Friends Write About Yaron
I write to Yaron and weep
I weep for Yaron and write
And feel I owe one word of hope
One word of faith
For you Yaron who once wrote
That he laughs at the whole world
For Yaron who was born three days before me 
And I know that I'll continue to celebrate
My birthdays with you
I know I'm going on with you Yaron
Otherwise life will be completely meaningless for me
I know I must be optimistic
Not to say what I wrote yesterday
Because there is no way to continue from that point
I feel I love you terribly
And hold on to this as a relief
Before going to sleep this evening I feel
This pain for Yaron
I will bear it from here to the end of my life
And I must learn to live with it
As with the name they gave me when I was born
And I carry it with me
Like a face which was designed for me
Like a limb cut from me
And I'm still searching for the things which existed in the
world before you went Yaron
To write words to you. Without an address, without logic.
Words which can't express my feelings.
You left me like a child, whose whole
concept of life was destroyed in minutes
from insecurity, and I fail to understand how the
symbol of my logic disappeared into the earth.
Always prepared, knowing your next step, which will
be the right one.
Engineering the garden, calculating the right number
of sandwiches for the trip.
Plans for Natur. Everything known in advance.
And suddenly you are no longer with us to laugh, to
celebrate, to cry and to protest against this war, which
is not ours,
You're simply not-here to organize, to push things
forward, to do all your usual crazy things.
I don't need memorials. I can't forget even for a moment.
They neither add to you nor take away from you.
I remember you as you were the moment you left.
I want to end with ?look after yourself? but once
again, logic has disappeared. So look after us...
Raphael (words at the cemetry)
From The paper of the 'Tabor' kibbutz highschool 13.6.82
We have no more words
We're too puny to carry this pain.
To understand the injustice
We stand shocked and scared,
Bewildered in face of the reality
Stretching out our hands to prevent his going.
To hold on to you, Yaron
No more words to express the pain
No more, no further words.
For a human being is a whole page, complete.
Each remains with the lines he remembers
Clear, broken, smudged over,
With obstinacy, softness, good-heartedness
Words on the youth leader, the organizer, the
initiator, the creator,
 The sportsman, the one who was devoted and sincere.
A comrade at work, a friend.
A person we loved.
Let us know how to hold on to him and adopt him
To aspire to foster more strongly the beauty that was
In Yaron, the beauty that Yaron saw,
The beauty that still remains.
I rose, the invalid I
To sing you.
For you know - I loved you
For you know - I understood
I saw how small you became
I saw your confusion
I saw you give up
I saw you.
In what else?
I saw you, I saw you
Such as you are
In my eyes.
I saw you not in the eyes of a woman
 Or of a mother full of fears
Or of a father confident and scared
I saw you in my eyes
And therefore I knew
And therefore I loved you
A love equal to that of all the others.
For you know ? I understood
I understood a look
I understood a smile
I understood an attempt that failed
I understood an attempt that succeeded.
I rose to sing you
And now it's over,
For you know - I understood
For you know - how words failed.
I loved you, brother I loved you.
Selected by Roi
24.7.B2 Kibbutz Dalia
After some time has passed, I'm writing you a few lines. Over there in a suburb of Tel Aviv, on the eve of the last elections, I`tried to stop the war. The  horror strode ahead of me like a horseman before the plague. And it came, the war, and with it the grief and the distress. The poem I wrote, the words, what are they as against all this?
SON AND COUNTRY
To love in him
All ones loves
Even if it goes beyond
Then to begin anew
Until the breath is gone.
A country of graves
Fields of wheat
A single grave
All of the man
To you and yours, in companionship
On our Yaron
I?ll tell you about Yaron, the child ? experiences, scenes, events. 
I see Yaron, I see him, because one can't express his name without his likeness appearing, alive and sparkling with the naughty mischievous look, and always in real situations, interwoven into life itself. One can't think about him in abstract terms, and talk of 'remembering him'.
