Member of Knesset Yoav Kish, Who Lost His Disabled Son: 'He Might Have Cried and I Didn't Hear'

Member of Knesset Yoav Kish speaks for the first time about the greatest tragedy of his life, the one that took his disabled son Matan, on the night he found him lifeless. At that time, Kish was serving as a fighter pilot and, alongside this demanding role, he courageously faced the challenging experience of raising a child who couldn't speak, walk, or eat on his own.

In an interview with 'Yedioth Ahronoth's Shabbat supplement, Kish describes the profound impact this experience had on his life, particularly regarding his attitude towards people with disabilities. 'If I had joined the Knesset before Matan was born, I might have been sympathetic to those with disabilities, but I wouldn't have had the drive to act on their behalf,' he explains. 'Only when it comes to your home does it change you. A disabled child brings perspective and gives life meaning. Matan made me a better person, teaching me to appreciate the smallest mercies and see much beyond the surface.'

'Within the terrible bubble that limited him – he was a happy child. I used to take him to the synagogue on Yom Kippur, fold the wheelchair, carry him up 20 stairs and always said that if there's one righteous person there – it's Matan. Because he didn't sin or harm anyone.'

'At the end of the Ne'ila prayer, when the entire congregation sang 'Avinu Malkeinu' – Matan would burst into laughter. I believe his laughter reached up to the Heavenly throne.'

According to Kish, the greatest enemy of disabled children is the night. In the morning, there's an alert eye and close supervision around them, but at night, when everyone goes to sleep, if something bad happens without anyone noticing – they won't be able to help themselves. 'Matan would wake up several times at night because he couldn't move himself to change position,' Kish recalls. 'He would cry, and I would wake up, come to his bed, and move him. There were years when I didn't sleep a single night without interruptions. I would turn him, fall asleep for two hours, and wake up to turn him again – continuing this until morning.' According to him, when he was a pilot at El Al, he could only sleep normally on his overseas flights.

'He might have cried and I didn't hear. I shouted "Matan, Matan" - and he didn't respond'

Then came that Friday night. Matan's brother, who shared the room with him – was staying at his grandmother's. 'That night I was very tired, and after I put Matan to bed, I went to sleep. In the middle of the night, I heard him crying, I got up to him, turned him, and went back to sleep. The house was quiet. Then I woke up and went to Matan's room.

'He might have cried and I didn't hear it because I saw that he tried to roll over on his own, and fell face-first into the comforter. And because he couldn't move, he suffocated from the blanket. I quickly turned him over and saw that he was very pale. I shouted: "Matan, Matan" – and he didn't respond. I slapped him, but he didn't move or breathe. Then I realized the situation was dire and called an ambulance.'

Meanwhile, Kish began performing resuscitation, and when the paramedics arrived, Matan was ventilated from the moment he entered the ambulance and also at the hospital. 'When they wanted to stop, I didn't agree,' Kish recalls in pain. 'I told them: "Keep going, please".'

And the moment when everything ended – Kish will never forget. 'The next day a police officer arrived. I remember sitting with him and telling him that I blame myself for Matan's death, because I didn't hear him crying. Because I should have gotten up to him, and I didn't. Because if I had gotten up and moved him, he wouldn't have fallen and suffocated from the blanket. Since then, I tell all parents of children with special needs: 'Be wary of the night. Sometimes, the night is a silent killer.'