Yona Betzalel Brief

Yona Betzalel Breif was born in Jerusalem, the sixth and youngest son of Hazel Susan and David Chaim, in the spring of 2001, on a Wednesday, the fourth of Nisan. Their home, a warm and vibrant Jerusalem house, was always filled with sounds and laughter, the aromas of spices and baked goods, and above all – love. Older siblings – Nava, Micha, Yasmina, Libby, and Aviel – welcomed little Yona with open arms, and from his earliest days, it was clear there was something special about him, an invisible thread that bound everyone together. He wasn't just the youngest brother; he was the beating heart of the home, a quiet center of calm amidst the family bustle, always there to make peace, bridge small gaps, or simply offer a wide, bashful smile that would melt away any anger or argument. His parents saw him as the unifying glue, the one who always ensured the atmosphere was pleasant, that conversations flowed, and that no one felt alone. When everyone gathered around the laden Shabbat table, as plates emptied and voices mingled, Yona would sit there, listening, smiling, his quiet yet powerful presence warming the space.

When he was a young child, the family moved to Modi'in, where he grew up and was educated. He began his schooling at "Masuat Neria" Elementary School, and later continued to "Lapid" Yeshiva, part of the "Bnei Akiva" youth movement in the city. His teachers remember him to this day as an exceptional child, not just for his good grades, but primarily for who he was. He was a diligent student, whose curious eyes always sought to learn and understand, naturally polite, with a cheerful demeanor that made it impossible to be angry with him, even when a hint of mischief occasionally peeked through. He didn't need anyone to ask him for help; if he saw another child struggling with a task, with sad eyes facing a complex math problem or words that wouldn't form a sentence, he would approach quietly, with a confident yet unassuming gait, offering help wholeheartedly, in a soft and patient tone, until understanding dawned in the other child's eyes. He did this not for praise, but out of a deep inner drive to care for those around him, to alleviate their pain, even the slightest discomfort.

Even in his youth, a trait of foresight and planning stood out in him, alongside a determination to strive for excellence. When it came time to choose his high school majors, he decided to study mathematics at the five-unit level, not necessarily out of a natural love for numbers, but from an understanding that this was the way to pave avenues for higher education in the future. This was not an easy choice for him; mathematics demanded great effort, long hours spent poring over books, incessant practice, and often dealing with frustration when a solution wasn't immediately apparent. But Yona, with that quiet stubbornness that characterized him, never gave up on himself. He would sit for long hours at the worn wooden table in the living room, a small lamp illuminating the exercise pages, and only the gentle scratching sound of his pencil on paper would break the silence. He pushed himself to be better, not out of competitiveness with others, but from an internal drive to fulfill his potential, to maintain the high standards he set for himself, and to make the most of every situation.

Beyond the school benches, Yona found his natural place in youth movements. From a young age, he joined "Bnei Akiva" as a participant, and over the years, as he matured, he became a counselor. He loved the sense of community, the shared songs around the campfire, the deep conversations about values, the Land of Israel, and people. But his broad and sensitive heart also led him to another, no less special place: the "Krembo Wings" youth movement, which integrates children with and without special needs. There, in the weekly gatherings, amidst laughter and joy, small struggles and great triumphs, Yona felt that counseling was not just a leisure activity for him, but a way of life. He would bend down to eye level with a child refusing to participate, speaking to them quietly, with infinite patience, until the child opened up and joined the game. His sensitivity to others, the ability to see the person behind the difficulty, and the strong desire to connect people, found full expression in this activity. He knew how to form warm and genuine connections with every child, to give them a sense of belonging, strength, and hope.

Body and movement were an inseparable part of Yona's life. From a young age, he loved sports, and physical activity awakened in him a sense of vitality and liberation. He was strong, not just physically but mentally, and knew how to find solace and spiritual purification in running. Every Friday afternoon, as the sun began to set and the aromas of Shabbat spread through the streets of Modi'in, Yona would lace up his running shoes and head out for his regular ten-kilometer run. He loved these moments of quiet, when the rhythm of his strides merged with his breaths, and all his thoughts cleared. For him, it was a kind of spiritual preparation for Shabbat, a way to clear his mind and soul before the onset of the holy day. In high school, in preparation for his enlistment in the IDF, he joined a combat fitness group. He trained vigorously, pushed his limits, and his remarkable athletic talent quickly became apparent. The group's commanders recommended he enter competitions, but Yona politely declined. He didn't like competing with others, didn't seek the spotlight. For him, the real competition was always with himself – to spur himself on to be better, stronger, more resilient. He was quiet and focused, and only when he came home, tired but content, would a smile of satisfaction spread across his face.

