Our world is smaller and lonelier without Chen
On a bench near the site of the attack, wreaths of flowers were laid along with the following, "From the residents of the neighbourhood in Tel Aviv whose lives were saved because of Chen Amir's heroism."
On Saturday, August 5, my beloved cousin Chen Amir, a member of Tel Aviv’s elite Police unit Sela, called his mum and dad, Shabtai and Malka, out of the blue and said that he wanted to bring his three daughters, Romi (seven-and-a-half), Mika (five) and Emma (32 months) to Kibbutz Reim.
He brought gifts for everyone.
At 3pm, he kissed his parents, sister, niece and nephew goodbye and left.
Four hours later, in the space of 26 seconds, he was murdered by an evil man, Kamel Abu Bak, who shot Chen in the head as the police inspector got off his motorcycle to question him.
We will never know what made Chen notice that ordinary individual who did not look out of place at the corner of Montefiore and Nachalat Binyamin streets in Tel Aviv, an area humming with people walking and sitting at the packed cafes.
What we do know is that if not for Chen’s supernatural alertness and instinct, others would have been slaughtered in cold blood by the Islamic Jihad terrorist who was shot dead by Chen’s partner, Oz.
Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu said that Chen “stopped a greater terrorist attack from taking place with his own body and saved many lives”. His daring actions are now enshrined in the scroll of Israel’s fallen heroes.
Here is how his wife Vered described her last moments with her soulmate as he lay at the Ichilov hospital: “I walked up to Chen, the love of my life, to say goodbye. I lifted the blanket covering him. I caressed his cheek, thanked him for being a perfect husband and father, sought his forgiveness if I had hurt him unintentionally, and promised him that our daughters would be happy. From now on, this is my life’s mission.”
Emma refuses to let go of her father’s watch; Mika keeps saying that she wants Abba; Romi remembers that her dad was the best at plaiting her long hair.
Two days before this catastrophe, Chen insisted on taking Vered to the Festival of Love.
More than 5000 people attended the funeral, and during the shiva, up to 1000 people would visit every day to pay their respects, including government ministers and President Isaac Herzog.
A couple told Chen’s parents that their daughter, with their granddaughter in a pram, was metres away from the killer.
On a bench near the site of the attack, wreaths of flowers were laid along with the following, “From the residents of the neighbourhood in Tel Aviv whose lives were saved because of Chen Amir’s heroism.”
A friend related a story about a fire at an apartment block. When he and Chen could not break through the door, they climbed on top of the roof, tied a rope around Chen’s waist and lowered him to the balcony that was ablaze with flames. Chen stepped in and rescued a woman trapped by the fire enveloping her. He never told his parents about this valiant act.
On another occasion, he grabbed a suicidal woman who jumped in front of a train. Defending others was Chen’s lodestar. His sister Adia Cohen says that you never felt safer when you were with Chen.
42-year-old Chen Amir was born on October 11, 1980, and grew up in Kibbutz Reim. As a child, this quiet, introverted kid loved superheroes. During Purim, he would dress up as Superman, not knowing that he would one day become a national hero, revered for his ideals and convictions.
This noble, graceful, heroic man was a class act from birth to death. Chen was a Zionist and a patriot who epitomised so much that is best in Israel. He touched the lives of countless people and won their admiration because he was blessed with purity and humanity that is as rare as painite.
Over the last few weeks, a whole nation has been grieving when the story of a fearless warrior who walked tall amongst men closed so tragically. And that ending, in which Chen shed his blood to spare others, is worth our tears, our grief, and our shattered hearts.
About monumental people of stature, our sages say, “Their deeds are their memory.”
People speak of virtues like service, mission, sacrifice and valour – for Chen, it was a truth that he had lived and felt in his bones.
The officers who served with him called him “our King”. He made us all better just by being himself – standing up for what he believed in, a lack of self-pity, dogged resilience and concern for others before himself.
He signed a donor card aged 18. Last week his corneas were transplanted into a 75-year-old man and an 81-year-old woman. This final act was the ultimate embodiment of who Chen was.
And though they have now buried his body, they will not bury his spirit, his voice, his message and his decency.
Our world is smaller and lonelier without Chen. And so, let us give everlasting gratitude to this indefatigable fighter for all that he did, and let us pray that we will always be bathed by his unique and glorious light.
Dvir Abramovich is chair of the Anti-Defamation Commission (ADC).
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