(Sixth in Salt of the Earth series about the lives of IDF soldiers who fell in the Swords of Iron War)
“Tell Anat that I love her. Tell Shaked that I love him. And I am sorry to leave them…”
These were the last words of Major David Meir Hy”d, 31 year-old IDF Sayeret Matkal officer, beloved son of Chaya and Yair, loving husband of Anat (née Benziman) and devoted father of seven-month-old Shaked. As he felt his life ebbing, dying of wounds sustained on October 7th while heroically pushing back Nukhba terrorists and allowing the surviving people of Kibbutz Be’eri to escape, he made a supreme effort and managed to say those words to the wounded soldier in the bed next to his.
Everyone knew Major (res.) David Meir, an officer in the legendary Sayeret Matkal elite commando unit. His toughness in battle was belied by his warm eyes, the smile that never left his face, his love for the land and the songs written about its beauty, his willingness to “give everything for Eretz Yisrael,” as he told his wife Anat.
“I knew it wasn’t just a cliche, that you lived those words with all your heart, unafraid, steadfast and strong,” she said at his funeral. “But I also knew that I just wanted to live with you at my side. I was sure you would make it. I told myself, it can’t happen, this is my David, the strongest man in the world. How could you die?”
On her birthday, Anat went to David’s grave at Mt. Herzl, and wrote on her Facebook page: "Birthday. We probably would have had a quiet night at home, we would have made something tasty to eat. Maybe some steaks on the grill, or a tuna steak on mashed potatoes with a lot of butter. A birthday is that point in time where you look at your life and say thanks. And even now when my heart is broken, I want to thank you. Thank you for being mine, thank you for the pure happiness that you gave me every moment I was at your side. Thank you for making me a better person. For leaving so much of you, and that you continue to be at my side always, because otherwise, I can't explain how I'm surviving...”
"The loss is immeasurable," says Anat's mother Malka Benziman. "They were only married for two years, and in that short time, he became an inseparable part of our family, of our hearts. We were so happy to see Anat secure in his arms. Today, our hearts break to see her and Shaked having to go on without him. Every knock on the door makes us feel he will be standing there. He was so alive and full of energy - it just doesn't seem as though he is really gone."
An army friend remembered: “During the first two weeks of crawling in the mud in basic training, when all of us felt more like dishrags than fighters, the commander of the unit lost his temper, stood us up in a line and shouted in frustration at his exhausted, frightened recruits: ‘Do you even know why you are here? What you guys are doing here?’ No one knew what to answer and the silence was deafening, until one soldier, David Meir, shouted at the top of his lungs: ‘To guard and protect the People of Israel!’” At that age, he was already a compass guiding us in the right direction.”
“Duvid?” said another – he was already a legend in his lifetime. When I served with him in Sayeret Matkal, I would begin talking to people and mention that I serve in that elite commando force. Within seconds, someone would say: ‘Do you know David Meir?’”
Yonatan, his IDF commander, said: “Ten years ago, we had to go out on a very complex mission. I tried to think of who I should take with me and David’s name was the first that came to mind. He was able to fulfill every mission, unobtrusively, quietly, but with the perseverance of a herd of elephants – and all that with an ever-present smile. He was the front line of our pushback on October 7.”
The commandos manned their vehicles in record time and rushed to the south, arrived at Kfar Aza and helped people escape, then on to Kibbutz Be’eri where they unhesitatingly managed to save many in horrific battles that are beyond imagination. Until he and his friend were hit. They dragged themselves under a building, waiting 40 minutes for rescue under heavy fire, continued talking to give each other strength. But it was too late for David.
And at the graveside, Yonatan added: “After you took your equipment from the squad car a critically wounded patient took your place and tens of citizens were then saved from the inferno. Your spirit, your soul and your name rests upon them. Your heritage lives, David, your self- sacrifice glows, your smile at every difficulty and dilemma, your wisdom and bravery and selflessness for the Jewish People is impossible to grasp. We are strong, ready for whatever we are called upon to do, David, and your spirit is in our sails.”
“We promise that we will complete your battle however long it takes.”
David and his six siblings grew up in Kochav Hashachar, in a warm home imbued with Yiddishkeit, Zionism, love for Torah, the land and its people. His maternal grandfather was the revered founder of the Bnai Akiva Yeshiva network Rav Moshe Tzvi Neriya zt”l, and his grandmother Rachel Neriya, was known for her volunteer work in education and welfare and for her pioneering dedication to strengthening the Jewish family and the observance of the laws pertaining to it.
His mother Chaya remembers another David, a sensitive boy who cared deeply about others. When he took part in the long bicycle ride from The Cave of the Patriarchs in Hevron to the Kotel in memory of one of the people murdered there,” she recalls, “one of his school friends decided to run the distance instead of riding, but collapsed at some point on the side of the road. When David saw him sitting there spent and forlorn, he stopped and suggested they finish the course together, both alternately running for 30 seconds and then walking for a few minutes for the rest of the distance, with one hand on his bike. Together, the two made it to the Kotel. He didn’t even tell us about it, but the friend did, saying that they weren’t particularly close and not a few bike riders who he knew well passed by him sitting there, but only David stopped.”
Just a year ago, after several years in hi tech, David was appointed head of business development at the highly regarded Barak Realty and Investment Company and quickly made a name for himself. “He was daring and innovative, knew how to plan his moves wisely, welcomed challenges, while at the same time was unassuming and modest. He didn't like it when I mentioned his being in Sayeret Matkal at business meetings. What does that matter,” he would say. “But he would solve things people had been stuck on for years. In Israel, I said to myself, Sayeret Matkal is reserved for the chosen few – it is a badge of honor.”
And then there was yet another David, IDF commando unit officer Major David Meir singing to his infant son, muscled yet gentle, love in every note of Naomi Shemer’s “A father’s song,” a song of pioneering, a song of yearning to build the Holy Temple once again.
“If you quarry stone on the mountain, to build a new home
You haven’t just quarried stones, because those stones will build the Beit Hamikdash.
If you plant a cedar on the mount, cedars in place of thorns
You haven’t just planted trees, because these cedars will rebuild the mount
“Shakedi looks like his father, smiles as much as he did. I am sure that in the short time he spent with David, everything was engraved in his heart. His father’s presence, how crazy he was about him. People were amazed at the pride and joy of this man with his infant son. I am sure that this love, the songs, the hugs, the kisses and the self confidence are deep inside Shaked, and I pray he grows to have his father’s special traits of love for others, courage and the will to do what is necessary, his love for this land, its songs, its people and the very ground we walk on, his values and principles and caring. And so much more.”
How did these so very different facets of Major David Meir’s personality mesh?
Yair, David’s father, who died a short time after burying his son, eulogized his youngest, answering that question: “Our sages said that King David was as soft as a worm when he studied Torah, but was as hard as wood when he went to war. Our David was the same. He took part in IDF secret missions he would and could not tell us about, but on the other hand, was a gentle, sensitive family man, with a face filled with sweetness and light. He would hold his son as if there was no one else in the world. He never stopped telling his wife how lucky he was to have found her. He was our youngest, but we would ask each other for advice, each of us felt we could rely on the other. David was a friend and a son. “
“And David’s place is empty,“ he ended, as it says in the book of Samuel I (20, 25).
****
Wait, look, yearn
Do not lose hope
Raise your voice and pray for my soul as well
Please, do not lose hope
All the closed pathways
Will open before us
The iron curtains covering our hearts will fall
Even this great sea will split if we just believe
(from the song "Mishkan" that David sang to his bride as he came to place the veil over her face before their chuppah)
(The Hebrew words can be read here.)