Amit,
A month and a bit have passed without you.
As time goes by, it becomes harder.
Can you call me from where you are?
Is it okay to walk barefoot there?
Did you meet Yaron?
You forgot your pack of coffee and the speaker.
How will you manage?
Maybe you’re meeting the band you used to listen to, and they’re performing live for you.
Frieda is asking where you’ve disappeared to.
When will you come to milk her?
Call me, we’ll talk about your problems,
About political issues, kibbutz decisions you don’t understand,
About life near Gaza.
In the morning, when I get into the car, it asks me why we don’t drive to the borders anymore –
To Tze’elim? Or Dekel? Or Be’eri?
And you, explain to it that the entire council is disbanded.
It’s just a car, what does it understand?
Call me, let’s talk about new songs
From Gimbo Feld and others.
Play me something new, and I’ll introduce you to new and interesting beers.
It’s not fair you didn’t get to enjoy the youth room you waited so long for.
I just finished building the pergola so you could invite all your friends over,
And you didn’t get to that either.
Your smile and your generosity are missed by me, the kibbutz.
Your murder is a huge loss to the world,
And maybe this messed up world isn’t worth you being here for it.
Because the situation is indeed twisted – 20 years of life under sirens and combat rounds,
And we always managed to keep you away from home in those situations.
This time we couldn’t do anything.
I’m trying to call you, but you’re not answering.
I’ll try again tomorrow.