After completing his studies at the high school yeshiva, Yona took another step on his path: he studied for a year and a half at "Bnei David" pre-military academy in Ma'ale Efraim. This was a significant period of ethical, spiritual, and personal deepening. He sat and studied, prayed, participated in long, soul-searching conversations with his friends and rabbis, and strengthened his faith. The academy reinforced his sense of mission and his desire to contribute to the state and society. He returned home with brighter eyes, with a deeper understanding of the world and his place in it, and with even greater determination to serve the country. He knew exactly where he wanted to go, and what he wanted to do.

On April 4, 2021, the longed-for moment arrived. Yona enlisted in the IDF, beginning his service in the "Duvdevan" unit of the "Oz" Brigade in the Infantry Corps – the unit he had hoped to serve in, the unit he had dreamed of since high school. It was the fulfillment of a destiny for him. Basic training was challenging, physically and mentally, but Yona endured it with quiet heroism. During basic training, his commanders noticed his unique personality. His integrity, captivating smile, and sense of justice made him a perfect candidate for a particularly undesirable role: organizing night guard duty and kitchen shifts. The commanders knew that no soldier could be angry with Yona, even if they received a difficult assignment, simply because he was Yona. He would approach everyone with a smile, explain the necessity, ensure fair distribution, and never shirk from giving more of himself. He would rise at dawn, when it was still dark on base, check the duty roster, ensure everyone knew their role, and only then attend to his own tasks. Even in this unglamorous role, he found a way to brighten faces, connect people, and maintain a good atmosphere.

After basic training, Yona went to a medic course, and then for combat medic completion. The transition to the medical field was natural for him. He greatly enjoyed the learning, the fascinating material, the ability to understand the human body and methods of healing. He would sit for long hours in the library, delving into books, practicing scenarios, and often visited hospitals to observe surgeries, amazed by the precision and professionalism. He felt deep satisfaction with the role destined for him, a role in which he could save lives, alleviate pain, and help people in moments of crisis. At the end of the course, when he returned to the unit, he was already a full-fledged combat medic, with a bag full of medications and bandages, and a heart full of the desire to help.

Yona, who grew up in a religious home and observed commandments his entire life, maintained this practice during his military service as well. It wasn't always easy, especially as he was the only religious soldier in the team. But he managed as usual, quietly and pleasantly. His teammates, who witnessed his devotion and faith, showed him moving understanding and support. They helped him in every possible way; for example, they would gather together at night to form a minyan for prayer, even if not all of them were religious. They saw him as an inspiring figure, a true friend, and the respect they held for him was earned not through demands, but through who he was. He would share with them discussions on the weekly Torah portion, explain the meaning of the holidays, and was always attentive to their questions and doubts. These connections, built on mutual respect and understanding, were deep and genuine, testifying to his wonderful ability to bridge differences and create harmony.

In May 2023, Yona participated with his unit in an operation in the Nur a-Shams refugee camp, near Tulkarem in Samaria. It was a complex and sensitive operation, requiring maximum vigilance. Suddenly, during the activity, a powerful explosive device detonated. The violent explosion threw Yona to the ground, and he felt a sharp, tearing pain in both his legs. He was severely wounded, but even in those moments of intense pain, as a combat medic, he knew exactly what he had to do. He was rushed to "Beilinson" Hospital in Petah Tikva, where he was hospitalized for a week, battling his injuries. The road to recovery was long and arduous. He was discharged home for three months, during which he was offered treatment at the unit, but Yona, with that same determination that characterized him, chose to recover on his own. He strived to overcome the injury, diligently performing self-physiotherapy, never skipping an exercise, pushing the boundaries of pain. He returned to swimming in the pool, feeling the water embrace his injured legs, and then to running, step by step, slowly and carefully, until his legs returned to their former function. In addition, he bought a SUP board and learned to do yoga on it, finding peace and balance in the challenging exercises on the water. He transformed the recovery period into a journey of personal empowerment, facing and conquering a new challenge each day.

