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Michaeli, Moti (Mordechai)

Michaeli, Moti (Mordechai)


A white and happy son. He was born on May 1, 1977 in Givat Olga. An only son among three girls. A brother to Na’ama, Limor and Shiran. Moti attended the “Amishav” elementary school in Hadera and later at the “Or Lataf” elementary school in Givat Olga. He completed his high school studies at the “Tamun” school in Hadera, where he studied in the clerking course. Until his enlistment he worked in a carpentry shop of a relative. Moti was a quiet and modest guy, “very shy.” His heart was soft and full of love. He was eager to help others and did it naturally, without expecting any change. His friends loved him, and wherever he went he was loved and accepted. Moti loved life and was characterized by his big, rolling laugh. His spirit was strong, imbued with optimism and believed that everything that happened was happening for the better. He loved music and listened mainly to Mediterranean songs. He liked to travel by car and foot, was interested in cars and loved to drive. He excelled in the game of backgammon and played a lot of Magson. His life’s dream was to be a DJ. On August 7, 1995, Moti enlisted in the IDF, but he did not succeed, and was sent to the Armored Corps, where he was assigned to the “Gur” Company in the 500th Brigade as an artillery officer, although he did not always get what he wanted. He was proud of his role and contribution, and during his eight months in the army, Moti did his best in his heart, during which he saw his friends being wounded and killed and helped evacuate them from the field.Moti had many dreams he hoped to realize after the liberation. Life “and see the world. Unfortunately, his life was cut short while they were still in their throats. Staff Sergeant Moti Michaeli fell in operational activity at the Gladiola outpost in Hermon on July 19, 1998. While on vacation he was called from home to the base on the occasion of an exercise held on Mount Hermon. When he finished his shift, he lay down on the floor of the tank. His friends, who stood on guard duty, were asked to side by side with the tank cannon. One time the turret hit Moti’s head and he was critically wounded. All the rescue attempts failed and Muti died of his wounds. Mutti was twenty-one when he fell. He was laid to rest in the military cemetery in Hadera. Survived by parents and three sisters. His older sister, Na’ama, said in a letter: “My dear brother, I sit and write and tears choke my throat, and I write about you in order to perpetuate you for generations to come, so that our children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren and great-grandchildren will not forget the child. Your whole body was rolled, a boy with a golden heart who helped all the needy, with modesty and without condescension, and you always made do with little, you never asked for change, and you always gave more than you received. Even in the army, when you were given a rest or another Shabbat, you would say, ‘There is nothing.’ “You loved life, love of songs! And all the music at the loudest volume you can hear, and how you can forget the backgammon, the game you always won … You loved life until the hand of death came and plucked you away without warning. “My dear brother, when you walked away from us, a piece of our body went with you and every day,” he said, “you have not asked for too much. Passing without you, another piece falling. The pain is too great to bear and the longing is most intense. I miss you so much, my little brother. If only I could see you again, if only I could hear your voice and know where you are, I hope you are well there. Forever my brother, I will always remember you, “wrote Oshrit, Moti’s girlfriend:You were a person loved by everyone / you loved life and you knew how to exploit them / me and you were friends for a few months / but it seems to both of us that it’s like years. / I loved in you the laughter, the character, the help, the special attitude that was only in you. / I loved you as I did not love anyone else. / I had many things to say, to tell, / I wanted us to talk and maybe we could make up for it. “I want you here beside me next to me, but I know it’s impossible.” And another happiness story: “What I have left is to remember you, to remember the things we did together, the dreams we had, for both of us. You were a loyal and dedicated friend. You had qualities that no other guy had. Now you’re up and I’m down, so boy, keep yourself up. I’ll always remember you and love you. You will always be remembered and loved by everyone. I hereby bid farewell to you. Rest in peace. Peace be upon you, dear friend! “Naama wrote:” Death! I am awake at the door of my house and three people are standing at the door of my house, announcing that I have no brother to my amazement, and I say: Just yesterday he stood next to me, Just yesterday he hugged me / Just yesterday he laughed / And on my forehead I have a weapon / It is my tall brother, / Innocent face, Good soul / Conqueror smile and pure heart / And when the house arrived, he was filled with light / Death has no separation. . / You no longer suffer / You no longer feel / But who is left behind / barely survives without you / say the rain will wash the tears / But the rain stopped and the tears continue / They flow to the warm grave / And you never see.

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