DAVID "DOODY" SILBOWITZ
A number of years ago I was thinking about our friends who had died since matriculation and on a whim decided to "Google" "David Silbowitz". I came across this article. To many old boys the references to Jewish youth organizations may make absolutely no sense, but in the article it describes how he was killed..........
Note that the writer calls him "Dudi". David himself spelled it "Doody". It has not been corrected in the article.
A Memorial to Two Fallen Heroes
I've put together the story of two inspirational members of our movement, a true story of heroes. Notice similarities (and some differences) between them and us today.
Neil Freed was born in Johannesburg on 13 April 1948. His close friend, David 'Dudi' Silbowitz, was born in Cape Town , on 12 December 1949. Interestingly, the two were born on either side of the date of Israel's independence, 14 May 1948. This country would play a pivotal role in both their lives.
Neil finished his schooling in Jo'burg, and was a member (and leader) of Ichud Habonim (the predecessor to Habonim Dror) in South Africa. So influenced by the ideals of the movement, he volunteered on Kibbutz Ma'ayan Baruch during the Six Day War in 1967, while on one of numerous trips he made to Israel while a member of the extremely (significantly more so than today, I believe) Zionist movement.
Dudi attended Ichud Habonim from the age of thirteen, eventually becoming Bakoach of Cape Town. He studied English and History at UCT. In 1967, he amazingly gave up the opportunity of a Rhodes scholarship in order to attend the Machon L'Madrichei (the forerunner to today's Shnat Machon) in Jerusalem. Vowing to return to live in Israel, Dudi fulfilled his dream of making Aliyah with Habonim in mid-1971 (in those days, close on 50 people or more would make Aliyah annually, in garinim, normally choosing to live on kibbutzim). He settled on Kibbutz Yizreel, the kibbutz our Shatties stay on today during their year in Israel.
After studying Psychology and Sociology at university in South Africa, Neil became secretary (and one of the most well known, and best loved leaders) of Ichud Habonim, before making Aliyah in the early 1970s. He too went to live on Kibbutz Yizreel, in the same Habonim garin as Dudi (Garin 'Hod'). Together, the two traveled around Europe in early 1971, strengthening their already strong friendship.
Conscripted into the Israeli Defense Force in July 1971, Neil joined the Nachal unit (traditionally an infantry unit for new immigrants), before being sent to Nachal Golan, a military agricultural settlement. Dudi joined the army at the same time as Neil, also in the Nachal brigade, before specializing in tank operations. Thereafter, he was deployed for active duty in the Negev for four months. Neil also joined the tank corp,and was so efficient that he was made gunner of his tank, before becoming a tank driver.
Both chevre were discharged in July 1973, and placed in the Nachal unit for reserve duty, which all Israeli men have to serve for some time every year (and during emergency situations). Both appreciated that the army was an integral part of the absorption process, and learnt to speak excellent Hebrew. They were renowned to be well-liked, dedicated and talented soldiers.
Dudi excelled at sports, and was a founder of rugby (very popular on Kibbutz Yizreel, even today) and cricket in Israel. He represented Israel in cricket at the Maccabi Games. Nonetheless, his lifelong dream was to work in education on the kibbutz. In the meantime, Neil married a girl named Jenny Kahn, and they lived together on the Kibbutz. For both men, life was what they had always wanted: living in the beautiful Jezreel valley, they could help to build the state of Israel in a socialist framework, where every seed planted benefited not only themselves, but everyone they lived with.
In September 1973, only two months after they left the army, the Yom Kippur War broke out. Recalled to their tank unit, the 'Natke Brigade', Neil drove the machine, while Dudi manned the artillery (Dudi had in fact joined the high profile 'Natke Brigade', not his initial unit, which he 'lost' in the confusion of his call up, while Neil was coincidently transferred to this unit on his excellent performance). During the war, both men fought in the Sinai Peninsula, and eventually crossed the Suez Canal into Egypt.