The severe injury granted him an exemption from combat service or the option to transfer to an administrative role. Many would have chosen the easier path, but Yona was not one of them. He decided, without hesitation, to return to the unit as a combat soldier. He saw no other option. Upon his return to the unit in September 2023, just a month before the events of Black Saturday, he went for an exhausting run on base every night. He wanted to return to full physical fitness, to be the best for his team, not to be a burden on anyone, but to be a pillar of support, as always. He ran in the darkness, hearing only the rhythm of his breaths and heartbeats, with the memory of the explosion and injury still etched in his flesh, but his determination was stronger than any pain. He wanted to be ready, ready for any scenario, strong enough to protect his friends and the country.

Amidst all his activities and dedication, Yona was and remained the unifying glue in his family. He was the peacemaker, the beating heart, the one who always cared for everyone. He spent time with his parents, siblings, and nephews on trips across the country, at the beach, and in the familiar living room at home. When his brothers and sisters married and left the nest, only he remained with his parents in the family home. During this period, which lasted about two years, they grew very close. He was their best friend, a partner in deep conversations, shared outings, and small moments of quiet. On Shabbat, when his older siblings didn't visit, Yona made sure to spend time with his parents, take them for a short walk, sit with them for coffee and cake, just so they wouldn't be alone. He would come to them in Modi'in every weekend, without words, just with a smile and a hug, bringing his joy and light with him.

His circle of friends was wide, but about fifteen close friends accompanied him from kindergarten onwards. These were soulmates, brothers on a journey, and each of them felt as if Yona was their best friend. They spent long hours together, often staying at his house, sitting in the living room until the early hours of the morning, playing music, talking, laughing, dreaming. Yona's home was always open, always inviting, a refuge where everyone could feel at home.

Yona loved music. He taught himself to play the guitar and piano, and the sounds of melodies would fill the house. He would often hold spontaneous "jam sessions" with his brother Aviel in the living room, playing together, improvising, creating harmony. He listened to a wide range of musical styles, sometimes completely contradictory – secular and sacred songs played side-by-side on his playlist, classical music alongside 60s tunes and the most current hits. He found beauty and inspiration in every sound, every melody. Beyond music, he showed a special interest in films about World War II, watching them repeatedly, trying to understand the complexity of humanity in difficult moments. He loved good food, fine wine, and was himself a talented cook. The aromas of rich stews would rise from the kitchen when Yona took over the pots. Hiking across the country and spending time at the beach were great sources of enjoyment for him. He loved nature, the quiet, the open spaces. He also discovered a talent for painting, carpentry, and woodworking, and his practical skills were evident when he built the pergola at his parents' home with his own hands, a place where they could sit together, drink coffee, and watch the sunset.

Yona was a pursuer of peace and a lover of peace. He loved life in all its nuances, his family, and his friends. He managed to touch the lives of many, leaving an imprint on every encounter. He appreciated the small pleasures of life: a warm cup of coffee at sunset, a good conversation with a friend, the rolling laughter of a nephew. Although he wanted to live life to the fullest and not miss a single moment, he also knew how to sit back, observe, and enjoy the quiet. He was friendly and full of grace, blessed with a wide, bashful smile that captivated every heart, and a personal charm that was hard to resist. His human warmth and sensitivity to others were an inseparable part of his essence. He always saw and respected the other, even if they were different from him. His maturity was expressed in his way of thinking, in his wonderful ability "to connect opposites simply and completely and to give every shade of life its proper place and meaning," as his sister Nava described. He never gave up on himself, but always pushed forward, maintained high standards, and made sure to make the most of every situation, to live fully, in every moment.