I see-him in my eye's mind,a child full of life, active and brimming over, alert and always examining and demanding, wanting to know and understand over and above what is possible to explain in words. Pictures pass over my eyes, mingling with the pageant of the children's lives -Yaron within them, but so singular and special in his group and simultaneously putting his stamp on it to such an extent that it is hard to see Yaron outside the context of the group.
We are hiking in the area of Ein Dor, in places known only to us or rather places to which we attribute special significance and importance, mixed with much imagination until it appeared to us that they were discovered by us, that we discovered them and it is we who named them. Who doesn't remember 'The Quill Hill' facing the Tabor to which we would make a pilgrimage before every New Year? And 'Porcupine Valley'? And the 'Ravine of the Elephants'? Where are we hiking today?" Yaron asks, ready to jump off with the first to go. I make it difficult: "Today we're going in a south-easterly direction from here". Yaron, still a child in the kindergarten, embarrassed by such a complex answer is forced to delay his curiosity and to accept the goal, full of tension, for actually what is the importance of the target - endless goals await us on the way, no less exciting..
 And so, properly equipped for the outing, we march off. No we almost run, and Yaron is always among the first. He covers the actual distance of the course and doubles it. He runs backward and forward to show us what he found, to ascertain that it is valuable, naturally accompanied at once by questions to find out the nature of his discovery.
The group has many collectors - collectors of plants, stones, fossils, 'dry items' and 'animals'.
Yaron is among the champion collectors, but he doesn't merely collect he investigates with all his senses, looks and gropes, sniffs, tastes. We liked to taste the plants we found in nature. So it was that we discovered that the 'Shomar' eases thirst and gives a good taste in the mouth. We ate Chubeza and chewed the soft stalks of thistle and briar, and what not?
Another picture passes my eyes, and amazingly, I'm once again in the lap of nature, which Yaron loved so much.
We're sitting in the lap of an old oak tree, the big oak with the branch above the water installation at the dam. We sit crowded together and united. I see Yaron full of interest and importance for we have to choose a name for the group.
Almost 'miraculously' there came up the name 'Kvutsat Alon', the 'oak Kvutsa', with Yaron among the enthusiastic supporters of the suggestion, possibly because of the desire to belong to the family tree of names of children's groups from the world of planter vine, pine, pomegranate, cedar and now oak - the name of a group which didn't undergo changes with the
 with the vagaries of time up to this very day - and Alon is one of the deeply-rooted oaks in the group.
Since then we have adopted the two young oaks which were planted not long ago opposite the dining hall.
Today they have put down deep roots and grew broad tree-tops. I pass them day by day, large and tough, and think of the love and care with which we have nurtured them and a troublesome question haunts me:
How did it happen that one oak among us was cut down in its prime?
A letter to Yaron
Yaron, I never wrote you a letter
But nowadays in my thoughts I write you thousands of letter. We are both sons of the same family, Kvutsat 'Alon', in which we grew and were educated together over the years.
To write to you,Yaron, in the knowledge that you'll never read this letter, bringing on such melancholy. Its so hard to speak and write to you in the past tense.
Yaron, I still see you in uniform, with your briefcase and rifle, ascending the steps of our newly built house for kibbutz soldiers.
I see you take off the uniform and go down to the basketball court. I'm sitting and listening now to the music you loved. I'm listening to  Graham Nash and Meir Ariel with ?A song of pain?, and the pain returns and hits me.
Yaron, don't be angry with me for crying. Its so awful for me to sit here without seeing you by my side. You know that from your beautiful poems I got a message which enterd my heart and the hearts of all Of us: that now is the time and its never too late to try and be a better person - that people should be more honest, that people will listen and pay attention. Listen and understand, understand and relate to each other and no longer kill each other. That is our task and the task of all of humanity, and its so important to me that this dream of yours will be realized as soon as possible.
Yaron, theres a lot more things I want-to tell you: On our lovely garden which is now flowering. On the red water melons which you liked so much and which are now in season. And also on the records which are reaching the market these days. On the children in the 'Aviv' kindergarten, on our friends from the group and from the kibbutz. Now its late and night is descending and the darkness comes between us.
