We heard from so many of David’s closest friends throughout the shiva. Kids he grew up with in Cleveland and South Bend and Detroit and Pittsburgh. Fellow soul-searchers he learned with in Israel. Soldiers he fought alongside in his Givati unit. Not a single one of them believe that David committed suicide. That is not the David they knew.
Yes, there was a time in his life when it wouldn’t have been so far-fetched. But that time is long past. In recent years, through unflinching self-reflection, the unconditional support of loved ones, and sheer force of will, he succeeded in clawing his way out of the darkest of holes. By his final months, he had achieved a sense of inner peace. And his military service only served to reinforce his hard-fought appreciation for the everyday pleasures of life.
He was happy. You could feel it in his words.
“Unbelievably overwhelmed, not from this mission but from the support and messages of encouragement from family, friends and strangers,” wrote David in his final Facebook post. “I am OK and I’ve never felt more loved. Thank you all!”
Even from the front lines in Gaza, his unbridled hope and love of life shone through. This was not the voice of a man on the brink of giving up. This was the voice of a man who had learned to embrace life with all of its challenges and rewards, from the pangs of silent suffering to simple joys like a crisp green apple and taking off his boots after a long patrol. David had learned to live more fully and more meaningfully than the rest of us.
Yes, he carried much pain. But he also harbored much joy.
He was a survivor in every sense of the word. He clung stubbornly to life when others might have fallen into the abyss. It’s almost impossible to think he would have succumbed now, after all the progress he made. He loved life too much to let go.
And having survived his own perilous journey, he wanted to do everything he could to help other survivors get their lives back. He devoted his own life to the cause. But he never wanted to be a martyr. He wanted to lead by living.
In one of David’s notebooks, we found a bucket list scribbled in his distinctive handwriting. It took up nearly an entire page. He filled it with grand adventures and grander intentions, from skydiving to traveling the world to changing the world. There was so much he wanted to experience and accomplish before he died. But near the bottom of the list, one item in particular caught our eye:
“Say goodbye to EVERYONE.”
Knowing David, he would have wanted a final moment with each and every one of us. One last chance to share a laugh, impart words of encouragement, and strengthen us with a hug before bidding farewell. Being the writer that he was, he surely would have left a note. But none of that happened. None of us got a chance to say goodbye.
I find it hard to believe that was by choice.
I could be wrong. I don’t presume to know what horrors he witnessed in Gaza, and what went through his mind in his final days and hours.
Then again, neither should anyone else.
It could come out tomorrow that David’s death has been confirmed as a suicide. If that’s the case, none of us would run away from it. We would accept it, own it, and grow from it. But until we know for sure, let’s keep the focus on what we do know.