On Shabbat, the 22nd of Tishrei, Simchat Torah 5784, on October 7, 2023, at 6:30 in the morning, the world of Yona and the entire State of Israel changed. The Hamas terrorist organization launched a brutal and unprecedented surprise attack. Under the cover of a massive barrage of thousands of missiles and rockets from the Gaza Strip into wide areas of the country, thousands of terrorists infiltrated – by land, sea, and air – and began a murderous assault on the communities surrounding Gaza and everyone in the area. That morning, war broke out. Yona was with his team on alert at the unit's base in Mishor Adumim. Phones began to ring, and WhatsApp messages flowed at a dizzying pace. Shortly after the events began, one of his teammates, a resident of Kibbutz Kfar Aza, received horrifying messages about terrorists who had taken over the kibbutz. Without hesitation, without a second thought, Yona and his teammates decided to drive south, into the inferno.

They quickly gathered in Sderot, where they received a brief briefing, and continued their urgent drive to Kibbutz Kfar Aza, located in the northern sector of the Gaza Division. At 10:30 in the morning, when they arrived at the kibbutz, an unbearable scene of destruction, fire, and atrocities unfolded before their eyes. They began to move from house to house, fighting with supreme bravery, clearing the area of terrorists and trying to rescue the besieged residents. The gunfire never ceased, and they advanced cautiously, aware of the immediate danger around every corner. During the fierce fighting, Yona's commander and another teammate were severely wounded and shot by the terrorists. Yona, being a combat medic, and with that same intense internal drive to save lives that always characterized him, felt a supreme duty to extract them under hellish fire. He didn't think about the danger to his own life, only about his comrades lying on the ground. He crawled towards them, ignoring the incessant gunfire, and with supreme effort began to drag them to safety. In these moments, with his body exposed, Yona took thirteen bullets – in his legs, back, and head.

The pain was unbearable, but Yona, with extraordinary composure and the instincts of a skilled medic, did not surrender. He knew every second counted. He stopped the terrible bleeding in his legs using tourniquets he applied himself, battling the pain and growing weakness. With fierce determination, he crawled to a nearby house that had a protected space, and gathered the wounded there – his commander and friend, and others who had been injured in the fighting. Inside the protected space, with bullets whistling over his head and heartbeats thundering in his ears, he continued to save lives, treating the wounded with remarkable composure, providing them with life-saving first aid, comforting them with his quiet words. He was a hero not only in his actions but also in his ability to maintain clarity of mind and extraordinary humanity in the heart of the inferno.

The journey to save the wounded Yona's life was long and complex. He was transferred from one armored vehicle to another, fighting for his life the entire time. The first armored vehicle he was evacuated in encountered an RPG and could not reach Saad Junction to rendezvous with a rescue helicopter. He was transferred to another vehicle, which also ran into a terrorist ambush. Yona, bleeding profusely and semi-conscious, remained behind a protective barrier, waiting for further evacuation. Finally, he was placed on the hood of a Hummer, on the way to Hodaya Junction, and from there transferred to a helicopter of Unit 669, the airborne rescue and evacuation unit, which swiftly evacuated him to the hospital.

Yona arrived at "Sheba" Hospital in Tel HaShomer in extremely critical condition, but fully conscious. He was admitted to the intensive care unit, suffering from severe internal injuries to his liver and kidneys, but was still in communication with the doctors in the trauma room, managing to describe his injuries, providing vital information. Then began his fight for life – a tenacious struggle that lasted 417 days. In the following months, he was also treated at "Rambam" Hospital in Haifa, in a hyperbaric chamber at "Shamir" Hospital ("Assaf Harofeh"), and in the burns unit at "Sheba" Hospital. He underwent approximately one hundred complex surgeries, each operation another battle for his life. All the while, with boundless devotion, his parents and siblings accompanied him, day and night, never leaving his side for a moment. Dozens of times he was in real mortal danger, and suffered from severe pneumonia eleven times, but each time he managed to overcome, defeat the illness, and survive. The medical team, who witnessed his incredible willpower, called him "Superman."

Yona fought for his recovery with extraordinary determination, unwavering optimism, and an intense will to live. He never stopped looking forward, dreaming of reaching the rehabilitation department, swimming again, sitting in a wheelchair instead of being confined to bed. He never expressed disappointment, frustration, or sadness about his severe condition and unbearable suffering. He was not afraid of the painful treatments and complex surgeries he had to undergo. Because he was a skilled medic, the medical team changed its approach and made Yona an involved partner in his own treatment, understanding that he comprehended the procedures and could provide accurate feedback. He came to terms with his situation and asked for nothing but to live. With complete faith, he prayed often, and when he was too weak to don tefillin himself, he asked his mother or sisters to help him. It was especially important for him to don tefillin after the amputation of both his legs, as he understood the meaning of life and death with an intensity he hadn't known before. When he read the phrase "Resurrection of the Dead" during prayer, he said he felt that this had happened to him again and again, small victories over death each time anew.