Yaron, my dear brother
I'll long for you and love you always, all my life
 I'm sitting in my room on the bed. I'm holding three pages with the words of a song in English, in Yaron's writing. He wrote me the words of the song a week before his death. I'm listening to the song, which he loved so much, and looking at the words. I can't hold back the tears. I never thought of listening to the song without Yaron and the song plays on but Yaron isn't with me.
We would listen together to much music which he loved, he always liked to listen on my stereo. Mainly cassettes. There were a number which he always came to hear - Graham Nash, Meir Ariel, and one can't forget how much he enjoyed them. Sometimes he would take the guitar and beat on it as if it were a drum. He would dance and let himself go. Occasionally he'd just knock on something for variety's sake, and always draw my attention to the words of the songs. He would sing the song gustily as if he wanted the whole world to hear the song he liked so much.
Yaron, as my neighbor, was full of vigor and energy. And when he'd come back from the army, he'd enter my room red and sweating all over. The room would at once be filled with music, noise and great movement. In a jiffy he'd change into civilian clothes and then he'd go about his business, whatever it might be.
A week before his death, we sang 'Evening over Gilead' by Arik Einstein as a duet. It was an unforgettable experience - the first and last time that we sang in two voices, a real delight. Now one voice is silent. For ever. And his presence, so outstanding, has left me, abandoning me to an empty void, silent, frightening, causing me to sit on the bed, hold the words of the song which he loved so much, to listen and close my eyes and weep!
 EVENING OVER GILEAD
The fruit is heavy on the trees
It bends the boughs and leaves
This is the tranquil hour
When children fall asleep
Down to the vale from Gilead
A fleecy lambkin winds its way
The ewe is bleating in the fold
Her little child has gone astray
The roaming lamb its dam will find
To sleep with her and with its kind
The mother ewe wil1 kiss its kin
And call it by its name.
The night is hid among the sheep
And the prophet comes from Gilead
Goes downward softly to the valley
To watch the children in their sleep
I think about Yaron and things come back in the form of reflections on the past.
I would come in the morning, go through the rooms, say 'good morning' and put on the light - I would almost always tarry by Yaron's bed, something which hurt or worried him a little and a word of understanding on my part, then everything was ok..
Yaron was tidy and clean, with a closed cupboard of goodies by his bed. Under the bed he had a sack of sunflower seeds and a box of apples, so he'd be ready for everything..
Yaron loved activities, liked to prepare things for the group, especially in highschool. To accept responsibility, to be in the center of things. -
Yaron had another love, something special. He liked to play tricks on the people in his group and get under their skins to the extent that it was sometimes hard to take. In particular he would put on an act in group discussions, or simply when he met people in the corridor, imitating the others.. so that even those he was taking off couldn't stop laughing. Some group discussions were interrupted and broken up by this...and even though I personally was extremely angry, I couldn't resist the temptation and found myself bursting with laughter.
 The contact wasn't so strong in the more recent period, we grew apart somewhat but that look remained, that smile, that greeting and those few words.. a stroke of the head and that was that.
And he is no more...
On Saturday afternoon when I?d finished running, Yaron appeared on the basketball court and we started to talk about the results he?d achieved in running. After a short discussion, we decided on a sporting bet: Yaron claimed he'd succeed in running 2000 meters in less than 7 minutes and I found this hard to believe.
Nissim, who arrived just as Yaron started to run, joined him at once in order to ?draw? him on. Yaron completed the course in less that 7 minutes and won the bet. I remember that when he finished the run, he was as white as chalk from the magnitude of the effort.
Afterwards when everyone had recovered, we decided to mark the event with a cold drink We sat in my garden under the margosa tree. The sun began to set in the west, dusk, quiet Shabbat music came from the radio. Yaron, who had disappeared for a moment, reappeared smiling, carrying in his hands an enormous cold water melon.
 I won't remember Yaron, who was involved in so much for all he did, for being a devoted and diligent worker, or for showing initiative in every social event. I shall remember him for what he said.
