“On one hand, I’m fulfilling our dream. On the other — they won’t be here to see it.”

Second Lieutenant O. sits down by the sea in Netanya, where the 74th cohort of the Gefen Course is holding its enrichment week just before completing their training. 

On both his arms are inked in different tattoos: on the right, a sun and waves; on the left, a butterfly and a tiger. He explains that these are memorials to friends who are no longer alive, reminders he carries with him every day and will carry forever.

“This one is for Yam,” Second Lieutenant O. says with a smile, explaining the tattoo on his right arm. Staff Sergeant Yam Fried, who had been his partner from day one in the army.  

The two began their journey in November 2023, when they enlisted together in Shayetet 13. Although they were placed in different platoons, they remained close enough for the bond to endure through the intense training. 

“Yam was the kind of friend you might only see once in a while, but you’d still stay deeply connected to,” Second Lieutenant O. recalls. “Very quickly, he became the first person I would go to when I needed to talk, consult, or unload.”

When each of them transferred to a different unit, they faced a similar dilemma, where to continue, and how to stay close despite everything. “Yam was placed in the Golani Reconnaissance, and I decided to follow him. He didn’t believe it would work, and I told him he’d see that it would.” 

And just as he promised, two weeks later, after persistent effort, Second Lieutenant O. reported to the unit. “It was as if my legs carried me straight to him,” he says. “I always knew I wanted to be on the front line—to lead and to change reality. The fact that it was with Yam only confirmed that this was my place.”

Another thing united the two: the desire to shape the next generation of combat soldiers. “We talked constantly about education, meaning, and leadership. Yam was a man of values. He wrote, planned, thought, and felt deeply. I went out to the commanders’ course, and he was supposed to go in the next cycle. Sadly, he never made it there. But I know that if he had become a commander, he would have been the most incredible one in the IDF.”

On May 8, 2025, the day Yam fell in battle in Gaza, Second Lieutenant O.’s world stopped. Yet he gathered himself, determined to remain steady for his soldiers.

“I remember it like it was yesterday,” he says, returning to those painful moments. “I was in the middle of weapons cleaning with the recruits when I suddenly got a call from the team: ‘Yam was seriously wounded in an explosion in Rafah. His condition isn’t clear yet.’”

Three hours later came the second call—the one after which nothing looked the same. 

“I was standing with my soldiers. The guys told me exactly what I had feared: ‘It’s official. He was killed.’ Tears immediately came down. I saw the look in my soldiers’ eyes. They understood, even without me saying anything.”

From that moment on, his approach to command changed. Instead of hiding his pain, he chose to confront it openly with his troops.

“For me, the decision was clear: not to glorify it, not to downplay it. To look my team in the eyes and say, this is the price. This is a painful opportunity to show them what it means to be a fighter in Golani Reconnaissance and what the cost of being on the front line is.”

That same evening, he took the first step in his personal journey of remembrance. “I wrote a eulogy for Yam. I wanted everyone to hear about him, to know who he was and to know the kind of soldiers in whose merit we stand here,” he says simply. And it didn’t end there. “Later, we went on a march, and at the end, I read the eulogy to my soldiers.”

His desire to go to officers’ course, which had already begun to take shape, gained powerful momentum. As the preparation phase for the course arrived, and while Yam’s memory continued to accompany him, another blow struck: the fall of his platoon commander, Captain Reei Biran, in battle in Khan Younis.

“It was July 10, 2025. I was just a few days away from starting the course. And then the news about Reei came,” he says. 

“He had a combination of authenticity, seriousness, determination, and at the same time, deep sensitivity. He wasn’t a commander because of his rank. In my eyes, he was the best platoon commander in the IDF.”

Second Lieutenant O. lifts the sleeve on his left arm, revealing the second tattoo—a butterfly and a tiger, in memory of Reei. “He was exactly that combination. Sharp, aggressive, and strong, yet at the same time sensitive and empathetic.”

In that moment, Second Lieutenant O. returns to a promise he made even before entering Officer Training School, during a meeting with Yam’s family.

“A month before I left for the course, we sat together, and I told them my team would be called ‘Team Yam,’ in his memory.” He pauses. “And then Reei fell, and suddenly there are two people in the equation, and both of them influence the leader I strive to be.”

As he looks ahead to the role waiting just beyond the horizon—platoon commander of recruits—Second Lieutenant O. already knows exactly what he will carry forward from each of them:

“I open a platoon with Yam to my right and Reei to my left. Yam represents friendship, humility, and joy. Reei represents responsibility, sensitivity, and competitiveness. They are the essence of the commander I want to be, and more importantly, the person I choose to be.”

At the graduation ceremony at Officers’ School, he says, the families of Yam and Reei will be there to accompany him. Something in his voice shifts when he mentions it. What should be a joyful, strengthening detail also underscores what is missing.

“On one hand, I’m fulfilling our dream. On the other, they won’t be here to see it. But one thing I know: everything I build from here on, I will build with them, guided by their light and in their merit.”