The two men were deployed to the area of Abu Sultan in Egypt. On the 18 October 1973, they were ambushed by Egyptian forces. The tank that both men were in received a direct hit from the west, but continued to move forward, ablaze. A sitting target, the tank took a second hit, before blowing up. None of the crew survived. Three days before their deaths, Aryeh Gordon, an American born Israeli reservist, met Neil and Dudi, and recalled later what happened: 'I spent half an hour with Dudi and Neil. We had been told that it had been very tough fighting, with heavy losses. I recall the meeting with Dudi's and Neil's tank crew very well and particularly chatting with them. What caught my eye – indeed what caught my ear, to be precise – was the South African accent of their Hebrew. Where were they from? Yizreel. And before that? South Africa; they had come to Yizreel as part of a Habonim garin. Habonim? I had grown up in Habonim in the States, joined a garin and come on Aliyah; that was many years ago. I had taught at the Machon. Had they gone there?
Saturday night following the conclusion of Yom Kippur, I recalled them telling me, the general meeting of the kibbutz was scheduled to vote on their candidacy.
I was old enough to be their father, and they were far away from family. The scene was relaxed. The tanks and men at rest. Their own tank provided shade as we sat and talked. The most important thing I did was distribute postcards and pencils, and I did this early in our meeting. If they would write them then and there, I could mail them out that evening. I recall the silence as they wrote.
Obviously all their thoughts and a whole world of emotions went into the forming of words which are so inadequate at such moments. One of the boys held the pencil for some time before beginning to write. Although I was anxious to move on, I recall keeping back any indication of impatience. At least in writing their postcards they should not be rushed. It was 15 October that they wrote their last words. For the rest of the war and after, I often thought of them and wondered if they had made it through. Months later, while lecturing to soldiers at Tel Chai, a young man came up to me after I had finished. He spoke Hebrew in a South African accent, and he was a tankist. Was he by chance from Yizreel, I asked. Did he perhaps know anything about the two young men? I remember desperately trying to control my voice as I asked – were they all right, had they made it? It was their friend Jules, and it was he who told me that they had not made it.
There are the conventional words of condolence which is all we can say. But to the loved ones of Neil and Dudi, perhaps you will find come small measure of consolation in this, that someone who knew and talked with them once and for a moment, fastened onto that moment, hoped with all his might for their well-being, felt the shock and hurt of the terrible news, and mourns them, mourns them…'
Neil, posthumously awarded the rank of Corporal, and Dudi, were both buried on their beloved Kibbutz Yizreel, where a memorial to them exists today. David was 24, Neil 25. They, just like many of us, were compassionate, loving young chevre, trying to make a small bit of a difference in a world that made any change difficult.
Every year on the anniversary of their death, former members of Habonim from across Israel gather at Kibbutz Yizreel to pay their respects to the departed friends. A friend said after one of these memorials 'This project of remembering Neil and Dudi is not just alive, but it is generated from a common unextinguished flame. Looking back over the years, I can recall times when we could talk with optimism, where brave deeds by great leaders seemingly gave hope for a better future, where it seemed that after centuries of strife, swords could finally be beaten into microchips and that this troubled corner of the world could finally take its peaceful place in the family of nations.'
David 'Dudi' Silbowitz (born JHB 6-12-49) and Neil Freed (born JHB 13-4-48)
Both fell 18-10-73 at Abu Sultan
While serving in Battalion 113 Gaza/Sinai
Written by Daniel Barnett, 29 April 2006.
Note that the writer calls him "Dudi". David himself spelled it "Doody". It has not been corrected in the article.
A Memorial to Two Fallen Heroes
I've put together the story of two inspirational members of our movement, a true story of heroes. Notice similarities (and some differences) between them and us today.
Neil Freed was born in Johannesburg on 13 April 1948. His close friend, David 'Dudi' Silbowitz, was born in Cape Town , on 12 December 1949. Interestingly, the two were born on either side of the date of Israel's independence, 14 May 1948. This country would play a pivotal role in both their lives.
Neil finished his schooling in Jo'burg, and was a member (and leader) of Ichud Habonim (the predecessor to Habonim Dror) in South Africa. So influenced by the ideals of the movement, he volunteered on Kibbutz Ma'ayan Baruch during the Six Day War in 1967, while on one of numerous trips he made to Israel while a member of the extremely (significantly more so than today, I believe) Zionist movement.