It doesn't matter if it was in the fields, in the office, on the lawn or in the dining hall. Whenever some ideological discussion got under way, or when people were merely gossiping for gossip's sake - in telling description, linguistic dialectics or a joke which hit home - his was always the last word.
And in these days, when the head is splitting from uncertainty and the discussions on the situation are endless, how appropriate would be a sentence or a joke by Yaron.
...we will continue his life and we'll go on discussing the problems of the world and of this particular hour. Yaron, your image will appear from time to time but we will never know what you would have said for your ideas are now yours and only yours, Yaron
To speak 'about Yaron' is the last thing I dreamed of doing. I was always happy to meet you on the sidewalk, to chat about what you were doing and how you felt. I moved my hand around your closely cut head, you told a little of  the army, of plans for the future.
To speak about you with your parents, with friends, and you will never again be there - that is the last thing I wanted to do.
I don't remember exactly when the friendship between us started. Maybe when you wanted to go to the army and you came to consult with me about the unit in which I served. You wanted something serious, some patrol unit, and you came to talk to me among others. You postponed your mobilization and in the end failed because of back problems - but you are not the one to allow simple problems like these to block your plans for a select patrol unit and it was then you turned to Golani.
About half a year ago I got a letter from you. It was written in rich and beautiful language, a real pleasure to read. You wrote that you were grappling with the problem of going to a young kibbutz after the army. You asked me, as a friend, if I'd recommend you go to Natur and if its possible already to go there as a soldier on leaves and Saturdays, and to start at this stage to make contact when you still have another year to serve in the army.
You told me that the idea of going to a young kibbutz has been accompanying you since the age of seven, when you went to visit Gilad in Kerem Shalom.
You very much liked this way of life. You said it was very good at home. Yet one is spoiled, one comes back from the army to a warm home, to  a cake, coffee and clean laundry. But what is missing is more serious talks with friends. You are a bit fed up of the way people jar on each other, the little sting one gets, when sitting on the veranda on Saturday. Thats what you wrote.
I was so happy that you'd come to us in Natur. We summed up in the Secretariat about your being adopted and you denied the importance which we attached to this. You said one didn't need to decide on this in such seriousness.
You came for a week on your last regular leave. You worked planting new cypress trees in the plantation. You were quickly accepted, without barriers, without shyness. You always knew how to fall firmly on your own two feet.
I was very surprised by the sharp eye you had for people - on your second day you already told me who everybody was and what are their character traits. You hit the target in dead center. I couldn't believe it. After work, when we'd get ready for an afternoon sleep, you found partners for a hike in the neighborhood, for a game of basketball, for a short run. You were all energy and movement.
After a visit to our room, you informed us that we had only one good record in the room (out of 40) and its by Chava Alberstein. I was afraid that when we leave Natur you won't have anyone to come to but you always smiled and said it was very sweet that I worry, but you don?t have any problems in this respect.  Once you called in the evening that you are an a training exercise on the Heights and we should come to get you at a certain place. You came with another friend from the unit -hungry and dirty. I sat with you in the dining hall, while you prepared the biggest salad, cut into the smallest pieces, that I have ever seen. With such patience you filled a giant dish and I didn't believe that you could finish off such an amount,
The next day you stayed to work. I didn't manage to hear from you if you felt good in Natur, if you liked it. It is only now that your father said you were very impressed by the place. And this makes me very happy.
Yaron - I was always proud that there is a continuity of Ein Dor in Natur. I was always happy to meet you at home - that sort of direct contact which you knew how to build. I long for you and remember you with the utmost affection
To Ramah and Yehoshua:
We didn't manage to know the mature and thinking Yaron who grew from the lively and active child of then. There were short meetings in your room or moments on kibbutz paths. I didn't manage to know Yaron, not because of the generation gap or a lack of communication between veterans and youngsters - there simply wasn't enough time and his lifespan was too short. 
