Five years, Dad.
Five years have passed since you ascended to heaven, my dear father, and I can't help but remember you again and again, not only in the personal part where the pain burns in my heart every moment, but also in everything related to the political world.
Over and over again I find your image floating before me, flashing insights that make it difficult for me to cope with what I see. You knew the political system well, father. You were a public figure in Kiryat Ata, following everything that happened in the city for decades, uplifting mayors, running to the great men of Israel to know who the Haredi public in the city should support in the election campaigns, you were the confidant of the city's rabbi, the great Rabbi Shmuel Schulzinger, zt”l.
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When I would tell you about politics, about what I was going through in the Knesset, you were always interested: Who did you talk to this week, what's new.
The last politician you met was Moishe Gafni. These were days of spin on a joint list of Shas and United Torah Judaism. In 'Ma'anei Hayeshua', at your bedside, he whispered to you: It won't happen.
“But,” he added, “we will go together with Aguda.” Because there were rumors about that too at the time. I’m not sure he would say that today.
How I want to tell you, father, about the changes. You knew the Gur Kiryat Ata Hasidism, you knew it well, you even prayed at the Shtibel for a long time. I would like to tell you about their representative in the Knesset, Yitzhak Goldknopf, the man who most reminds me of Gur Kiryat Ata. Kind, not arrogant, speaks at eye level. Yes, there is a lot of criticism of him, I am aware of it and hear it, but what can I do when, as you raised us, I look at the person himself, at his personality, at his qualities.
How I would like to tell you about the changes that have taken place in the Shas party. You were happy when Aria Deri returned to leadership of the party, you also loved him in general, you were hurt when he went to prison. It must have hurt you to hear how busy Shas is today with jobs. You wanted to believe that it was established to educate "the mechanic's child whose head is barely covered by a small kippah," but his son is already studying in Shas institutions and will later go to a 'black' yeshiva.
You loved politics. But you loved it honestly, truly.
I remember the day that Yossi Sarid from the Meretz party became Minister of Education. You were the director of Talmud-Torah of the 'Independent Education', and like everyone else, you worried. This institution was a part of you, like your child, and you feared for its fate and future. But then you rushed into the task, and managed to get it, yes, a new building. This is the beautiful building that still stands today in the city, a building that you did not get to enter as director, but it is registered in your name, by all accounts.
And then, I remember it like it was yesterday, you started praising him: Dozens of people heard from you that ”Yossi Sarid is the best education minister the Haredi public has ever had.” That’s how you were. Praising when necessary.
You know, Dad? On one of the programs I went to, on Channel 13, Yossi Sarid's wife also participated. I sat with her in the waiting room and told her about you, about the special relationship you had with her husband. She was moved to hear. That night my heart ached. I was so sorry that I couldn't tell you about it.
Do you remember, Dad, how your beloved brother-son came home crying, telling you that while he was walking down the street, someone threw a stone at him and shouted at him, "You stinking Haredi"? How much it hurt you. How much you tried to maintain loving relations between us and our secular neighbors. You would be invited to lecture at the Air Force base, at the Nationalist Synagogue in Kiryat Ata, anywhere and in front of any audience. Haredi, secular, religious-national - you loved them all. The secular neighbors from our building on Sokolov 3 still mention your name with longing and nostalgia.
I wanted to tell you that the fire of hatred has only grown, that your grandchildren and, oh, great-grandchildren can no longer sit and study quietly in yeshivahs, some of them have had their meager amount of money from the Ministry of Religious Affairs cut (less than 1,000 shekels a month, the money that is intended for bread for the children), some of them have an arrest warrant hanging over their heads. Yes, you enlisted, but you did it after years of studying in yeshivahs and later in a kollel. And then you served. I even remember how your mother would wash your uniform.
No, Dad. Today it's hard to explain in this country why you study first, and only then serve.
I miss you, beloved father. To have a brief conversation with you, to hear insights from a man who lived, breathed, and spoke coexistence.
Your 'seventh' was attended by the current president of the state, Yitzhak Herzog. Dear Jew. I don't know if heaven allowed you to see the guest, and how interesting it is for the deceased to strike up a conversation with someone. I only know that if you were among the living, you would 'die' to talk to him, even on this subject. Because you knew the magic formula for how to live in peace with everyone.
With the Arabs in the Halisa neighborhood where you grew up, and with all the populations who lived in our neighborhood in Kiryat Ata.
Today I go to your grave. Just so you know, my dear father, I make a lot of efforts to preserve your memory. There is not a moment in my work when your image is not before my eyes and I think to myself, 'What would father answer now, in the studio?' In front of Naor Narkis on the panel, in front of MK Eliezer Stern from Yesh Atid.
To speak my truth without hurting the person in front of me, to stand up for myself and my principles, but to respect others.
This is your legacy, Dad. It is a candle to my feet. It always will be.
