It's been a month since that day. A month since that moment when I opened the door, and the words spoken to me turned our world upside down.
I remember standing in front of the two city officers and letting the words seep into me. I remember there was no crying. The crying will come later in droves. Only an understanding so deep and painful that from this moment our film begins. A film that no family wants to be the heroine in. Now? I'm on automatic... Who should be notified? How do you tell? When to wake the children? And how do we proceed from here?
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Eli was my beloved, a sincere and genuine love. Eli was the one who lifted me from a dark abyss when Erez, my partner 20 years ago, who was also a soldier in Shayetet 13, was killed. Eli was an exemplary family man, even when physically he wasn't home every day during the week. Eli was the dream father of four amazing children - Mika, Uriah, Razi and Tamari.
Eli was a commander and a great warrior in all his limbs. Eli was discharged from the army exactly a month before life turned upside down on us. And when Eli left the house that Black Saturday, I assumed it was another departure again, like one of many during his years of service – 23 years, to be precise. And a fresh loose month.
For 23 years, our home has lived in the army, so for me that Shabbat was another routine Shabbat, another bounce in which he leaves and returns – until we realized the enormity of the horror of this Shabbat, October 7, 2023. The Saturday we celebrated our 16th wedding anniversary was also the Saturday when I lost my beloved Eli.
A Saturday where I begin my journey, a journey I took 20 years ago. I know every stone on this journey, every path, every thorn and every flower. Yes, I remember that there are flowers on this journey, and they are beautiful. I remind myself of this every day, when breathing is heavy on me, when the air doesn't come in.
We have kids, they're strong and they're amazing, and they'll show me the way. After all, they are made of the same material Eli was made of... They'll grow, I know that. Just like I know the sun rises in the morning. They will grow out of this terrible crisis, and so will I. Me and them, them and me. We will walk this path together.
I know my journey this time will be different. Long and painful and hard, but different. Because they remind me that there is life. It comes in small bits – in their warm, sweet cheeks, in the lunch boxes I prepare in the morning, in the tight hug we hug just before I send them on their way to another new day, in school buses, in homework, in bedtime stories, in fights between them, in our rolling laughter when one of them tells a funny story that happened to him today.
I went through this journey once. I understand now more than ever that there are things that are out of my control. What is in my control is the ability to choose how I walk on this journey, how I climb this huge mountain that stands in front of me.
On the day my god proposed to me, he took me around sunrise, blindfolded with cloth, and asked me to climb a mountain with him. With my eyes closed, holding his hand, we climbed the mountain – where sunrise and a ring awaited me. I remember this mountain as if it were yesterday, just as if it had prepared me a lifetime for this moment now.
So he held my hand, and it was warm and confident and strong. Today it is held by other good people. And I will choose life, I know there is no other option. We didn't choose the script for our film, but we chose its sequel. I remind myself of this every morning, and every night before my eyes close. After all, I know bereavement, I understand it. I know there's life after, even when it seems not.
We will collect all the pieces of our life, all the memories. Alongside the great pain and sadness, we will rebuild our lives – day by day, step by step, hour by hour. Life. They'll be good, I know. It's always darkest before dawn.
The writer is the widow of Lt. Col. Eli Ginsberg, commander of the Lutar unit who was killed in battle in Bari on October 7
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