No one feels comfortable attending a funeral of someone they don't know. The sad reality is that for a journalist covering the Middle East conflict, this happens almost every day.
As a reporter, the moment you arrive, the family wants to tell you the story of their loved one. They show you photos. They want to make sure he or she is not forgotten. They want to know their loved one didn't die in vain.
The shiva for Shlomi Buchris was no different. His friends tell me he was funny, had an infectious laugh and could light up a room.
But Shlomi was a reserve member of the Israeli military. He wanted to fight. He had a day job working on the family farm and learning to breed exotic fish. But he also wanted to protect his country.
At the age of 36, he guessed this would be his last chance.
Shlomi's father struggles to tell us of the moment he knew his son was dead. He was watching the news and heard that 12 reservists had been killed by a Hezbollah rocket on the border. He saw one body with the shoes of his son's parachute unit. He tried calling Shlomi. And when his son didn't answer, he waited for the call every parent dreads.
Shlomi's mother still hasn't left the house.
The number of casualties in this war has risen well past the point of being able to tell each story of loss. But seeing how one death devastates a family, friends, and in this case, a small community, puts a human face on the wider conflict, however briefly.
