"What Do I Want? A Synagogue in Memory of My Son": Five Years After the Carmel Disaster

"Since Yaron left me, life is hard. I extend my hand for help to build the synagogue," says Aryeh Barami with a choked voice, marking five years since his son Yaron z"l passed in the Carmel disaster. His intention is to commemorate his beloved son by establishing a synagogue in Be'er Sheva. His voice is halting and interspersed with tears. "I laid the cornerstone at the request of the rabbis. But I want to ask everyone reading these words: contribute another donation for the synagogue. The synagogue isn't for someone else. It's for my son. I want to see the synagogue completed in my lifetime." The synagogue for the elevation of his son's soul seems to be his life's purpose.

Suddenly, his voice rises slightly. He wants to voice a painful outcry. "I approached the government and whoever might listen, regarding this enormously important issue. Since 2010, I've been extending my hand like a beggar. What am I asking the police and prison service for? Just to lend an ear and listen to me. Those who can contribute—may you be blessed. The synagogue in memory of my son Yaron z"l, who perished in the Carmel disaster—will change my life. It's like having my son next to me."

It's hard, terribly hard, for the bereaved father to hold back his emotions. The harsh memories, which already bruise his battered soul, rise and flood him repeatedly, as if for the first time. "Every year, on the first day of Chanukah, we hold a memorial for him on Mount Carmel. You see, I have pictures of my son at home in front of me. It's so hard, but I persevere."

"Listen, what can I tell you? It breaks my heart to hear my three-year-old grandson ask innocently, 'Where's my dad?' while his older sister, six years old, turns to me and says, 'Tell him he doesn't have a dad.' The child holds me tightly and says, 'Grandpa, I love you.' We ask for help from anyone who can contribute anything they can."

"I'm practically bleeding for this synagogue," he adds passionately. "I'm working with difficulty. We're in our fifth year fighting for funding. I hope I'll succeed."

"I'm not a great rabbi," he adds, "but ask anyone, and they'll tell you that the forty-four victims correlate with the forty-four Chanukah candles."

A Country Under Fire

The 25th of Kislev, 5771, the first night of Chanukah, was the most bitter day in the lives of the Barami family from Be'er Sheva—and not only theirs, of course. On the day when the Jewish people sought to light Chanukah candles, Officer Yaron z"l and his colleagues perished in the devastating fire in the Carmel forest.

The story begins at 11:00 AM on Thursday, with an initial report of a fire breaking out in the Carmel forest, as observed by a flight instructor circling above the Carmel ridge.

Throughout that day, strong winds fanned the flames, spreading the fire rapidly to the Nahal HaCarmel area, the Har Alon Nature Reserve, Damon Prison, Har Shokef Nature Reserve, and Kibbutz Beit Oren. It was a massive, uncontrolled fire that sent the entire nation into a severe frenzy. Rescue forces from all over the country were rushed to the Carmel area to assist in containing the fast-moving fire.

Due to a heavy fear for human lives, it was decided to evacuate the inmates of Damon Prison, followed by those in Carmel Prison.

Officers and police joined this national mission, blocking roads, firefighters from the Rescue and Firefighting Service, cadets and instructors from the Prison Service officer's course, Cycle A, who were sent on the mission to evacuate the prisons.

At 3:30 PM that same day, a bus of cadets was traveling between Kadumim Quarries and Beit Oren, followed by police vehicles.

Suddenly, as the bus curved near Kibbutz Beit Oren, the winds changed direction and sent burning flames toward the bus. Giant walls of fire blocked the path, engulfing everything, abruptly ending the lives of good Jews who came to rescue their comrades from the relentless flames.

The fire consumed forest, grove, and residential buildings across a vast area of Carmel Park and the surrounding settlements.

About 17,000 people were evacuated from their homes, close to 25,000 acres of forest went up in flames. Nearly a third of Kibbutz Beit Oren's homes were burned, along with dozens more homes in the artists' village Ein-Hod and the "Yemin Orde" youth village.

In the fire, 44 people perished. 37 of them were Prison Service officer cadets and their course commanders, along with the bus driver, 3 firefighters, and 3 police officers.

