Ilana Fischer is a cousin of Liat Beinin, who was married to Aviv Atzili. She gave this talk at her New York City congregation, the Jewish Community Project of Tribeca, on Yom Kippur. It has been edited for publication.

There are many stories of Aviv Atzili, and I am going to do my best to tell you two of them.

Here is the first.

Aviv Atzili was born on Kibbutz Nir Oz on June 20, 1974. Along with his two brothers, he grew up on this small kibbutz on the border with Gaza, where they would occasionally go to enjoy the beach. He had an idyllic childhood, playing in the fields and running from house to house in what was a truly magical oasis in the desert.

As a teenager, he met the love of his life, Liat Beinin, in the Zionist youth group Hashomer Hatzair. Their relationship flourished and they quickly became the world’s coolest couple (my early but spot-on opinion) — destined to be together forever.

After high school, Aviv joined an elite unit in the Israeli army, where he made many of his closest friends. He was not spared from fighting during his service and lost a close friend in an attack in Lebanon, coming home directly to Liat that tragic night covered in his friend’s blood. We forget sometimes how close war and everyday life have always been for Israelis.

After they finished their military service, Liat and Aviv traveled the world together, finding great joy and peace in particular in India and Australia, where they spent many months together. They eventually returned to Israel and settled down on Nir Oz, where they had three children: Ofri, Netta and Aya.

Like Aviv, those children were raised in an idyllic setting, albeit occasionally dodging rocket fire from Gaza. To give the children a break from the stresses of life on the border, Liat and Aviv would take long trips with them — to India, Africa, America, Australia — showing them the world while traveling together as a tiny family unit. Aviv loved to bike, ski, hike, scuba dive and farm —he was always active, and instilled this love for adventure in his kids. They spent four weeks on safari in Africa, where instead of hiring locals to drive them around, Aviv rented a jeep and tracked a lion family for days with his own family in the backseat. As I said — they were the world’s coolest couple.

And while they were home in Nir Oz, Liat and Aviv became pillars of the community, where Aviv ran the kibbutz agricultural garage and Liat taught high school. He managed the machinery with care and expertise — he had a way with machines that was almost loving.

Eventually Aviv developed an auto-immune disease that limited his ability to move around as much as he always had. Not letting this stop him, he became a coach and taught disabled kids how to chair ski.

And he turned his attention to what he could make when he was sitting still, developing a surprising and impressive second career as an artist, making paintings on remnants of agricultural equipment and sculptures out of scraps from the garage. In his last year of life, he exhibited his art in a gallery in Tel Aviv after being discovered by the owner, and his works sold out almost instantly. After living so much life, it felt like he was just getting started.

* * *

The second story of Aviv’s life is the one I can share from my personal experiences with him. And I am both so incredibly sad and also so glad — because knowing Aviv was one of the luckiest parts of my life, and today I get to share that with all of you.

I met Aviv when he began to date my beloved older cousin Liat. He was a handsome, sweet and rugged soldier whose gentle nature won over everyone in our family. Which, let me tell you, that is not easy with this particular group of people. While our family would have loud arguments about politics, seeing who could best each other with facts and expertise, Aviv would occasionally weigh in with a comment or two that would silence the crowd, at least temporarily. His quiet wisdom wasn’t so powerful because of what he was saying, but because of his egoless confidence. He was so sure of himself, but yet so far from being conceited.

I spent some quality time with him last summer when he and Liat and their kids came to the U.S. for a cousin’s bat mitzvah. Of course, this was before Oct. 7, and yet I remember being so moved by Aviv in particular during that visit. We spent a lazy afternoon together in my cousin’s backyard and watched her play a softball game. We went to a very loud bat mitzvah party and danced to Taylor Swift songs. And we walked around rose gardens and had long meals together. Throughout it all, Aviv’s unique way with people stood out. His gentleness drew people to him. He had a warm smile and kind eyes, and when you were in a conversation with him, you felt like he was listening only to you. He had life insights that were profound and jokes at the ready. He was calm and also silly. He was a sweet, sweet father to his kids, who were just emerging from childhood, and looked to him for how to be a grown-up. I found myself wanting to say to him so many times that week — you are just such a wonderful person and I am so lucky to know you. I wish so much that I had said it.

His artworks contain the strength and gentleness that we all loved about him. Paintings of animals and flowers on industrial equipment that show the delicate side of life that he savored and the extreme hard work he undertook to cultivate this life — this oasis — in the desert.

And while there are many stories of his life, there is really only one story of his death. And it’s the story of a hero, who, in spite of his limited physical abilities, left his home with a handgun to protect his family and community as part of the small kibbutz guard. The Nir Oz guard unit was made up of a handful of men who were supposed to hold off attackers for 10-15 minutes until the army arrived. With hundreds of Hamas terrorists flooding into Nir Oz on the morning of Oct. 7, Aviv was alive for at least two hours, fighting back and killing many of them. He left a voicemail for Liat and his kids telling them to drink water and stay in their safe rooms, and in the voicemail, he sounds calm and in control. Aviv was killed sometime that day, and his body was taken to Gaza where it remains today. Of the 400 people that lived on Nir Oz, over 100 of them were killed or taken hostage, including my cousin Liat, who was released 54 days later. The army arrived long after the terrorists left — over eight hours after the attack began.

Aviv died after a very full life — Liat says that he was fulfilled by all that he had done and accomplished, and the love and family and community he had enjoyed. But for us it was far, far too soon.

Ilana Fischer grew up in New London.