[translated from Hebrew]

Yonatan, apparently this Shabbat too you won't get out on leave. This is my feeling every time I think of something that I would like to talk to you about. I need to remind myself that apparently you won't get out at all. However, much I say it to myself or to others, it doesn't register.

I remember that on the first day I had this instinct that we would surely sit and talk about this in your room. You'd say what you'd say. Even though I'd probably not agree with everything you said, things would look clearer suddenly. You would undoubtedly get upset because I have a thousand comments, additions and questions about every sentence you would say and because I don't let you talk. And we'd feel together, we'd feel brothers. But I'm still waiting for that meeting. For the confident smile with the narrowed eyes, that makes me feel that everything is all right. Meanwhile, everything is not all right, and things are not so clear.

And I don't know whether on the last time we parted you were disappointed in me or angry with me; and what your expectations were of me. And even though I know that no one in the world could live up to your expectations, not even you, I still don't feel good. And I every day... every day think several times what you would do, and what your opinion would be, and whether is would meet your standards and whether you would be proud of me. Maybe tomorrow I will see you walking that walk of yours that I could always identify from three kilometers. You would walk past me, glance at me, perhaps say a word of greeting, as if everything were normal, and I don't know whether to be angry that you left or to be happy that you have returned. But when I see that walk of yours from far away I will know that everything is better. And I'll feel a little proud. "That's my brother." Like I always felt. How many times have I already dreamed that it happens and hoped but I told myself that it won't happen and yet I still hoped. I miss you so much, Yonatan.

Boaz (Yonatan's brother)