Ben Naomi and Yehiel. He was born on August 18, 1970 in Kibbutz Sha’alvim. He grew up and was educated on the kibbutz. He did his elementary studies at the Shalhevet school. At the same time, the school’s children’s society, called Yachdav, was established. From the third to the sixth grade, he was his teacher at the Sarah Fried school, which had a great influence on him, and after graduating he moved to the Sha’alvim junior high school. Of the year 5743 entered the yoke of mitzvot. He prepared the Torah reading alone, after learning the reasons for reading in the circle established for this purpose in the kibbutz. He read the haftara in the style of Italian Jewry. Much of the sermon he had prepared himself with his father’s help. At the end of 1984 he began studying at the high school yeshiva in Shalabim, and after two years he moved to the Hartman Torah school in Jerusalem, where he traveled with his father on a summer trip in 1987. After a week of tours and excursions, During his three days in Florence, his mother and sister returned to Israel and returned to Israel alone for a period of three days, continuing to study at the Hartman School, where he lived in the homes of two of his uncles. After completing his matriculation exams, Yishai decided to continue his studies in the Hartman Integration with several other friends In August 1988, Yishai was drafted into a compulsory army service and assigned to serve in the Armored Corps. At the end of the operational phase he was placed in the Oz Battalion and transferred to battalion duty at the battalion base, and Yishai was not happy with this position and was not happy with it when he was sent to operational activity in Lebanon around the beginning of the month of Shvat. On Monday, 2.2.1990, on the morning of the eve of the Sabbath, in the event of a clash with a terrorist squad attempting to enter Israel, Yishai was seriously wounded and despite the efforts of the doctors, he died of his wounds. That same day he was laid to rest at the military cemetery on Mount Herzl in Jerusalem. He left behind his parents, brother – Hagai, and four sisters – Rachel, Efrat, Raya and Yael. His family commemorated him in a book she published. From the book, a poem written by his mother: to accompany a child / his first steps, who stumble / when he stumbles and falls, and gets up and falls again, and continues to accompany a child to the nursery, the bag of clothes on his neck, and he stands at the gate and shouts: Do not go! And the mother’s heart is crushed / to accompany a child / first grade, the new satchel on his back, and he is all shining with happiness and excitement / to accompany a child / through childhood and adolescence / with love, anticipation, pride, The backpack on the back and the eyes sparkle / accompany a child / to the collection point for a vacation, return to the base, / with endless anxiety / accompany him / along the shaded road / up the military plot of Mount Herzl. From the book, a letter written by his friend Elazar: (instead of letter). Two days after you left us, we sat in your room, put the cassettes you loved and waited for you. We put Si Hyman, the cassette was over and you did not arrive. We named Gidi Gov, Nurit Galron, and we waited for you. We waited for you to enter your short hair and the pony disappeared in the army. Come and smile that eternal smile on your face. We waited. We waited for her to come in, throw out the bag, take off your weapon and sit down with us. We waited. We waited for her to come in and tell us how in Lebanon, how the activity was, to tell us a few experiences. As usual, we waited. They said you would not come any more, that you went for good. That you will not smile at us anymoreWe’ll just have a picture left of you, only the memory in your heart. Then we walked out of the room. And suddenly, through tears, we saw you. Yes, Yishai, you peeked at us from every corner. Here on the grass you left a bit of sweat, either by installing sprinklers or mowing. And there are drops of your blood on the side, near the thorns you have acquired. And the springing sprinklers, your love of youth, they do not even raise their heads. Deep in the ground. And we go to your parents’ house, go up the stairs, and on the right, the closed porch, your room, where you were so happy and slowly turned into the storeroom. You kept everything, so you would not lose things from the warehouse-you said.
