"Women Ask: 'How Can You Encourage Others When You Yourself Have Lost a Son in the War?'"

"When I recall the last Shabbat we spent with Matan, I feel as if from above, it was ensured to be a very special Shabbat, so that we would have only good memories from it," says Livot Malka, mother of Matan Malka z"l who lost his life in battle at Kibbutz Kisufim, on Simchat Torah.

"Matan was only 19," adds Livot, "He was an outstanding athlete and competed in international tennis tournaments, but when it came time to enlist, he informed his coach he was leaving everything to join the paratroopers. He set it as his target, advanced quickly, finished his beret march, and continued to a sergeant course, on his way to officer training."

The last Shabbat Matan spent with his family was the Shabbat of the holiday of Sukkot, filled with experiences. "I have four sons, and we were all happy to sit with Matan around the table after a long time he was away," shares Livot. "He also visited his grandfather, who was very interested in his well-being and what was happening in the army, and he also met up with friends, as if he knew there would be no more opportunities."

(Photo: shutterstock)

Inside a Nightmare

Livot clearly remembers the morning of Simchat Torah. "I woke up early," she says, "and suddenly found many messages from friends in the south reporting burning homes and vehicles on fire. That's how I first became aware of the terrible calamity, but at that hour I was still observing it from afar. I live in Kibbutz 'Gesher HaZiv' in the Galilee, far from the southern conflict. Only a few hours later began the reports from residents complaining that IDF forces were not arriving, and then I remembered Matan. I sent him a message: 'How are you? Call me.' He contacted me and updated that they might be dispatched to a settlement to evacuate residents. I asked him to take care of himself, and there wasn't much more I could do.

"From that moment, Matan did not answer my calls. At first, I wasn't worried because I understood they were busy and fighting, but as time passed and I heard from other mothers who were contacted, I began to panic and asked them all to ask their sons if they saw Matan. I managed to hold myself together until Monday, but in the afternoon, when Matan still hadn't made contact, I decided I would do everything to find out about him. I tried to contact the commander, only to learn he was injured in the hospital, and reached out to other senior figures. Then I discovered that, like me, there were two other mothers who also couldn't find their sons. I decided to make every effort to learn their fate, continuing my calls into the night.

"In the morning, I updated the mothers that I was waiting for responses from several military contacts. Then, one of them, the mother of Lavi Buchnik, called me crying and said: 'Livot, stop searching for my son, we've been informed he died.' At that moment, I began to cry with her, and just then, there was a knock on our door. I told my husband: 'Open it, it's our turn,' and the delegation that no one wishes to meet stood there. They didn't need to say a word. Their downcast looks told everything. It turned out our Matan was part of the first force to reach Kisufim. He fought bravely, but during one encounter, they were met with heavy gunfire. It was a matter of 'where you got shot.' Many of his friends were injured, but Matan and four other soldiers were hit in places that left no chance of survival, and he was identified on the spot as a casualty."

And what were you thinking when you realized this?

"I felt like our world shattered, in every sense. It was a complete shock. We endured two more difficult days until the death was confirmed, allowing us to hold the funeral. We spent the shiva at my brother's house in Akko, as we had evacuated our kibbutz home earlier, feeling as though trapped in an unending nightmare, a dark dream we couldn't imagine coming true.

"Throughout the shiva, I was devastated, utterly broken," she adds, "and it affected my entire family, as I felt like our whole home was collapsing with me. But then, after the shiva, I felt I had to pull myself together, and I commanded myself: 'Get dressed, take a shower, and channel all the sadness and mourning into action.'"

That day, Livot applied to relocate with her family to a hotel, and they moved to the 'Eden Inn' in Zichron Yaakov, where they remain. "When I arrived at the hotel, I saw groups of families who had been there for weeks. Some people looked very depressed; it was clear that the stay was very difficult for them."

Livot pauses for a moment and notes: "Professionally, I guide women in business start-ups and am an NLP master, heavily involved in spirit and soul. I've also written songs and empowering statements for years, and even published a book of poetry. Seeing how people were coping at the hotel, the thought occurred to me: 'Why did you come here, if not to encourage others? The thing you do best is accompany and write, so why not host a writing workshop?' That same day, I managed to organize an event in one of the hotel halls in front of a large group of women. I held a wonderful and uplifting evening, incorporating motivational cards, songs from my book, and many stories. The lecture wasn't about Matan, but I mentioned him, and I felt that just talking about him and the fact that the women saw in front of them a bereaved mother standing strong and even empowering others – gave them strength. At the end of the evening, they all left rejuvenated, and the word about this lecture spread quickly. Since then, I've been constantly receiving invitations to hotels and evacuation sites to speak and share tips from my experience. Each time after a lecture, when women approach and tell me they received tips for coping and strength, I feel my spirit rising."

Seeing the Good

So far, Livot has visited hotels throughout the country, trying to attend every invitation. "When I'm invited, I often don't know the audience waiting for me," she notes, "but many times when I arrive, I find friends from our region from the western Galilee to Metula and Rosh Hanikra. Often, women and friends tell me they were hesitant to attend initially because they didn't know what to say to a bereaved mother. This is an opportunity to bring up the subject, to speak a bit about how society should regard bereaved families, as we must not burden them further after such a huge upheaval. We need to be sensitive and aware."

Do you feel that, in the end, this activity benefits you as well?

"Of course it benefits me; it’s clear to me that this is one of the greatest gifts I can give myself in such times. I constantly remind myself that Matan knew a mother who ran marathons, moved mountains, and was full of strength. He certainly wouldn’t want to see me sinking into depression. This understanding gives me the strength to continue and heal. It’s not that everything has become rosy; I clearly have very tough days, but during such times, I try to write poems and insights for myself and also revisit poems I've written in the past. Sometimes women say to me, 'I have no words,' then I show them poems I wrote, and it helps us start conversations and discussions, with the main goal of learning to appreciate what we have and not focus on what’s lacking. Incidentally, this is also the message Matan left, as he always remembered to be thankful for everything and rejoice in it. May I become even a bit like him."