On every visit, when he momentarily awoke, he would first ask about his visitors' well-being, showing interest in them, before speaking about himself and his condition. He formed warm and genuine connections with the medical staff as well, from senior doctors to dedicated nurses, support staff, and the cleaning crew. Members of the medical team felt that Yona was like a family member to them, and would enter his room just to talk to him, drink coffee with him, and hear his stories. He inspired many around the world, and countless people, who heard about his story of heroism and struggle, prayed for his recovery, recited Psalms, lit Shabbat candles, and participated in Challah separation events for his sake.

To cope with the complex and difficult period, Yona resolutely entered his own "rehabilitation" routine within the intensive care unit. This routine included physiotherapy and occupational therapy, painting, and, of course, incessant visits from his devoted friends from home and loving family members. "While we waited for your wounds to heal and the infections to stop so you could finally move to rehabilitation, you created your own rehabilitation in the intensive care unit," his mother described. In his room in the ward, a tradition of "schnitzel in pita meal" on Fridays, sushi nights, and karaoke singing that burst from the room and filled the corridors was created. Even though for part of the period he was unable to eat by himself, it was important to him to serve food in his room, to ensure that everyone who came felt comfortable, felt at home. In the room, they also held joint viewings of fascinating lectures, light weight training, and musical and spiritual Shabbat reception events, with him singing and playing. Musicians he particularly loved came to cheer him up, and sounds of laughter, enjoyment, and music were always heard from his room, spreading light and joy within the hospital atmosphere.

Even the Brit Milah ceremony for his baby nephew, Liyam – a name meaning "they shall know war no more" – was held at the hospital, so Yona wouldn't miss the important family event. Yona, despite his great weakness, insisted on attending the Brit dressed in a Shabbat shirt with buttons, a symbol of honor, joy, and the unbreakable connection to life and tradition. He sat there, pale but happy, his presence filling the room with a special light.

In September 2024, about a year after his injury, his condition severely deteriorated. The doctors, who had held onto him with all their might for many months, had to painfully admit: "We have nothing more to offer." But even in these difficult moments, Yona's strength was so great that they added: "But none of us can say he won't survive, because he is Yona." They knew his spirit was stronger than any medical protocol, that his will to live might perform miracles. But the body, which had already endured so much, could no longer sustain the fight. Yona's last breaths were on November 26, at 6:29 in the morning, surrounded by his family and closest friends, on his final day. He fell as a Staff Sergeant, just twenty-three years old.

Staff Sergeant Yona Betzalel Breif, who was mortally wounded in battle and bravely fought for his life for 417 days, fell on the 25th of Cheshvan 5785, November 26, 2024. He was laid to rest in the military cemetery on Mount Herzl in Jerusalem, surrounded by his loved ones, with the skies of Israel weeping with them. He left behind heartbroken parents, three sisters and two brothers, and thousands of people whose lives were touched by his light.

His mother eulogized him with heart-wrenching tears: "My Yona, I ask for your forgiveness. I am so sorry I couldn't do more, that I couldn't find someone else somewhere in the world to give you the miracle pill that would heal all your wounds and infections, that would ease your pain and suffering. Please forgive me, I did my best... I love you, and I am so proud of you, so proud of your steadfast spirit that from now on, with God's help, will continue to heal us all... For 417 days you fought to give us just a little more – another hug, another smile, another laugh." His father David added: "Yona – you found and fulfilled your purpose in this world, and we had the honor of being with you on the journey, especially during these last 417 days. And now, Yona – you have found rest... When we think of you, we think of a man who loved peace, who pursued peace. Your smile alone brought peace to the world. We never heard of anyone who was angry with you. And apart from a few times I tried to wake you up and convince you to tidy your room – I was always proud of you. You always managed to bring peace to your family, your friends, and your team... You will continue to be with us in all our ways. Every moment you are with us – both by day and in our dreams at night."

