Benji. It's already been more than 50 days but my heart and my head refuse to digest, refuse to absorb and understand. Until now, I felt that I could not pen a memorial; I carried the infantile belief that if I didn't write then it wouldn't be final, it wouldn't be over. Now I understand. I've internalized that you are gone.

Benji, you were a combination of so many things: a fighter, a commander, a friend… but above all, you were a "mentsch." A man who possessed the highest social and human ethical code I've ever encountered. You were noble, humble, a type that – to my personal chagrin – hardly exists anymore, not in the army and certainly not in Israeli society. 

It's a bit odd to say this, but I never once worried about you when you were in the army. You were like a solid pillar of fortified cement, something that nobody could hurt. I had faith in your absolute professionalism and your ability to make decisions under fire. I always had it in my head that about Benji, I didn't have to worry. And even when I heard about the incident at Morag with Pinky, it only reinforced those feelings I had, that you were invincible. You were always number one in the team, not in any one specific thing, but in every thing. With your unstinting taking of initiative, your ability to think ahead, your desire to aid and assist all others when all everyone else was thinking about was how to grab another precious few minutes of sleep. Benji, it's not a coincidence that from our entire team, it was you who went to officers training; personally, whenever I thought about officers, I looked at you and thought that's how officers should be, and I'll never be like you so I'd best just forget about it.

Benji, I had the privilege of knowing you and being your friend even before our army service, of knowing you in civilian life and witnessing your transformation into soldier, warrior, officer. To watch you and try to learn from you how to make those changes. To benefit from your life philosophy and to discover each time new things about someone whom I thought I knew so well. I so much loved your sense of belonging to our team even after you became an officer, of your participation in every team get-together, wedding or brit.

Benji. I will always remember you and love you like a brother and a friend, with the perpetual smile you wore no matter when or why, with your half-catlike, half- cumbersome body language. I will remember you as a precious person, as a beacon whose light shone brilliantly and from whose radiance I had the opportunity of benefiting.

On the day you fell, I had been trying to call you to tell you some small anecdote; the day after your wedding I had a big exam and before I left your wedding I asked you to wish me luck and you wished me success with great sincerity... On the day you fell I called you, to tell you your blessings had helped and that I had indeed passed, but I couldn't reach you and it became clear that you were no longer alive.

To our precious and beloved Ayala: I have already stopped counting the number of times that I have started to call you, but the sad truth is that I am afraid… afraid because I know that I have no words of solace for such a large loss such as you are experiencing. Afraid, because I have nothing to offer you other than banalities such as 'it will be okay,' or 'be strong.' You know how much I loved Benji and how important he was to me. I hope that you understand and are not angry that I am not phoning you, I'm waiting for the day I have the courage to speak with you.

With love and longing,

Grossman