IYSH

JERUSALEM 1983 As the late afternoon sun sank below the parapets of the huge city walls Karen Butlion made her way to the Theodore Hertzyl Military Cemetery located on the outskirts of Jerusalem. The 23 year old was stunningly beautiful with long black hair and was a striking resemblance of her mother, Ivy. Karen walked slowly along the pathway, stopping every now and again to read the names on the gravestones. They proclaimed the heroes who had given their lives over the past twenty years in the defense of Israel’s fledgling democracy. Karen arrived at the graveside of her father, Leo Butlion. She sat down on the edge of the large mausoleum that the family built after the funeral. Leo lost his life tragically in the 1973 Yom Kippur war. On occasions the family returned to Jerusalem from their home in Paris, France, primarily to visit the gravesite. Karen was the most attached to the memory of her father even though she was the youngest of the children. Her fond memories of her father’s loving kindness stayed with her throughout her life. Sitting on the corner of the grave she reached forward to wipe off the dust on her sandal and pulled the soft, light cotton dress to just above her knees. Even though it was October it was still sweltering hot in Jerusalem. She placed four stones on the top of the mausoleum and let her fingers trace across the name LEO BUTLION. She recalled the day when he was buried with full military honors. Even though there was a tinge of sadness in her heart, there was always a great comfort that embraced her soul because of the precious memories of her father she had buried in her heart. She longed for her father but was appeased knowing he had been a courageous soldier in the Yom Kippur war. She was surprised to see how many people meandered through the cemetery that afternoon. She also observed the solemness of the bereaved. The cemetery had grown considerably since her father’s death. The Israelis had planted beautiful cypress trees along the pathways. A number of gardens displayed roses and a few other perennials, making it a pleasant place for mourners to meander. It was also a comforting place and Karen felt somewhat at peace sitting on the edge of her father’s grave. She rested her chin on her hands while her knees made a pedestal for her elbows. She closed her eyes and sat in quiet meditation. She thanked God for her family, especially her mother, Ivy. She lovingly cared for the children and Karen was grateful to God for her brother Abram who was two years her senior and followed in their father’s footsteps. Both graduated from high school in France after which they elected to attend Cambridge University in England. Both children were fluent in German, French and English. They chose England to study further and attended Cambridge where Abram got his doctorate and Karen received her bachelor’s degree in fashion design two years ago. Her mother and Tante Karen were in the fashion design business. Their business was started a few years after World War II and it carried on for over forty years. It had a very good reputation amongst the wealthy patrons in Paris. They expanded their offices substantially, purchased their own building in 1975 and forged good relationships with the fashion markets throughout Europe. The young Karen had always expressed interest in dress design. On a number of occasions she spent her school holidays in the offices where she drew patterns in coloring books and showed her mother her personal designs. She always received encouragement from Ivy to pursue her career. She once told her, “If your heart is in it, my child, it will never be a job you do. You will always look forward to doing it. It will be a pleasure for you every time you pick up a pencil and sketch whatever is on your heart.” Karen remembered these words and throughout her teenage years she relished in drawing and making patterns. She hardly ever felt it a burden hanging over her. Furthermore, her talent was well nourished by her surroundings in the design office. A dove flew across the top of a cypress tree and came to rest on a branch of a tall pine a few yards from her. Karen heard the cooing of the dove and looked up to see where it sat. At that moment she noticed a shadow cross the path and a young well dressed man in a collar and tie, light brown jacket and dark trousers walking towards her. She tried to pay him no interest but he beckoned with his hand as he approached her and greeted her. “Good afternoon Ma’am,” he spoke impeccable English. Karen replied in English, “And to you.” She turned towards him and noticed his dark brown eyes and jet black hair. His olive skin and good looking features attracted her attention somewhat. “I hope I am not imposing but do you mind if I pay my respects at this grave?” He gestured in a friendly manner to the grave where Karen was sitting. “Please go ahead,” replied Karen without hesitation. The young Ari Horwitz reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out two small stones. He put them alongside the four stones Karen placed there a few minutes earlier. She became interested in the young man. Her inquisitiveness prompted her to ask him, “Did you know this man, Leo Butlion?” Ari Horwitz frowned as he replied, “I knew him very briefly. I come here regularly to pay my respects to a great soldier.” “Oh, when did you meet him?” Karen’s inquiring mind got the better of her and she became interested to know more from the young man. She needed to know where and how this young Jew came into contact with her father. “Do you mind if I sit down?” asked Ari. “No, please go ahead, you are welcome.” Karen moved a little away from the corner allowing him to settle next to her. “I was honored to meet Dr. Butlion during the Yom Kippur war.” This statement caught Karen’s attention and she hastily asked, “Where were you when you met him?” “We were in the southern Negev Desert,” as he said the words Ari dropped his gaze and looked reluctantly away from her, as if to say, “Please do not ask me anything else.” Karen never noticed this and she prompted him to continue, “Where were you when you met him?” “Well, Ma’am, it’s a long story. Let me just say we were on the battlefield and I noticed his courage which left a huge impression on me. I don’t talk about it often.” He stopped talking and looked down at the grave and moved his hand across the large granite top. “It is not something I like talking about. War is never a pleasant experience. Things happen which remain in your memory for the rest of your life. It is not a good idea to regurgitate them.” “I understand when you say that. By the way, my name is Karen Butlion and Leo was my father.” The words thundered in his brain as Karen introduced herself. He was not expecting to meet a family member at Leo’s graveside. The unexpected introduction rattled him and he tried to regroup his thoughts. Ari sat upright as he turned to her, “I am pleased to meet you. My name is Ari Ben Horwitz. I am a sabre and come from the kibbutz Yad Vashee from the small town of Megiddo.” “Oh, I know where that is,” said Karen hastily. “We come to Israel periodically. I live in Paris with my mother and my stepfather. My brother is now practicing medicine in Paris. He qualified as a medical doctor specializing in heart diseases and moved from London a year ago. I decided to stay in the family business as a designer with my mother.” “And what is her business?” inquired Ari.