His sister Nava wrote: "The song 'Ballad of a Medic' essentially tells the story of Yona the medic's heroism. While others dreamed of being frontline fighters... you were the one who chose to save lives. It was clear, that's who you are. For you, true heroism wasn't in the war itself, but in caring for people, in compassion, in the ability to put yourself aside to save others. You never sought glory or tried to prove you were stronger or better. You were simply there, with an infinite talent to help, to save, and to give hope to everyone around you." His brother Micha eulogized him: "Yona, you touched so many people in such a significant way in such a short time, and you were only 23!! A young man who wanted to live life. People from all over the world knew you, your story, prayed for you, and understood how great you were. Your name was carried everywhere... Now the void Yona left is so vast, and I don't know how it can be filled. A void in my soul and a void in the entire world. In the last 417 days, I felt I got to know you better than ever, and I am grateful for every day you were with us, Yona, because it was not to be taken for granted."

His sister Yasmina wrote in pain: "Yona, my beloved brother, my strong brother, my hero. Last night I thought about how cold it will be at your funeral. And how fitting this cold is for you, both because even in winter the air conditioner in your room was always set to 16 degrees Celsius, and because you spread warmth wherever you go. You are all warmth and love. There isn't a person who met you who wasn't captivated by your charm. Everything you did was with a huge smile, with a lightness and sensitivity unique to you. Yona, I will miss you so much." His sister Libby shared: "Tonight, we will light the Hanukkiah for the first time, and I can't help but think of Hanukkah last year in the ICU, when you were still in Room 4. We lit special LED candles that good people brought us, and you recited the Birkat HaGomel blessing in a chilling way. You even tasted a little sufganiyah. How excited we were by that. Afterward, you told me that on Hanukkah, you truly believed you would get out of there. I replied that I also believed. This wasn't how we imagined you would leave, this wasn't the poet's intention. So this year, lighting candles will be difficult and painful but full of light. Light will overcome darkness. Just as it was for the last 14 months and indeed your entire life. You always focused on the good, on the positive, despite the difficulty and frustration. And that's what I'm trying to do, to look at all the light you left us. I think of all your light, Yona, and your light only continues to grow. And I promise we will make sure to keep spreading your light all the time."

His brother Aviel eulogized him with unique words: "Yona, you loved World War II so much, every movie that came out – you watched it. The climax of World War II – the atomic bomb. Until it was dropped, its power was unknown – just like you. You were the atomic bomb. By the way, its codename was 'Little Boy.' You were also a cute little boy with some muscles. It turns out that was just your codename... When the atomic bomb that you were explodes – no one fails to see the immense secret that was contained within, and sadly, was just waiting to explode and reveal to everyone what the will to live and the love of life truly are. So in a few more years, we will stand here above the grave, at the 5th, 15th, 20th anniversary memorial, and talk about ourselves and how much we miss you, but in the meantime, you, like an atomic bomb, shake the entire world and fill all the space. You are not missing. Thank you for the privilege and what an honor it was to grow up by your side, in your shadow."

Yona Betzalel Breif left behind an enormous legacy of heroism, humanity, and light. At "Sheba" Hospital, where he fought for his life, groundbreaking research on blood vessels was conducted based on his unique medical case. The findings helped treat other wounded soldiers, and in this way, Yona continued to save lives even after his passing. His family, with deep pain but also with a spirit of resurgence, works tirelessly to commemorate his memory. They are working on launching a race in his memory in Modi'in, on fundraising in the United States for an innovative simulator for the medical team at "Sheba" Hospital, which will train generations of medics and doctors, and on a national blood drive, including a symbolic donation of 417 blood units at "Sheba" Hospital, matching the number of days he fought to survive and thrive from the day of his injury. In addition, an educational lesson plan telling his story has been written, so that generations of students will know Yona, his heroism, and his values. In the area of Moshav Kesalon, in the embrace of the nature he so loved, a memorial is planned in his memory, with a quiet seating area, a place where people can come and commune with his memory, drawing inspiration from his life story. Yona, the child who loved to live, the medic who saved lives, the hero who fought for every moment, continues to heal, to connect, and to illuminate the path for many, spreading his great light for all eternity. May his memory be a blessing.