THE OBITUARY TO DAD AT HIS FUNERAL - 21.12.21
(as written by his daughter)
“The flames surround the house, yellow, red-orange flames, like hands being sent up and waving to peace or war, but especially to death, yes, death is creeping up on us, he is a household member, especially since they came here, the Nazi Germans and their aides .
The house is burning and making ominous noises on the evening of June 29, 1942 .
A Sunday that for many will be the last day, the last day of their lives on this earth !
As if it was not enough that for two weeks women, children, the elderly and men were mercilessly slaughtered. They decided to murder the remnant, the one who had not yet been massacred .
They were not stupid, they were not crazy, they were evil !
All the while my family and I are in hiding under the house, silent and afraid of the next, of the evil .
After the fire controlled the house and its walls, we felt it begin to collapse, suffocating smoke penetrated the hideout, curling smoke crept up on us like a menacing snake .
A momentary decision saved our lives .
We immediately crawled out, through a shaft we had dug with our hands, scratched and scorched in our arms .
We crawled among murdered bodies, some of which were burned, towards the other side of the alley, and from there to the nearby forest .
The forest on the mystery and the riddle in it, we had for hiding, for temporary shelter .
If we had not left the burning house in time, if the decision had not been made to take a risk and leave the burning house and ghetto, from the hiding place, and escape to the forest, then I, Zvi Shefet, would not have been able to fight and avenge the murderers of our people. I would not have been privileged to see the surrender of Nazi Germany, I would not have gone through the continuation of the war, I would not have immigrated to Eretz Israel, I would not have started a family and I would not have stood here, upright, and proudly recounted my story" .
This is my father, a grandfather of 8 grandchildren, and a great grandfather of 9 great-grandchildren.
The strong, wise man, the historian, the perpetuator, the fighter for the freedom of his people and his family .
A partisan who fought the Nazis and who from the age of 15 knew how to make bombs and blow up trains .
The man who immigrated to Israel with my mother in Exodus, was expelled from it and returned as a victor on the day the state was established.
My father, who continued in the "Israeli military industry" to make bombs, who studied and acquired education at night, who sewed costumes for me on Purim, who devoted his days and nights to preserving the memory of the Slonim community from which he came ... and later also my days and nights ...
Who wrote books and speeches, and wrote me great love songs, who loved to tell and share and at 95 used Facebook, asked for friendships and worked on the computer and sent messages on WhatsApp and was up to date on everything. Who pampered me and loved me more than anything.
Who would call me every morning to report what he did, how he slept and what his blood pressure was ....
He will no longer call to say good morning to wish me a good day and to reprimand me for working too hard .....
He missed mom so much, now he's with her. And together they will rejoice with us in our coming joy and in all the joys that will come later .
Rest in peace and keep us from above.
I will end with another quote from his book MODEH ANI
"Despite the terrible rift, even though a third of our people were destroyed by the Nazi Amalek, here we are re-established. We have built a country, it has developed amazingly, and its population has increased eighteen times since its establishment, despite the wars with our enemy neighbours and despite terrorist attacks .
I feel mental pride that I have been able to contribute something to the security of the country. I have, like most citizens of the country who care, criticism and arguments, but everything dwarfs the achievements we have made . Leaders change but the country remains strong. I thankful I won it and blesses daily Baruch shehecheyanu vekiymanu vehigi'anu lazman hazeh
It turns out that the last song I played to Dad yesterday was by Hava Alberstein, which I have been humming ever since
"I loved yesterday's tune, I loved you most of all"
