Yonatan – one day, in bright sunlight, a perfect young owl flew over and perched on our window sill – a sill where no bird ever lands. Susie was visiting, and she said: “It’s Yonatan!” We stared at each other and thought at once of your unit’s well–loved insignia. We seemed to sense your presence – I do. From time to time, or is it just the longing to have you back that plays tricks on me? 

Yonatan, you loved nature, and when I saw this American Indian poem, I thought of you.

Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glint on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you wake in the morning hush
I am the swift, uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circling flight.
I am the soft starlight at night.
Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there – I do not sleep.

Mary Shenker (Yonatan's grandmother)