A few days ago, I stood with thousands at Har Herzl to pay our last respects to Yona Brief. Yona was a member of the elite commando Duvdevan unit. On October 7th, 2023 while fighting in Kfar Aza, he was shot 13 times and survived his injuries for 417 days in intensive care. 417 days of infections, surgeries, agonizing pain and the incredible will to continue living.

The head of Sheba hospital, where Yona spent the majority of those 417 days, recounted how each person who came to see and cheer Yona up ended up being inspired and cheered up by him. He said that Yona defied medical understanding and medical odds over and over again. The speeches were incredibly moving, desperately sad and a beautiful testament to one hero’s love for Israel, its people and life.

During one of the speeches, I noticed an older couple arriving to the area. They moved past a number of people, pushed aside a barrier and settled in next to a grave. They had a balloon with them and other items, and did not seem to be part of the large crowd there for the funeral. It quickly became apparent they were there to visit their own fallen hero.

How crushing, how utterly strange, it must have been to arrive to sit with your own child in silence; to have a few moments of quiet reflection, only to find yourself in the middle of a massive funeral. I watched them as the funeral continued. How long ago did their grief start, I wondered? And how strange was it for them to hear the piercing cries of the family burying their loved one and to know of the painful, harrowing journey ahead for them? How triggering was it for them, perhaps reliving their own moments at the funeral for their own loved one? What words of advice would they have to offer, seeing the fresh grave and the abject grief a few rows from their own?

After hearing about Yona’s incredible spirit and heroic will to live against all odds, and the steadfast devotion that his family, friends, army unit and hospital staff showed to him, we sang Hatikva and the funeral ended.

I knew that the crowds would probably push past this grieving couple, sitting by their child’s grave. That most people probably didn’t notice them come in and wouldn’t be focused on them now. I decided to go over, even as I knew that it might be incredibly awkward. And I had no idea what I would say to them.

I approached them, and realized that I was standing in front of Tomer Grinberg’s grave. This wasn’t just a couple I’d never met standing in front of their child’s grave; these were Tomer’s parents. Lt Colonel Tomer Grinberg was the commander of the Golani Brigade’s 13th battalion. He was a 35-year-old husband (to a woman who grew up in my neighborhood) and a father. In addition to many other heroic acts (many, many, many) Tomer led the battle against Hamas terrorists in Kibbutz Nir Oz and there is a video of him saving twin 10-month-olds from their safe room that day; twins who survived there on their own for 13 hours after their parents were gunned down in front of them. In a particularly strange twist, Tomer fell in battle two months later, on the twins’ first birthday.

In a similarly bizarre twist, one of Yona’s sisters had recounted that Yona died at 6:29 in the morning, the exact time that the terror onslaught started on October 7th.

Two heroes of our people. Both of whom fought on October 7th. Tomer continued to fight for two straight months after, while Yona was already fighting for his life during that time and would continue to fight from his hospital bed for almost a year to the day after Tomer fell.

Speaking to Tomer’s parents, on the cusp of the one year anniversary of his death, I was struck by the strangeness of the situation and the juxtaposition of these two fighters. They were separated in age a great deal; one was an enlisted soldier and the other was career military. One was a father and husband, well into his adult life; the other was just starting his adult life.

In death, they lie in the same area of our national cemetery for heroes. They will be mourned forever by those who loved them, and by those who didn’t even know them. And they will be remembered as giants of our people, as heroes who selflessly fought to protect all of us and to ensure the safety and survival of our country and our people.

May their heroism bring comfort to their grieving families. And may the number of fallen, the number that seems to tick further higher each day, finally, finally stop so that one year from now when Yona’s parents come to visit his grave on the cusp of the anniversary, there is no funeral taking place, no more graves that have been dug or filled for the sake of our freedom and our future.

This article was first featured on Times of Israel.