I have been together with you since the beginning of the kibbutz, a period stretching over almost two generations. We talked, argued, deliberated at length on stormy events and in peaceful days. I was accustomed to see you active, aware and responding to all the problems of our society and the distress of individuals, with your always being ready to lend a hand with words, advice, and ideas and with material help for a friend in trouble. How well do I know Yehoshua's unending energy and the immediate, concerned interest of Ramah.
And now, suddenly, you no longer occupy the usual position of those who console others - but we, your friends, try to give you what you were accustomed to give to ethers And how deeply we feel our inadequacy in giving consolation for such a terrible loss. We have nothing to suggest except the sense of being together, the support which can come from partnership of many years.
I feel the need to add something for it seems to me that in addition to the mourning now surrounding us, a certain bitterness has been added, stemming from the actual circumstances of the current period. For the parents' generation, the loss of young lives, cut off before their time, is always accompanied by a feeling of failure, of guilt, over and above the cold clean logic. We, the veterans, once had the same naive and exaggerated hopes for the world we would leave to our children, a world without wars. We saw in the kibbutz a beautiful corner in the landscape of the land, a place where our children would grow up in a better world. But the kibbutz was never a
 corner. A corner has walls, it is far from the center, somehow protected and isolated. It was not in a quiet corner that we built the kibbutz and brought up the new generation. We were in the center of the map, in the focus of events, and if someone thought that they are educating youngsters in a glasshouse, we also know where they got to when there broke out, that war which we couldn't prevent. Whatever may be our outlook on the events of these present days (and the words of our soldiers provide witness to the soul-searching) this outlook cannot change, neither in one direction nor in another, the pain and sorrow over Yaron's death. It seems to me that pain and sorrow are immanent in our existence as a people. Tomorrow we will return to the debate on political wisdom but the loss which we are mourning here is final, absolute and eternal.
In our kibbutz home we shall try to be a good family to you Ramah and Yehoshua, to your children and grandchildren. We shall try to be supportive, helpful and consoling to the best of our ability. Yet we know that what will help more than anything to bring you back into the stream of life is your vitality and sensitivity to all that goes on around you.
Along with you we shall preserve in our memory the image of Yaron, fresh and vibrant, and the beautiful life he led.
..Yaron and I did indeed live on two different planes of emotions. Each with different expectations while for each, the other is something different.  For me Yaron was and remained such a close friend, we were so free with each other that neither shyness nor conflict could separate us. I always knew within me - and Yaron knew it - that I have time With the whole of life before us, what is the hurry? And where to? The link was so secure.. not something coming to an end.
I am left with a memory of things, of a wonderful smile which always asks how I feel. Of a body so smooth and beautiful..And the openness that was there. I don't believe there will be anything like this again...
The young children of the 'Aviv' kvutsa tell of Yaron as kindergarten assistant ('Metapelet')
Shira: I loved him as a Metapelet. I remember how he made up names for all the children: Inosh - Ginger, Snir - Chick; Nitzan - fir. Nitzan - Mr-in-the-clouds; Tamar - Ez begimel; Saar ? Taktzinko; Dror - Susko; Tal ? Tulik, Til.
Inbal tells how she helped Sharon to find Yaron. After there was no reply from knocking on the door of the toilet, they looked out of the window and fled, and when Yaron came, he smacked all the 'criminals' who pretended they were asleep.
Inosh: Yaron was among my best friends, we used to pick 'Shesek' (loquat)  fruit together. He used to give me the least and take most for himself. He used to fondle my head and we'd also go to his room and together we'd catch big rats. He liked to take me to his room in the hut and gave me icecream and strawberries. We'd often go down to the basketball court and play together, -
Tal: Once I went to the dining hall and saw him sitting with his family and he called me ?Til' and up to this day I don't understand if its because this was similar to my name or because I'm a dreamer.
Nitzan: I would pick Shesek for him and he'd collect it and by the time I'd managed to climb down from the tree he'd run off with the bag. And another thing I remember...when he and Harel worked with us, we had a revolt against the Metaplot and knocked them onto the floor. There was no problem with Harel but for Yaron, Meir and Saar joined forces and even they managed to overcome him with difficulty.
