When the sirens pierced the quiet of Friday night upon Israel's launching of Operation Rising Lion, Yosef Cohen was instantly transported back to the darkest night of his life. Four years earlier, during Operation Guardian of the Walls, his wife, Ilana, was killed due to a rocket attack. Now, history seemed to knock once more. Though he survived again this time, the damage to his home reopened a wound he had fought hard to close.
“It was a noise like nothing I'd ever heard,” Cohen recalled. “Everything shook, all the walls. Suddenly, the memories of that rocket that took Ilana came rushing back. I thought it was the end of the world.”
Now 80 years old, Cohen emerged physically unscathed from the recent blast, but his apartment bore the scars. “Destruction, dust, nothing left intact,” he said. “It's like I went back to the starting point, only now I'm alone.”
Back in May 2021, during a wide-scale IDF operation in Gaza, a rocket had struck near the Cohens' home in Rishon Lezion. Yosef and Ilana had taken refuge with family members in their safe room. Initially, it seemed they had escaped harm.
“One rocket landed on our street and caused massive destruction and panic,” Cohen said. “We thought it had hit the house directly. There were secondary explosions, screams, sirens—complete chaos.”
Ilana, though shaken, appeared unharmed at first. She even called it a miracle—their daughter, son-in-law, and three young grandchildren had been with them, the youngest just nine months old. The rocket hit mere seconds after they sealed the shelter door.
But then Ilana began to feel unwell. “She started saying something was wrong, that she couldn’t see clearly and couldn’t feel her legs,” Yosef remembered. When asked where it hurt, she pointed to her chest. An ambulance arrived quickly, but she lost consciousness on the way to the hospital and never recovered.
Ilana was 67. A mother of five and grandmother of sixteen, she had been the heart of the Cohen family. “The loss was unbearable,” Yosef said. “Ilana was modest, kind, always helping others quietly. She was the pillar of our family.”
In the weeks after her death, the silence in their home became overwhelming. “I was shattered. I had no reason to go outside. Everything felt meaningless,” he said.
But then came an unexpected lifeline. Nava Formansky, director of the OneFamily organization, appeared at his door. She didn’t bring platitudes or pressure. “I didn’t know her, but it felt like she saw straight through me,” Yosef recalled. “She didn’t force cheer or say everything would be okay. She just stayed.”
Her persistence was unwavering. She called regularly, checked in, never relented even when he pushed back. Eventually, she suggested he visit the OneFamily support center in Ra'anana. Yosef initially refused. “It’s not for me,” he said. But she called again a month later and persuaded him to give it a try.
He wasn’t sure he had the emotional strength to meet strangers or participate in unfamiliar activities. But curiosity and a sense of nothing-to-lose nudged him to walk through the center's doors. What began as a hesitant trial became a steady part of his life. “Since then, I haven’t missed a week,” he said. “I paint, sculpt, talk, stay quiet—whatever I feel. All I need is to know someone sees me and understands.”
At the center, he found not only creative outlets like art and sculpting but also therapy, coaching, Pilates, and a vital sense of community. He explained how staying active helped keep the pain and loneliness at bay. “The club gives me belonging, a group that hugs you in your sorrow. We celebrate birthdays and holidays. It really feels like a second family.”
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Despite everything, he still lives in the apartment he once shared with Ilana. He remains an active grandfather, often helping with babysitting and savoring time with his growing family. Just before his 80th birthday, his first great-grandchild was born. “In moments of joy, Ilana's absence is felt even more,” he said. “She so wanted to see her great-grandchildren.”
But war returned to his doorstep. During the recent conflict with Iran, a blast once again struck near his home. Windows shattered, debris scattered. “The images triggered everything from four years ago. Pain, chaos, memories I had buried,” he said.
He was alone again when it happened. “I didn’t know the damage or what to expect. And then I heard people had died, like Ilana. More families are now grieving.”
His voice is steady but the emotion is there. He described the aftermath as a horrible experience that went way beyond the physical aspect. “The damage to the house might look like property damage, but it’s more than that. It’s a reunion with trauma.”
His children insisted he not sleep alone. Now, he stays with them at night and returns home during the day. And once more, Formansky was among the first to call. “Before I even fully grasped what happened, she had already called. She offered help, a place to sleep, support. She never gives up.”
What sustains him in moments like these is the steady rhythm of daily life and the presence of those he loves. “My family. The OneFamily community. Memories of Ilana—our funny moments, the good times. And mostly, staying active,” he said.
He draws hope from the life unfolding around him: “Family celebrations: weddings, bar and bat mitzvahs, more grandchildren, more great-grandchildren. I try to keep a routine, stay happy, stay busy. I’m grateful for OneFamily. They gave me a sense of home and purpose again. And I discovered talents I never knew I had.”
Among those talents is one that surprised him most. He smiled as he shared, “Before joining the club, I had no idea I was good at sculpting clay.”
Then, gently, he added, “I hope we know quieter, safer days soon. My heart is with every family who has lost someone.”