Simcha means "joy"—the last thing one would expect from parents who have tragically lost their son. Yet Amichai and Ravit Ressler consciously chose to embrace their son's joy for life as a legacy and share it with others.
By Anemone Rüger
“Dvir, our eldest, was about to finish his regular military service when October 7th happened,” says Father Amichai. “He was stationed with his unit at a small base near Ein Habsor. We didn’t hear from him for four days. I didn’t eat or drink anything,” Ravit recalls. Only later did Dvir’s parents learn what had happened on that tragic day.
“When the first sirens sounded in the morning, Dvir went from door to door to make sure everyone was in the shelter,” Amichai recounts. “Then he stood in front of the door himself from the inside and held the handle up for an hour to block the door.” The terrorists, who had infiltrated the base from the Gaza Strip, repeatedly tried to get into the shelter. Eventually, they gave up and threw a hand grenade at the door.
“Dvir was killed instantly,” Amichai said. “He was holding his position at the front. He saved his comrade’s life.” He wasn’t even on duty that weekend, when Simchat Torah was celebrated. But when he saw how distraught his Ethiopian comrade was, missing his family, he offered to swap places with him.
“When the news came that our Dvir had been murdered, I didn’t want to live anymore,” says Mother Ravit. “He was our eldest, the oldest of four children. But at some point, Amichai shook me awake: ‘We have to go on living! Dvir gave his life so that others could live. He always made sure that others were well and that they enjoyed life. At our son’s grave, we promised that we would carry on his work: doing good for others. That is his legacy to us.’”
And so, just over a year ago, the "SIMCHA – Extreme Joy" project came about. Together with Alon, a good friend from the restaurant industry (and a fellow CSI alumni), and a dedicated group of friends, Amichai now invites relatives of victims of terrorism or fallen soldiers once a month for a day trip by jeep with professional catering. On a hot November day in Israel, we were lucky enough to join them: this time in the north.
After breakfast outdoors, Amichai distributes the guests among his friends' 15 jeeps. A guide explains the historical significance of the Gilboa Mountains, where Saul and Jonathan fell. I sit in the car with Dan and Sara. Sara wears a headscarf, Dan a kippah. A traditionally religious family, then. Dan is very tense, and I have to concentrate to understand his rapid, clipped sentences. Slowly, we do manage to start a conversation. I cautiously feel my way forward, wondering what questions to ask.
Sara is very approachable and happy that we're here. "We have five children," she tells us. "Matanja, who was killed, was our youngest." "He was incredibly helpful," Dan adds. "He loved being outdoors. He also enjoyed going on trips in the jeep, just like we are today. He taught himself to play guitar and flute and even started carpentry." Matanja was 22 years old when a Hezbollah rocket hit his base. Dan only lets me look at the photo of Matanja; he doesn't want to forward it. "I want him to stay with us."
At my next stop in Givat Yonatan, I meet Lilach. She, too, is wearing a skirt and headscarf. Lilach is there with her son, Aharon. "We're from the north, near Kiryat Shmonah," Aharon explains. "We work in agriculture, growing pecans and olives." "I have eleven children," Lilach tells me. "The fifth one was killed up here in the north when the war with Hezbollah began. He was hit by a hand grenade. His name was Ephraim. He was only 26 years old."
During the excursion, there is a station where everyone divides into groups and is invited to share their grief. The parents recount how they experienced October 7th; how their children were drafted, how they constantly listened to the news; how one day or night the dreaded knocking at the door came; how they were devastated and how they are slowly learning to live again – for the sake of their other children and to carry on the legacy of their fallen sons' joy for life.
A father distributes dates from his garden in a clay bowl he made himself – his way of transforming his grief into something beautiful. Finally, a couple wearing the red staff T-shirts surprisingly speaks up in my group. Only now do we learn that they are the youngest "members" of this community of shared fate. They buried their child just a few months ago and immediately joined Amichai and Ravit in helping others.
Unexpected comfort from Germany
“I say my prayer of thanks every morning,” Amichai concludes. “And to you I want to say: Thank you for helping us get up every morning! When I stood at my son’s grave, I vowed to carry on his joy for life and to help others.”
We, too, have a message to deliver: that many thousands of Christians in Germany stand with Israel. And that we are here to tell them this personally. The relatives are not just moved. They are overwhelmed. One mother hugs me and simply weeps – with gratitude. To know someone is by their side here in this place, perhaps at the lowest point of their lives, is something they hadn't expected.
The Hamas massacre on October 7, 2023, and the subsequent war have inflicted deep wounds that require time, love, and creativity to heal. Many relatives speak about their loss for the first time during an outing with SIMCHA. With your donations and prayers, we can reach and connect with these wounded hearts!
This article first appeared in our newspaper "Israelaktuell," issue 144. You can order the newspaper here . We would also be happy to send you several copies for distribution.