Dudi attended Ichud Habonim from the age of thirteen, eventually becoming Bakoach of Cape Town. He studied English and History at UCT. In 1967, he amazingly gave up the opportunity of a Rhodes scholarship in order to attend the Machon L'Madrichei (the forerunner to today's Shnat Machon) in Jerusalem. Vowing to return to live in Israel, Dudi fulfilled his dream of making Aliyah with Habonim in mid-1971 (in those days, close on 50 people or more would make Aliyah annually, in garinim, normally choosing to live on kibbutzim). He settled on Kibbutz Yizreel, the kibbutz our Shatties stay on today during their year in Israel.
After studying Psychology and Sociology at university in South Africa, Neil became secretary (and one of the most well known, and best loved leaders) of Ichud Habonim, before making Aliyah in the early 1970s. He too went to live on Kibbutz Yizreel, in the same Habonim garin as Dudi (Garin 'Hod'). Together, the two traveled around Europe in early 1971, strengthening their already strong friendship.
Conscripted into the Israeli Defense Force in July 1971, Neil joined the Nachal unit (traditionally an infantry unit for new immigrants), before being sent to Nachal Golan, a military agricultural settlement. Dudi joined the army at the same time as Neil, also in the Nachal brigade, before specializing in tank operations. Thereafter, he was deployed for active duty in the Negev for four months. Neil also joined the tank corp,and was so efficient that he was made gunner of his tank, before becoming a tank driver.
Both chevre were discharged in July 1973, and placed in the Nachal unit for reserve duty, which all Israeli men have to serve for some time every year (and during emergency situations). Both appreciated that the army was an integral part of the absorption process, and learnt to speak excellent Hebrew. They were renowned to be well-liked, dedicated and talented soldiers.
Dudi excelled at sports, and was a founder of rugby (very popular on Kibbutz Yizreel, even today) and cricket in Israel. He represented Israel in cricket at the Maccabi Games. Nonetheless, his lifelong dream was to work in education on the kibbutz. In the meantime, Neil married a girl named Jenny Kahn, and they lived together on the Kibbutz. For both men, life was what they had always wanted: living in the beautiful Jezreel valley, they could help to build the state of Israel in a socialist framework, where every seed planted benefited not only themselves, but everyone they lived with.
In September 1973, only two months after they left the army, the Yom Kippur War broke out. Recalled to their tank unit, the 'Natke Brigade', Neil drove the machine, while Dudi manned the artillery (Dudi had in fact joined the high profile 'Natke Brigade', not his initial unit, which he 'lost' in the confusion of his call up, while Neil was coincidently transferred to this unit on his excellent performance). During the war, both men fought in the Sinai Peninsula, and eventually crossed the Suez Canal into Egypt.
The two men were deployed to the area of Abu Sultan in Egypt. On the 18 October 1973, they were ambushed by Egyptian forces. The tank that both men were in received a direct hit from the west, but continued to move forward, ablaze. A sitting target, the tank took a second hit, before blowing up. None of the crew survived. Three days before their deaths, Aryeh Gordon, an American born Israeli reservist, met Neil and Dudi, and recalled later what happened: 'I spent half an hour with Dudi and Neil. We had been told that it had been very tough fighting, with heavy losses. I recall the meeting with Dudi's and Neil's tank crew very well and particularly chatting with them. What caught my eye – indeed what caught my ear, to be precise – was the South African accent of their Hebrew. Where were they from? Yizreel. And before that? South Africa; they had come to Yizreel as part of a Habonim garin. Habonim? I had grown up in Habonim in the States, joined a garin and come on Aliyah; that was many years ago. I had taught at the Machon. Had they gone there?
Saturday night following the conclusion of Yom Kippur, I recalled them telling me, the general meeting of the kibbutz was scheduled to vote on their candidacy.
I was old enough to be their father, and they were far away from family. The scene was relaxed. The tanks and men at rest. Their own tank provided shade as we sat and talked. The most important thing I did was distribute postcards and pencils, and I did this early in our meeting. If they would write them then and there, I could mail them out that evening. I recall the silence as they wrote.
