Amiram Cooper z"l was laid to rest today at Kibbutz Nir Oz, where masses gathered to accompany him on his final journey.
Nurit Cooper, Amiram's wife and captivity survivor: “"Writing about Cooper in the past tense feels incredibly strange to me. I arrived at Nir Oz at age 18 as a member of the Tzabar core group. Even before I met Cooper, I had heard about a young man in the Nir Oz group who wrote poetry and whistled melodies. I loved his poems. Later we met, fell in love, and built a family together. Cooper was an exemplary husband and a warm, loving father to his children and grandchildren. We lived a full and good life in Nir Oz, always together, inseparable. Even in the tunnels, we were together. We shared the same mattress and the meager food we received, hoping to return home alive. This is a tremendous loss for all of us. Life without him is lonely. I miss you so much and I long for you."
Rotem Cooper, Amiram's son: “You and Mom remained devoted to Nir Oz and never left your home, even during difficult days under rocket attacks. And so it was on that Black Saturday when you and Mom were kidnapped by despicable murderers. By a miracle, Mom was released and returned to our family after 17 days in Hamas tunnels. We find small comfort in knowing that you knew this had happened. The days, weeks, and months that passed since your wife's release were undoubtedly unbearable, as your soul wavered between hope and despair, and your body struggled to function under the degrading conditions in which you were held. Yet with tremendous inner strength, you survived for many long months.
Today we are laying you to rest alongside your comrades in mission and path. The last grave in an all-too-long row of graves dug since that Black Saturday. A grave that also symbolizes the closing of a chapter for our family and for our beloved Nir Oz community, a community that can now look toward rehabilitation and rebuilding.
In the same breath, we pledge not to forget, even for a moment, that there are still hostages in Gaza who must return to their homes. To their families. To their heritage. We will not settle for slogans and will continue fighting for their return, until the very last one."
Ravit Notcovitch, Amiram's daughter: "Dad, the past few weeks have been unbearable. As if we hadn't already endured enough torment from the uncertainty, Hamas continued to toy with us again and again. The possibility that you would finally return to us after two years, so you could at last rest in the soil of Nir Oz, seemed at times so real it caused physical pain and racing heartbeats, and at other times receded into gnawing, tormenting despair. The thought that you might remain there forever was unbearable for me. For a long period, we lived in uncertainty about your fate, about the terrible circumstances in which you met your death in captivity.
Dad, I am so sorry it took so long. I'm sorry we couldn't bring you back alive. I'm sorry you had to lie there for such a long time. There is something relieving about certainty, something that allows the heart to find peace. May certainty come to all the families, and may no family be left alone in the struggle to bring our loved ones home. 'Until the last hostage'-this is not a slogan, it's a value. It's action, it's a cry that must resonate constantly, and each of us must ask ourselves: where were we and what do we choose to do at this time?"