A week before the war we tried to push him into the water in the swimming pool but we didn't succeed.
To the Zamir family, Shalom!
You don't know me. I was Yaron's platoon commander in his first three months of initial training in the Golani Brigade and today when I heard his name among those who fell, I felt the need to write something so that you should know how much he really was appreciated in the army from the start.
 When I heard the news I was shocked at the beginning but afterward, to tell the truth, as regards Yaron it was perhaps not so surprising for he would always volunteer for the most difficult tasks and carry them out in the best possible way.
We sat and debated for many hours whether the greatest contribution is as a soldier or officer in the patrol unit or perhaps as a good officer (and I'm sure he could have been one) in the battalion. In the end he of course got what he wanted. In the middle of initial training, when we were told a number of soldiers could be sent to the patrol unit, nobody had any doubt, neither among commanders nor among soldiers, that Yaron should head the list.
Yaron had a great ability to overcome the toughest obstacles and I asked myself on many occasions how he was able to do so much.
He had very firm opinions and knew exactly what he wanted for himself, and when he didn't like something he had no fear of saying so and defending his views forcefully, often becoming the spokesman for the platoon.
I remember meeting Yaron after he was in the patrol unit, after his leg wound (I think he had a broken leg) and how much this disturbed him, not to be able to go on with his team. Neither was I surprised then that Yaron continued with his unit until he really couldn't do it anymore.
Without knowing details as to how Yaron fell, I'm sure that as usual he did what he had to do to the very best of his ability.
With sincere participation in your grief,
 Yaron as a friend and a co-worker
When I got to the patrol unit and replaced Avi, they all told me to beware of Yaron, since he is always under pressure and puts pressure on everyone around him.
The truth is that Yaron was never under pressure without reason.
When someone didn't do his job properly, only then did Yaron become tense. I would try to calm him down, but without success. Yaron was the type who liked everything to be in order, always. When I was in the communications center, working alone, Yaron would come in and start shouting at me as to why things were not in their right place. I would try to explain to him that I hadn?t finished working yet and the moment I was through, I'd have everything in place. But he would tell me that the things have always to be in place regardless of whether I'm working or not.
Yaron would arrive in a place which wasn't his or a room where he himself didn't live, only to find everything in a mess. The first thing he did was to put some order into things. Only after this could he take a seat and calm down.
Apart from liking order and cleanliness, he was the epitome of sincerity. If he thought someone wasn't right, he would tell him directly. He would never speak behind somebody's back.
I recall one incident when Yaron wanted the television in another room and not in his because it disturbed him when he went to sleep. Accordingly, he simply removed the set from his room and put it out on the lawn.
 Yaron had another characteristic: he wouldn't leave a job of work without finishing it to the very best of his ability. Or if there was work, of any sort, to do after a long exercise or some other tough assignment -Yaron would first of all finish his work and only then he'd go to shower and rest.
This would always annoy him and he would say: Why should I have to work to clear up the armored cars while they all go to shower and rest? Why shouldn't everybody help so we'll finish quickly together and all go to rest?" I could never reply to this question apart from always helping him so he wouldn't be annoyed with me as well.
When I had to go home, or had something else to do, and I'd ask Yaron - -"Listen, I have to go, do you mind staying here so I can go?, Yaron wouldn't think twice and would tell me - "You go, Yom-tov, I'll manage?.
The image of Yaron will remain before my eyes for ever. Not only because I worked with him so closely but above all because of his special character. It was for this that I, personally,will always remember him. Yom-tov, from the patrol unit.