On the Prison Service website, the chilling summary reads: "The fire, known as the Carmel Disaster, the largest in the state's history, contains stories of heroism about people who risked their lives in the flames for others. 'And after the earthquake a fire; the Lord was not in the fire: and after the fire a still small voice.' (1 Kings, Chapter 19, Verse 12)".

"My World Collapsed"

In the Barami family's home in Be'er Sheva, Thursday was just an ordinary day. "I heard about the fire that broke out in the Carmel that day but never connected it to my son Yaron z"l," recalls the mother in an interview with "Yom L'Yom". "Fires were always a common occurrence, and they managed, praise Hashem, to gain control over them. Besides, Yaron was at the officer's school in Ramla at the time.

"That week I had a conversation with Yaron z"l. He told me he intended to visit us for the candle lighting on the upcoming Chanukah holiday. We were prepared for it. I bought dreidels and menorahs for the children and prepared the holiday’s oily foods for the guests. On Thursday, he informed my daughter-in-law, may she live, that he was taking a quick trip north to help fight the fire and would return shortly.

"When I heard about the fire on my way home from work, I didn't connect it at all to him. After a short rest, the phone at home rings. It's my daughter-in-law—my son Yaniv's wife, may he live. She had probably already heard about the disaster and wanted to prepare me. 'Did you hear what happened today?' she asked me in shock.

"Minutes pass, and I receive information that a cadet’s bus is on fire on the way to Kibbutz Beit Oren. Meanwhile, the information, like in a family, echoes and spreads rapidly by word of mouth. Gradually, unnoticed, the house begins to fill with people. I don't understand what's happening. 'Leave us your phone number, and we'll get back to you shortly,' the Prison Service people tell me. Thursday's hours passed, but no one had yet returned to us.

"Seeing that information was slow to come, we decided to act. Yaron's father-in-law and my son Yaniv went north together to understand what happened. The horrific scenes their eyes witnessed on the way showed them it was a severe disaster like no other."

At what moment does the reality sink in, and you know what truly occurred?

"We all kept hoping that maybe, somehow, how do they say, maybe they jumped off the bus and escaped the raging fire. We all kept hoping all the time. But the moment the Prison Service officer entered our house with soldiers, I understood the worst had happened. Joining them was also Yaron's teacher at his yeshiva, who knew him personally. It was apparent he was in shock as well. He asked me to show him photos of Yaron to identify him, and the photos confirmed it was indeed Yaron. Incidentally, that officer kept in touch with us during the seven days of mourning, as well as during the memorials held later on."

"My world collapsed. My world collapsed. We didn't know how to process it. It was very hard for us. Everyone in the house screamed, 'It can't be, it can't be.'" She breaks into bitter tears, and it seems as if she is instantly transported back to those horrific and traumatic moments. "It's hard to comprehend something like this. You always want to believe a miracle will happen, even when they tell you. We only buried him on Sunday for technical reasons, and always, during that interim, I hoped and hoped that eventually it wouldn’t come to this..."

Yaron, wearing a kippah, acquired his education in religious institutions. After a brief military service, he wanted to serve in the Prison Service. He joined the officer's school 'Nir' in Ramla. Five years after starting his service, he perished, as mentioned, along with his friends in the Carmel fire. "He had a sense of humor," his mother recalls. "He did not miss prayers and observing the holidays. When his duty fell on holidays, he paid a Druze Prison Service member to replace him."

A Menorah and Newspaper Clippings

Less than a year after the dreadful disaster, Aryeh Barami established a personal memorial corner in his home for his son Yaron z"l, who perished in the disaster. It contains a menorah recalling the timing of the disaster, photos from the disaster, and a picture of the son who perished. "My child was a person with much humor and joy for life. Yaron—true to his name, he brought joy to people who were a bit down and sprinkled them with droplets of joy. Beloved by all who knew him."

For Yaron's parents, establishing the synagogue is a powerful commemoration almost unparalleled. "We wanted to create something significant to show appreciation for our child," they say. "Everyone else brought Torah scrolls to synagogues for the elevation of their dear ones’ souls who perished, but we wanted to do something bigger—beyond the usual and conventional. The synagogue to be built is a place where Torah will be studied all day. This place will be saturated with holiness. It is a tremendous elevation of the soul. We are believers, and we hope to see him in the resurrection."

