Israeli President Isaac Herzog spoke Sunday at the State Ceremony for the Fallen of the Swords of Iron War.
The following are President Herzog's full remarks:
Distinguished guests, it has been a full year that our lives have been shrouded in unceasing and heavy mourning for our sons and daughters who fell in battle—for the faces, the voices, and the names; for the entire worlds that were destroyed. A year, a whole year—since that accursed day—October 7th—Simchat Torah, when a cruel and murderous enemy rose against us in an attack wholly filled with barbaric crimes against humanity. This battle has claimed and continues to claim hundreds of lives from us, leaving thousands of bereaved families. But each of us, I feel, carries a few deeply unsettling, even crushing moments, etched into our hearts over this past year—moments that will never fade. I, too, have mine.
Around the hospital bed of Captain Roi Nahari—a platoon commander in the 202nd Paratroopers Battalion, a handsome young man, only 23 years old, from Moshav Ora—stood his parents and siblings, surrounding him like a halo. Michal and I arrived at Soroka Hospital that day, only two days after the murderous attack by Hamas had begun. In the shock of the pain, as their heroic and beloved son hovered between life and death, dear Iris and Ronen, Roi's parents, asked us to be with them by his bedside in their most intimate, their most terrible family moment—their moment of parting from their beloved Roi. They told us that when the attack began on October 7th, Roi dashed southward without hesitation, together with his team. They saved many lives in a courageous battle at Kibbutz Kfar Aza, until, sadly, Roi was gravely wounded.
It feels strange to use this word, but in a way, Michal and I were privileged to be there with them, with the Nahari family, at that terrible and sacred moment. We saw parents, in their most agonizing moments, standing heartbroken and upright. We saw Rotem and Omer lifting their eyes to their brother in an impossible mix of sorrow and pride. We saw Bar, Roi's twin brother, his other half, also an officer in the paratroopers, lying on him, holding him, weeping uncontrollably, unwilling to part; and our hearts broke with him. For how can one truly say goodbye? How can you, dear families—how can you say goodbye?
This past year, we have met thousands of bereaved family members, of civilians, of security forces—from the IDF, the police, the Shin Bet, from the various rapid-response teams, and from all branches of our security forces across the country. What I have shared now about Roi and his heroism—we have seen it repeatedly, we have heard it repeatedly, from you—dear families, in every place we have been. Of the heroism and beauty of your loved ones—the most moving faces of the Israeli mosaic, Jews and Druze, Christians and Muslims, from various perspectives and ways of life—who sought to protect the State of Israel and its citizens, with devotion, determination, and a sense of unmatched mission; and who fell while standing guard on that dreadful day and in the war that followed—across the South, the North, Judea and Samaria, and in every part of our homeland.
From my heart, I wish to speak here, in this sacred place, about each and every one of them. But they are painfully many, far too many; and all of them are in my heart. In every moving and painful meeting with you, even in these last few days, I have felt with full force a pride mixed with immense pain: for my brothers, for my sisters, and for this wonderful people—our people.
Three weeks ago, on October 7th, Michal and I set out on a journey through the communities and posts of the western Negev. In the many places where they fought, where they were murdered, where they fell on that dreadful day. In the places they defended and from which they went out to the most challenging battles. It was a journey of unity and mourning. A journey of sorrow and memory. And also—a journey of hope. In every such place: in every place where we lit a candle and united in remembrance of the fallen and murdered; in every place where we heard yet another story of heroism; in every instance when we saw new beginnings rising from the ruins; in every such moment, dear families, I thought of you. I thought of the fact that this is due to your loved ones. Due to the heaviest price you, all of you, have paid.
I stand before you today as the President of the State of Israel, knowing that no words can mend the world that was destroyed; and yet—I look into your sorrowful, pain-filled eyes, and on behalf of an entire people and a whole nation, I bow my head and thank you with awe and respect for your precious sacrifice. I pray that you may yet know healing and comfort, and that moments of joy may still come.
Distinguished guests, we must do everything in our power to be worthy—of the heroism, the sacrifice, and the terrible price; and most importantly: we must return and firmly hold to our values, foremost among them mutual responsibility: “All of Israel are responsible for one another.” We see in this campaign, even in these very days, the overwhelming force of Israeli mutual responsibility in all its strength. We see a remarkable, historical, formative generation, of whom it was said, “The people rise up like a lioness and lift themselves up like a lion”; our finest sons and daughters—in active duty and in reserves—from all branches of our security forces, who fight with bravery and courage—together—in near and distant fronts, achieving tremendous accomplishments. We see people who left everything behind—everything—and went to fight for all of our home. We see families and communities on the home front, standing united and facing enormous challenges; and an unequalled spirit of volunteerism in Israel. This mutual responsibility must stand before our eyes.
The critical, supreme task still lies ahead of us—to urgently bring back the hostages from the hands of the murderers. The elimination of the arch-terrorist Sinwar and other enemies, and the impressive fighting by the IDF and security forces, have created an opportunity that we must not miss. We must act with all our might—with all our might, and in every way—with determination, creativity, and boldness, to secure the return home of the hostages. Many of the fallen saw this as their supreme mission; so many fought, and continue to fight, with the images of the hostages in their vests; so many still do so—at home and on the front lines, on land, in the air, and at sea. The blood of our brothers cries out to us. Their rescue is a supreme and binding duty, without which we cannot be whole as a people and as a state.
My sisters and brothers, even last night, and later today, more heartbreaking, soul-crushing funerals will be held here on this sacred mountain. The recent days have again reminded us of the heavy and painful price of war; so many families have joined the circle of bereavement, stricken with grief and sorrow, and the heart of the entire nation breaks again and again. But even when the campaign is tough and prolonged, one thing is clear: the only way to endure these difficult days is together, with a deep belief in the justness of our path.
This pertains to our commitment to rebuild and restore to their homes—all the displaced families and communities—in peace and security. It pertains to our duty to stand by the physically and emotionally wounded—many of whom were injured in these recent days—and to support them in every way as they confront complex and difficult challenges. It pertains to the necessity of strengthening, backing, and supporting the soldiers of the IDF, the police, the Shin Bet, the Mossad, and all security forces and their commanders—in active duty and reserves; their families; and the members of the emergency and rescue organizations. “May the Lord guard them as they go out and as they return - now and forever.” And it pertains, distinguished guests, to establishing Israeli fraternity and partnership. This is the eternal decree that must stand before our eyes, for the fallen—"who in life and in death were not separated”—and for us. May their memory be blessed and etched upon the heart of the people for generations.