Yaron acquainted me with Natur , a young kibbutz in the south of the Golan Heights. We went there in the middle of our training for armored platoon  commanders. A giant salad for supper, half a day?s work in a young apple orchard - quiet broad spaces. A feeling of doing something and not only killing time. Yaron loved Natur - it wasn't too crowded but there are people to talk to if thats what you want. He thought of the possibility of going to live there for a year or two. It didn't worry Yaron that Natur was just over the green line (the former border with Syria) and on this we disagreed. Travelling by train with Yaron as he looked out of the windows with the curiosity of a small boy, as if it was his first train ride. To get a lift in an army vehicle and to persuade Yaron not to take over the communications instruments. To eat pomegranates which Yaron brought from an orchard garden and to discuss if this is stealing. To hear Yaron saying that we don't need to be submissive towards Goni and to take the D200 to Nahariya for a snack. To speak of problems at home and why it is hard to create longterm and interesting contact with girls. To see Yaron under pressure from the first communication diagram he had to prepare and his happiness when he finished loading all the armored vehicles for the formation exercise.Then he helped the Intelligence people. Trying to convince him not to exaggerate in his demands on the men. To get Yaron's confirmation for lying on the best bed and the cleanest room in the unit. To play basketball together and hear what Yaron thinks of my ability in the game. To rejoice at meeting before the Tabor marathon run. To come to Ein Dor and to meet Yaron in Tel Aviv. A thousand and one little stories about Yaron as he looked to me, with all his advantages and disadvantages, stories of what it was like to live with Yaron. '
 After the war I found cut that Yaron wrote poetry. Yaron, who sometimes seemed childish, wrote seriously and sensitively on subjects transcending daily matters.
As I finished reading the poems I felt I had missed out on something important. I felt we could have talked about another million subjects and understand what each had to say and what he really means. That there are a thousand more common stories ahead - and now they will never be told.
And to the feeling of loss is added the knowledge that Yaron is gone and will never return.
And the grief isn't something which is capable of description and explaining, The heart simply aches too much.
Roi from the patrol unit.
From talks after Yaronis death
Yael: We spent a lot of time together before Yaniv died and when the two of us continued, this was natural. Yaniv was always with us. I didn't feel the intention was that we should be a couple. He helped me. And now I go through all our meetings together like a film, so frightened that I'll lose him, searching for more and more photos together.
I remember how he told me in an army base that when the aeroplanes tear into the skies, he has a feeling of liberation, or a mighty longing to be free. Then I didn?t understand. Until it turned out that I was in the same  base and with the first ascent of a plane I sensed the meaning of what he had said.
He knew how to spring surprises. A short time after I was in the base, he turned up with a wide-rimmed hat for me, something in great demand in the army.
Tamar: Had Yaron had a real girlfriend, perhaps he would have been less prone to volunteer for every mission.
Yael: It wouldn't have mattered if Yaron did or didn't have a girlfriend. Yaron always had special respect for human bravery. He greatly recommended me to read about Entebbe and about Yoni (the officer who fell there). Yaron loved Goni. Goni wa much more than his commander. They would discuss life and books and Goni would often help Yaron when his spirits were low.
One Saturday afternoon when the people from the Kvutsa were coming to visit, Uzi defined what was special about Yaron in the 'Aloe' group. Yaron was the contact between the two parts of the group: those who were well -organized and took things seriously and those who didn't want to toe the line..We talked about the ambivalence in Yaron, the constant struggle which went on inside him - between the desire to be at one with his conscience and do what was expected and on the other hand, to release himself from inhibitions, to break out and be free.
Yesterday we got your warm and moving letter, which found its way over with renewed strength. Its hard to describe the feeling of gratitude I have for enabling us to participate so directly in such sincere and intimate emotions and thoughts.
Yaron wrote at the age of 14:
.. I saw lines
Red lines of blood
Going on and on
Twisting in the hills
In the high hills somewhere.
Maybe they'll join
And maybe they'll still form
Form the character of a human being..
About eight years later, he returned his own blood to the earth
'To the high hills somewhere'..
The picture of the Beaufort fortress from the air comes back to me again and again. We flew over it in a helicopter and the skies were always red, with the last light of sunset. The tears are flowing and dampening the full pouch while between heaven and earth hovers the question: 'Whither man?'.
