Lior was born on October 24, 2007, in autumn, just like now. He was supposed to celebrate his sixteenth birthday two weeks ago. He was a kibbutz child, always running barefoot, a beautiful child who drew every gaze as he raced through the kibbutz paths. He was a nature lover with slightly almond-shaped eyes and long hair. They called him Mowgli.

As he grew older, Mowgli became Chumpa, and also Tetro, a name given by his best friend, Alon, who was also tragically killed by terrorists. The girls liked to call him “Liory.” Lior was a magnet for nicknames, a magnet for love.

But above all, he was his parents’ child: Reuma, a movement therapist, and Ilya, who emigrated from Russia and worked as the kibbutz plumber, the beloved older brother to Gali, and a younger brother to Eden. As the first grandchild, he held the special status of a baby everyone wanted to hold, a gentle and soft child who loved to cuddle.

When he was around a year old, his house narrowly missed a direct hit from a Qassam rocket fired at the kibbutz. Lior grew up as a mischievous, artistic child who loved to dance in silly ways and make everyone laugh. He wrestled with Gali in the living room, played Catan on family trips, and always threatened to “beat everyone,” though he almost never did—except once, and he basked in that victory endlessly.

Lior loved many things: Maccabi Haifa, his mother’s famous jachnun (a dish everyone eagerly gathered around to share), and the family gatherings that started when he was just a baby. Every year, his family would rent a cabin for Yom Kippur in different places—a precious time for everyone to connect and share.

This Yom Kippur, they rented a cabin in the Gilboa mountains, and Lior brought along his girlfriend, Omer. Everyone joked about how, when the tradition started, he was just a year old, and that fifteen years was quite a long time.

The kibbutz, where he was born and raised, was part of him, as he was part of it. As he matured, he grew more self-aware, a little less silly, and more connected to the kibbutz way of life.

He was deeply connected to the kibbutz life, to his class, and to Beit Bari, his school. He valued contributing and taking responsibility. In ninth grade, he joined the Bar Mitzvah team, waking up early for two years to organize, carry supplies, and help wherever needed. This year, he was chosen to mentor the Bar Mitzvah program—a respected role. Lior was so proud and excited, with twenty boys and girls to guide.

He had other roles at home, too—like making French fries. Everyone knew that was his job. He also babysat his nieces and nephews, who adored him. He loved children and had a special patience and understanding with them.

Lior studied at Nofei Habsor high school, a sharp mind, though certainly not a “bookworm.” Things came easily to him—or they didn’t. He had his own unique way of achieving what he wanted. If he skipped class, he usually had a good reason: Maccabi Haifa.

Shaked, his teacher from last year, recalls how he always naturally checked in on her, a maturity unusual for his age. He was mature, with a depth and quiet inner peace—a “mensch.” She was happy to see his relationship with Omer develop. “They were both so gentle, elegant, and photogenic together,” she said. Two big hearts, considerate and humble.

Though quiet, he was charming, witty, and funny. His friends say he was so calm, they made a game out of trying to provoke him—though no one ever succeeded. On one trip, they teased him, saying, “Lior, we want to hear you scream!” It became the joke of the week, with everyone egging him on: “Lior, scream!” But he never did.

Yam, his friend, remembers how Lior was his confidant, the one he told things he shared with no one else. Once, they spent the night driving around the kibbutz in a golf cart, talking until they realized it was 5:30 in the morning—they’d been talking for six hours straight.

Lior loved to dive, not only into deep conversations. He earned his second diving certification and planned to go on a diving safari. He loved sports—ping-pong, basketball, and especially soccer. Last year, he traveled to Paris with his uncle Tal and Yam to watch a Maccabi Haifa game, wide-eyed and completely enchanted by everything.

Two weeks ago, Maccabi Haifa posted a tribute in his memory. Today, he should have been celebrating his sixteenth birthday, sitting in that seat at the game against Hapoel Be’er Sheva.

On his birthday, his friends asked each other, “What if we went to the Dead Sea now and just screamed?” In the end, they didn’t make it there, but they knew that if Lior had seen them standing and screaming, he would have burst out laughing.

May his memory be a blessing.