(Photo: Universal Studio, Be'er Sheva)

This may not be the place, but it is important to touch on this point. At the time, a fierce storm broke out after the Carmel disaster; there were difficult mutual accusations between the relevant parties about who was to blame. Do you have a stance on this contentious issue?

The parents shift direction and respond in unison with fervent words of faith, which seem to revive their spirits: "The disaster happened to shake us all to draw closer to Hashem. We do not believe anyone here is to blame. This is from above. Hashem wants to shake us to bring us all—the entire nation—to repentance. Perhaps there was meant to be something more severe, but by taking these young people—they atoned for the people of Israel. That is what we believe. We do not think that any specific person is at fault. There is divine providence from above that orchestrated everything. Hashem wanted to shake the people of Israel, and we were inside the disaster." Father Barami sobs bitterly and continues: "Our finest sons went in this disaster. Yaron was a child who knew what honoring parents is. He knew what honoring grandparents was. He was the grandchild who did not leave his grandpa when he was widowed. He was constantly at his house to support him. There was a very strong bond between them. He even wanted to name his son Daniel after him. But unfortunately, he did not live to see the child."

A Spiritual Memorial

Rabbi David Gabrieli, Yaron z"l's uncle, serves as the rabbi of the 'Torat Chesed' community and head of a Kollel in Be'er Sheva. He is the family's spiritual leader from time immemorial, all the more so during times of distress and anxiety, and also in these days of intensive engagement in establishing the synagogue in memory of the son who perished.

So where does it all begin? We opened. At what moment does the idea arise to establish a synagogue in memory of Yaron, the nephew?

"In the first year, I opened a home group and delivered a lecture for the prison guards, the victim's friends who were strengthened in Judaism following the disaster."

We're talking about prison guards, I understand, of whom some are secular.

"Not only some of them, all of them."

And they agreed to come to the lecture.

"They agreed, and we gradually brought them closer. Some began putting on tefillin. All this, it should be noted, took place at Yaron’s parents' house."

Behind the scenes, the one pushing and energetically driving this unique lecture held at the mourning family’s house, the Barami family in Be'er Sheva, was Yaron's brother, may he live, Yaniv, who also serves as a Prison Service guard. Frequently, well-known and renowned lecturers arrived to deliver Torah lectures to Prison Service personnel. "From here," Rabbi Gabrieli recounts, "the idea grew and emerged to formalize this lesson and establish a synagogue that would serve as a small sanctuary for Hashem and His Torah. I explained to people that three of the victims were from Be'er Sheva, and just as they erected a monument to the victims, it is appropriate to establish a spiritual monument commemorating their name in the Lord's sanctuary."

In recent years, Rabbi Gabrieli has been running between municipal and government officials to try to practically advance the establishment of the synagogue. He even met more than once with the Mayor of Be'er Sheva, Ruvik Danilovich, to whom he constantly reiterated the essentiality and importance of supporting its establishment. According to him, the mayor promised that once the official request is approved by the Ministry of Religions—which could happen in the coming weeks—he will lend a hand and complete the necessary amount to expedite the process and finish the holy work of establishing the synagogue as soon as possible. The zeal in his voice is unmistakable.

"We lack a significant amount of funds to complete the construction," says Rabbi Gabrieli. "My sister, Yaron z"l's mother, wanted us to already hold the memorial service in the magnificent hall this Chanukah, but we were not privileged. Yaron's brother, Yaniv, also greatly yearns and hopes for this moment. I hope everyone will join hands and act for the sacred and sublime activity."

How do you appeal to people when you seek to enlist them in the sacred endeavor of establishing the synagogue?

"First of all, this is not just another synagogue. It is also a study hall. The synagogue is an additional step in construction. The main purpose of the building, adjacent to the Haredi area, will be Torah study."

And besides, it is also a synagogue that serves as a memorial light for a person who perished in a historical disaster that will be etched in history.

"Indeed. My dream is to hold the dedication of the synagogue, the memorial, during one of the Chanukah holidays—to light the candle above the synagogue along with a memorial candle for the elevation of Yaron z"l's soul."

Email of Avraham Israel Friedman: abyisrael@gmail.com