And I am with you, Ramah and Yehoshua, Naomi, Gilad and Tamar, while Yaron looks at me with his mischievous smile and asks:
'Really fantastic, ah?'
Yaron lives on among us and his memory streams through us, finding  expression in the waves of warmth and tears which engulf and cleanse us. This memory, which raises a more sensitive relationship inside us, genuine and tender - works within us as an active force.
Yaron demanded of us in his poem: 'cry out to the world: enough of killing'.
This cry can only be absorbed if we will succeed in expressing in full force that pain which we feel in the face of the horrors going on around us, and all this through love and understanding!
I have a feeling that only in this way can we slowly succeed in reducing the hatred and the madness.
Yours with love, Arieh.
Dear Ramah and Yehoshua,
..he needed a little more time
to be happy in his goodness and good in his happiness
a little more time to crystallize, and live out his
singularity in its entirety.
Grace bestowed on us a number of fragments of time,
And in my memory they are like a sad light.
We would draw together, draw away and come together
And we could have gone on..
And for me the name 'Yaron' rings so soft, rich and beautiful.
'Yaniv and Yaron' - its like a poem.
As for the future, I have no words.
But you, as parents of Yaron ?
-May you have the strength and the light
And may it be the light of Yaron's star,
Shining in the skies.
What else can we tell about our Yaron? Ramah says: just tell how much we loved him...Lets not present him as a hero. Perhaps: 'Yaron was born when we were no longer young and died at the age of 21'. And all agree that he should have buried us and now we, his parents, who
are 61 years old, are telling his story.
Or perhaps: 'Yaron was full of contradictions'. Yaron was the champion name-giver in the kibbutz and in the army as well, nobody escaped from him. But he, too, had nick-names and the most appropriate was 'walnut', with a hard exterior and a soft interior. This expressed itself above all in poems and letters, which we found carefully arranged in a drawer after his death.
But he was really hard outside, more muscular than flexible. How he loved to come home after a
hard day, lie down on the bed and ask for a massage somehow to assuage the tension.
Yaron liked to write and from a young age he joined words into sentences and wrote letters, essays and poems. Yaron had a great love for basketball and for sport in general. He was
never star of the match. He did better in training - apparently he was less good in the actual excitement of the match. On the other hand, he always  took care to help in everything connected to the organization of matches. And he did indeed very much like to win and this was important to him. He invested very much energy in improving his proficiency in a game like
Sheshbesh (backgammon) rather than in study.
Yaron was at the beginning of his life, with everything still before him. He had so much to complete, to fulfill, to improve. He searched obstinately and constantly for a girlfriend but failed to find one. He read a lot but had yet to go into any subject in real depth. He wrote a lot but still had much to learn, especially in broadening and deepening his general knowledge. He loved, perhaps a little more than others, to receive attention, and was sometimes ready to act wildly and make people laugh in order to win this in his group.
He was very fond of...eating. For some years he was however, a vegetarian along with the male members of the family. But it was very important for him how the food was prepared. He was ready to invest a great deal in the aesthetic aspect of eating. And then, in his 'Yaronish' way, he was capable within minutes of consuming what had taken an hour to prepare. And he liked to dress with style, with a refined and expensive taste. He was orderly in the highest degree, as if he knew that his life depended on his being ready at all times...
He had a wonderful memory and we were always surprised that he used it much  more as a walking-encyclopedia for every sporting subject than for his actual studies.
He loved music of all types, yet more than anything 'modern' music from the Beatles to Pink Floyd, rock and Anti Caspi (Israeli pop) and the 'Natural Alternative' (Israeli Oriental group).
He very much loved his brother and two sisters but did not manage to know them as a mature person. Neither did we as parents receive full gratification. How could we?
Yaron simply loved life and dreamed how after the army he would travel in the wide world so as to become familiar with different realities. And from the letters steeped in love of Israel and Zionist sentiments, written to a brother abroad, there was no doubt that he would return and build his home in the kibbutz.
And he loved to sing and dance. He loved to love and to live .
To remember the past
To live the present
To trust the future