Obviously all their thoughts and a whole world of emotions went into the forming of words which are so inadequate at such moments. One of the boys held the pencil for some time before beginning to write. Although I was anxious to move on, I recall keeping back any indication of impatience. At least in writing their postcards they should not be rushed. It was 15 October that they wrote their last words. For the rest of the war and after, I often thought of them and wondered if they had made it through. Months later, while lecturing to soldiers at Tel Chai, a young man came up to me after I had finished. He spoke Hebrew in a South African accent, and he was a tankist. Was he by chance from Yizreel, I asked. Did he perhaps know anything about the two young men? I remember desperately trying to control my voice as I asked – were they all right, had they made it? It was their friend Jules, and it was he who told me that they had not made it.
There are the conventional words of condolence which is all we can say. But to the loved ones of Neil and Dudi, perhaps you will find come small measure of consolation in this, that someone who knew and talked with them once and for a moment, fastened onto that moment, hoped with all his might for their well-being, felt the shock and hurt of the terrible news, and mourns them, mourns them…'
Neil, posthumously awarded the rank of Corporal, and Dudi, were both buried on their beloved Kibbutz Yizreel, where a memorial to them exists today. David was 24, Neil 25. They, just like many of us, were compassionate, loving young chevre, trying to make a small bit of a difference in a world that made any change difficult.
Every year on the anniversary of their death, former members of Habonim from across Israel gather at Kibbutz Yizreel to pay their respects to the departed friends. A friend said after one of these memorials 'This project of remembering Neil and Dudi is not just alive, but it is generated from a common unextinguished flame. Looking back over the years, I can recall times when we could talk with optimism, where brave deeds by great leaders seemingly gave hope for a better future, where it seemed that after centuries of strife, swords could finally be beaten into microchips and that this troubled corner of the world could finally take its peaceful place in the family of nations.'
David 'Dudi' Silbowitz (born JHB 6-12-49) and Neil Freed (born JHB 13-4-48)
Both fell 18-10-73 at Abu Sultan
While serving in Battalion 113 Gaza/Sinai
Written by Daniel Barnett, 29 April 2006.
The below was written by Solly Kaplinski on October 7, 2021
Dudi and Neil on my mind
At last week’s annual memorial for our dearly beloved friends who fell in the early, chaotic, and traumatic days of the Yom Kippur War 48 years ago, during the very moving presentations, a line was quoted – thanks Jenny Udovich, from My Soul Has a Hat – a poem by Mário de Andrade: ‘’I counted my years and realized that I have less time to live by, than I have lived so far. I feel like a child who won a pack of candies: at first, he ate them with pleasure but when he realized that there was little left, he began to taste them intensely’’
Later in the poem, de Andrade writes, ‘’I'm in a hurry to live with the intensity that only maturity can give. I do not intend to waste any of the remaining desserts. I am sure they will be exquisite, much more than those eaten so far’’. These lines have stayed with me this past week as I thought of Dudi and Neil, whose absence is so sorely felt and yet whose presence looms large - even more today than in years gone by.
It seems to me that with the passage of time and perhaps the ageing process, the trivia of the now become minimized while past memories, emotions and precious, stolen moments are magnified and take on a larger significance so that for Dudi and Neil, those beautiful, so endearing boys - on the brink of great and wonderful things but forever frozen in time, they are not only permanently and achingly lodged in our hearts but also through their unimaginable and unbearably sad and painful sacrifice, perhaps they may have left for us a type of ethical will, a legacy which remind us of what the essentials – the ‘remaining desserts’ are in life: When all is said and done, how we are ultimately judged and remembered is not whether we put our minds in the way of great things, but rather our concern for everydayness - in Heschel's words, "how we managed the commonplace''; not for whether we 'did it' in style or in a blaze of glory, but whether we were unassuming and unheroic. And that in the final analysis, the finished portrait of ourselves should be admired not for its beautifully ornamented and painstakingly crafted frame but for the care, concern and sense of loyalty and fair play we enacted on behalf of others.
