IDFWO_British

Ramat Hasharon and today has four
grandchildren.
“The grandkids and my own kids are
what give me the strength to go on,” she
said, noting that every Memorial Day the
family comes together and talks of Shlomo’s
heroic work. The grandchildren are
proud of their grandfather.
“It is important they have that memory,”
she said.
Keren participates in IDFWO retreats
and recently enrolled in an English class
through the organisation, which has “really
lifted me up.” She is especially close
with a group of widows whose husbands
were also members of the Air Force.
She said it still hurts every time she talks
about her loss – even this many years later.
“When I think about the fact that there
are more wars and more murders, every
time I hear about another soldier killed,
it all comes back,” Keren said, her voice
cracking with the pain. “The suffering
does not end. It is our daily lives.
“Every fallen soldier is a person. Every
soldier is a whole family, and that family
suffers forever.”
Waiting for his return
Tal Biton, 49, feels much like Dahan.
“We are all affected by this – even to
this day,” said Biton, whose father Sergeant-Major
Yosef Biton fell during the
1973 Yom Kippur War. Yosef Biton’s tank
was hit by a shell during a battle against
the Syrians in the Golan Heights.
Biton’s father was a reservist. Every year,
Yosef Biton would serve in the army for a
few days. During those times, Biton, his
older brother and younger sister would
wait downstairs, on the pathway under
their Haifa apartment, for their father to
return home.
“When we would see him coming up
the path, we would get so happy and run
to him and hug him,” Biton said.
“When I think about
the fact that there are
more wars and more
murders, every time I hear
about another soldier
killed, it all comes back,”
Vida Keren
In 1973, when his father left for the
war, something was different. One day,
the children went downstairs to wait for
their father. They waited and waited… and
waited. Biton said it was hours and most
children would get bored and give up,
but for some reason the siblings didn’t.
They just sat there, on that familiar path,
waiting for their father to return home.
Toward nightfall, they saw a small group
of soldiers pull up. They were sure their
father would be with the group. Instead,
the soldiers passed the children by.
Soon, the children were called upstairs.
Their mother was screaming and shouting.
The next thing Biton remembers is
that the extended family arrived. Finally,
he understood that his father was dead.
When the days of mourning passed,
his mother did her best to hold the family
together. She enrolled Biton in the private
school that she and her late husband
had planned for their son. But Biton only
stayed there one year, as it was too expensive
for his single mother. He became a
latch-key kid, home alone with his siblings
most days, while his mother worked from
7 a.m. until late at night, with only a couple
of hours’ break in the middle.
“I have few memories of my own,” said
Biton. “Most of the memories of my father
come from his army friends who visited
and told us about him.”
Yosef Biton laboured in Haifa Port and
was remembered as a hard worker who
sent part of his salary to his immigrant
parents, yet never complained.
Today, Biton participates in IDFWO annual
retreats and other gatherings, where
he connects with others like himself.
“It is nice to know there is someone
who cares,” he said.
Now a father of three daughters and
living in Kiryat Bialik, he said he is still af-
Tal Biton enjoying the company of his daughters in France
(left) and an image of his late father, Sergeant-Major Yosef Biton (right).
8 IDFWO MARCH 2018