Eitan, we are praying for you.
His father had come to Italy from Israel to continue his medical studies at Pavia University. There are many Israelis who study there. They all feel very close to each other and part of one big family.
Amit, Eitan’s father, also had a part-time job as a security guard at the Jewish school in Milan. Israelis who come to study in Italy – if they are young, healthy and strong – usually become security guards for the Jewish community. It helps pay the bills.
Everyone liked Amit, my nephew Alex confirmed to me with a lump in his throat when I spoke to him the day before. “He was nice, so real, always trying to help...” – and now he is gone, leaving the whole Italian community and the world in tears.
On Sunday, the Biran family had planned a nice fun day by the Lake Maggiore, then they were going to take the kids on the cable car that goes up 1,500 meters (4,920 feet) to Mount Mottarone, a 20-minute ride with a stunning view of the mountains. Eitan’s great-grandparents had come from Israel to escape from the tension of the war there and were overjoyed to be with them and spend some quality time all together.
“At least we are away from the missiles,” they had said to themselves. “What can happen in Italy?”
Only two bodies were evacuated by helicopter and taken to the nearest hospital. One, Eitan, was Israeli and the other boy, nine-year-old Mattia, was Italian. As the news made headlines, Italy stopped and prayed for these two survivors to make it through.
Mattia didn’t make it.
Eitan will wake up in a few hours, after 48 hours of an induced coma.
THE DOCTORS said he should be OK. He is a strong child and was probably saved by the strong arms of his father who encircled his body in one last desperate hug as the gondola plunged to the ground.
Eitan will open his eyes and ask for Imma and Abba, for Savta and Saba. He will want to see Tom, his younger brother.
No one will be there.
He will be surrounded by a crew of doctors, psychologists, nurses, social workers and then aunts, uncles, friends, teachers. But Imma and Abba will never come back.
He will cry and dream of them at night.
We are all with you, Eitan. Please make it through. Be strong. You are the only survivor. There must be a Divine reason you were kept alive. You must live in the name of your parents who were so special and loved you so much. Your dad so desperately wanted you to live, at least you, that he hugged you tight and protected your body from the crash.
You have a mission, Eitan. You have no choice, even if it will be sometimes so difficult to survive without them and all those memories. You are still young. You will be surrounded by so much love.
You can make it through, little Eitan. Italy loves you and Israel is waiting for you.
A few months before this tragedy, Eitan’s father was approached by a Chabad student who asked him if he wanted to take upon himself a mitzvah in the name of a great rabbi and teacher who lived in Italy and had passed away a few months earlier.
Amit promised to dedicate more time to his family and to put on tefillin every day.
With his promise to the young student, Amit unknowingly left a message to all of us.
Cherish the time you have with your family, invest in them, laugh with them, even if the house is not spotless and the kids make noise and fight.
Take a step back and enjoy the moment, live it all the way, hug them, kiss them.
We will never know how long we have on this Earth, no matter how rich or powerful we may be, and we will never understand God’s ways and decisions.
There is a master plan and we must have faith in Hashem.
Amit’s arms on which he started wrapping tefillin every single day protected Eitan and kept him alive.
Amit and Tal, your son is in “our” hands now. “Forza,” Eitan, as Italians say. Take courage in facing the difficulties of life.
Let’s keep their message alive and cherish what we have every single day, as if every single day is our last day on this Earth.