Dudi and Neil on my mind
At last week’s annual memorial for our dearly beloved friends who fell in the early, chaotic, and traumatic days of the Yom Kippur War 48 years ago, during the very moving presentations, a line was quoted – thanks Jenny Udovich, from My Soul Has a Hat – a poem by Mário de Andrade: ‘’I counted my years and realized that I have less time to live by, than I have lived so far. I feel like a child who won a pack of candies: at first, he ate them with pleasure but when he realized that there was little left, he began to taste them intensely’’
Later in the poem, de Andrade writes, ‘’I'm in a hurry to live with the intensity that only maturity can give. I do not intend to waste any of the remaining desserts. I am sure they will be exquisite, much more than those eaten so far’’. These lines have stayed with me this past week as I thought of Dudi and Neil, whose absence is so sorely felt and yet whose presence looms large - even more today than in years gone by.
It seems to me that with the passage of time and perhaps the ageing process, the trivia of the now become minimized while past memories, emotions and precious, stolen moments are magnified and take on a larger significance so that for Dudi and Neil, those beautiful, so endearing boys - on the brink of great and wonderful things but forever frozen in time, they are not only permanently and achingly lodged in our hearts but also through their unimaginable and unbearably sad and painful sacrifice, perhaps they may have left for us a type of ethical will, a legacy which remind us of what the essentials – the ‘remaining desserts’ are in life: When all is said and done, how we are ultimately judged and remembered is not whether we put our minds in the way of great things, but rather our concern for everydayness - in Heschel's words, "how we managed the commonplace''; not for whether we 'did it' in style or in a blaze of glory, but whether we were unassuming and unheroic. And that in the final analysis, the finished portrait of ourselves should be admired not for its beautifully ornamented and painstakingly crafted frame but for the care, concern and sense of loyalty and fair play we enacted on behalf of others.
October 13, 2023
Facebook posting by Solly Kaplinski former principal of Herzlia:
1973 all over again
Hold on to our memories – they will hold on to us.
Israel, a country in deep mourning, and remembering our 2 friends Dudi and Neil, who both fell in the 1973 Yom Kippur War 50 years ago – perishing in the same tank at the Suez Canal. The annual memorial, the Azkara, takes place tomorrow.
Even after all these years – and especially today where we are living in Israel’s worst nightmare - a human tragedy of epic proportions, it is still hard for us, their friends, to accept this tragedy. How much more so for family members and those so much closer to them.
Those who we love deeply
and with whom we associate
our youthful and carefree days
and whose traumatic passing
upended and shattered
the innocence of our lives
We will not let them slip away
even as we evolve with our memories
For as long as we speak
about them
and with them
they are with us
They remain in our presence
and in our present
And we are with them
Locked in permanent embrace
Forever entwined
And they, Dudi and Neil,
forever gently beckon
and bring us
friends and family, together
as we collectively share our grief
and take comfort and strength
and succour from one another
Remembering
and holding on to them
and to ourselves,
then,
is also about us and who we are.
“Time breaks down your mind and body.
Don't you let it touch your soul,” Taylor Swift (Timeless)
Facebook posting by Solly Kaplinski former principal of Herzlia:
1973 all over again
Hold on to our memories – they will hold on to us.
Israel, a country in deep mourning, and remembering our 2 friends Dudi and Neil, who both fell in the 1973 Yom Kippur War 50 years ago – perishing in the same tank at the Suez Canal. The annual memorial, the Azkara, takes place tomorrow.
Even after all these years – and especially today where we are living in Israel’s worst nightmare - a human tragedy of epic proportions, it is still hard for us, their friends, to accept this tragedy. How much more so for family members and those so much closer to them.
Those who we love deeply
and with whom we associate
our youthful and carefree days
and whose traumatic passing
upended and shattered
the innocence of our lives
We will not let them slip away
even as we evolve with our memories
For as long as we speak
about them
and with them
they are with us
They remain in our presence
and in our present
And we are with them
Locked in permanent embrace
Forever entwined
And they, Dudi and Neil,
forever gently beckon
and bring us
friends and family, together
as we collectively share our grief
and take comfort and strength
and succour from one another
Remembering
and holding on to them
and to ourselves,
then,
is also about us and who we are.
“Time breaks down your mind and body.
Don't you let it touch your soul,” Taylor Swift (Timeless)