Cherishing Every Moment.
June 6, 2005 marked a devastating turning point in my life.
My heart was torn apart when my beloved brother, Omer, was senselessly killed in a car accident before he could even celebrate his 40th birthday.
Back in November 2004 we marked a milestone in our family—a celebration of my dad’s 70th birthday.
My mum, in her usual spirited fashion, turned it into a grand, full-scale weekend event.
There were family members from near and far, heartfelt speeches, nostalgic songs, and memory albums—the whole nine yards. My father, ever patient, didn’t put up a fight.
After 45 years of marriage, he knew that when my mum had her heart set on something, there was no stopping her.
Thom and I flew in for the festivities, and I did my best to help, mostly by following Mum’s meticulous instructions.
But I have to admit, it was wonderful to be surrounded by family again, especially seeing Thom bond with her nieces, my brother’s daughters.
During the celebration, a professional photographer captured moments that now feel frozen in time.
One photo in particular stands out—my brother and I, reconnecting over dinner, our smiles brimming with the joy of the moment. We had no idea it would be the last time I’d see his face.
The next day, I returned to Amsterdam, and five months later, my world was shattered.
I’ll never forget the day I got the news.
I was on a train, returning from a weekend seminar in London, when my sister Yael called.
I couldn’t speak much, as I was just getting off the train to catch the Metro home, so I promised to call her back.
As I walked through the door, my other sister, Keren, called.
I remember thinking, “Wow, both my sisters called me on the same day—this must be a special day.”
But then I heard Keren’s voice, urging me to sit down.
“Omer, our brother, was in a car accident…” I immediately asked, “Where is he? Which hospital?”
But Keren’s reply was devastatingly simple, “It’s worse… he’s gone.”
I couldn’t process it at first, but my body knew the truth.
Tears poured out of me uncontrollably. The details of his final day are still a blur, but I know this much:
Omer had just returned from a dream vacation in Italy, celebrating his wife’s 40th birthday.
The morning after they got back, he decided to squeeze in a few rounds of golf before work—a new passion of his.
But he never made it to the course. He left behind a wife and two young daughters, just 8 and 4 years old.
That was nearly 20 years ago.
For years afterward, I would lie in bed at night, silently sharing my day with him, always ending with, “I wish you were here with me.”
This tragedy taught me a lesson I carry with me every day: you never know when you might see your loved ones for the last time.
Now, every night before I fall asleep, I make sure to tell Yoni that I love him—just in case I don’t wake up the next morning.
In a way, this heartbreaking loss has given me a gift—the awareness to cherish every single day I’m alive, and to appreciate the people I love, while I still can.
