause and promoted Holocaust education to students of all ages and of all.
I remember you dancing at my wedding, surprised by your flexibility and grace. As do I recall you passionately debating the singing of "Ani Ma'amin" after "Hatikvah." I will miss your story telling, especially the fervor in which you talked about Kazimierz the Great and leading the tish at the Rabbi of Gur's courtyard with equal zeal.
I remember how remarkably multifaceted you were, well-versed in Polish culture and everything Israeli, and the complex historical relationship between the Polish and Jewish people. I recall the special sparkle in your eyes when telling the story of "Horowitz vs. Horowitz" at the old cemetery in Lublin.
I remember your love for poetry. During one of our conversations we shared some of our favorite poets and poems. You mentioned that one of your favorites was Amir Gilboa. Thanks to you, I too discovered Amir's poetry.
For nine long months we hoped and prayed that we would once again be together in your brilliance. Now, in light of the tragic news of your death, I am inspired by one of our favorite poet's poems., "And my Brother Said Nothing." In the poem Gilboa captures the essence of silent suffering and the unspoken words that linger after a profound loss. Alex, we will collectively echo your palpable presence as a way to mourn the void left by your absence. I know I will continue to remember, and remember, and remember.
May your memory be a blessing.
"And my Brother Said Nothing"
by Amir Gilboa
My brother came back from the field
dressed in gray. And I was afraid that
my dream might prove false, so at once
I began to count his wounds.
And my brother said nothing
Then I rummaged in the pockets of the trench-coat
and found a field-dressing, stained and dry.
And on a frayed postcard, her name –
beneath a picture of poppies.
And my brother said nothing.
Then I undid the pack
and took out his belongings, memory by memory.
Hurrah, my brother, my brother, the hero,
now I've found your decorations!
Hurrah, my brother, my brother, the hero,
I shall proudly hymn your name!
And my brother said nothing.
And my brother said nothing.
And his blood was crying out from the ground
