As Michel Illouz slowly edged his way through the crowds under the cypress trees and palms at the cemetery in Ra’anana, a city 13 miles north of Tel Aviv, he thanked as many of those attending as he could.
He had told the Israeli public they would be welcome to join his family in the mourning of his 26-year-old son, Guy, whose body was returned from Gaza on Monday.
Thousands answered the call. They lined the streets, they followed the hearse carrying his body, and they turned up at the cemetery in such numbers that the plan to hold the ceremony in the hall had to be abandoned.
It was instead staged outside, to the sound of birdsong.
This was the first funeral since the final 20 living hostages were returned from Gaza, along with seven bodies. A further 21 of the dead hostages remain missing, but at least this family now had a place to go to grieve and remember their son, friends said.
Guy Illouz, a musician and sound technician, was shot in the back at the Nova music concert during the Hamas attack on 7 October 2023. Earlier that morning he had called his father from a hiding place to tell him that he loved him; to say goodbye. He was taken hostage, and according to those held with him, he later died from his wounds due to neglect.
A friend of the family, Michelle, 50, said that it had been important to them that people turned up on Wednesday. The Illouzs, including Guy’s younger two sisters and brother, had taken shiva, the week-long period of mourning, after learning of his death in December last year. But now that Guy was finally back with them, they needed “people around them again”.
“It warms my heart that you came,” said Michel. “We don’t take it for granted.”
He turned to his son. “My Guy-shuk,” he said, using a term of endearment, “it’s hard for me to see or imagine the future without you. They snatched you from me – they murdered you – they kidnapped me and stole my identity and murdered my soul and heart.
“I’ve been left hollow since that senseless shooting by those evil terrorists when they caught you and told you to turn around, and then simply fired two unnecessary shots into your back.
“And here I am this morning, driving to Abu Kabir [forensic institute] to identify you and say goodbye. They removed the white sheet, and the first thing I saw was that smile of yours, that optimism, that serenity and nobility that so characterised you.
“I touched you, tried to smell you, caressed every bone in your body. I saw you, I was alone with you, and yes, I felt with absolute certainty that it was you. Yes, I know, Guy-shuk, that you’ve returned to us. You’ve returned to your family’s embrace, to all your friends, and to the millions of citizens whose hearts your story touched.”
Through the early part of the ceremony, Illouz had put all his efforts into consoling his younger children. He stroked the hair of his daughters, held his son, kissed his neck and composed himself for them. But then his voice broke.
“I’ll miss so much travelling with you through this land, feeling you, hearing your music, sitting in the hills and lighting the burner to make coffee the way only you knew how – ‘Dad, do you see the coffee bubbles? You have to boil it gently, let the foam rise, then boil it again. Stir the coffee with circular motions’ – and then your smile while sipping the coffee and your delight in every single drop.
“Before I left Abu Kabir today, I kept my promise. I looked at you, breathed you in one last time, and yes, I kissed you on the forehead. I was able to see your beauty even in the condition in which you returned to us.
“My Guy-shuk, I love you so much, I love you. I will miss you every second and minute of my life. Rest now, my sweet one, rest after a journey of two years through worlds unknown to us. I love you, my Guy-shuk, my beloved firstborn son.”
