Today we all arrived here, Sharon, the children and I, in the city of Córdoba, Argentina, as part of Project Oz by the Jewish Agency and Keren Hayesod. We came here because of Roni.
We came here in memory of all the girls who were there on that cursed morning of October 7. The lookouts, the operations room soldiers. Young women who sat in the command room, watched the screens, warned, identified, reported and did the job they were there to do.
Today, here in Córdoba, we are doing something that moves me to the depths of my soul.
Today, a real observation operations room will open here.
Not a monument. Not a plaque. Not a memorial room.
A living, breathing operations room with screens. With people, for people.
Screens. Cameras. Surveillance systems. And lookouts who will sit here, watch those screens, identify incidents and issue warnings in real time, to protect the large and precious Jewish community that lives here.
From today, this operations room will carry the name of our Roni. The Roni Eshel Operations Room, Córdoba, Argentina.
(Photo: Eyal Eshel)
(Photo: Eyal Eshel)
Roni, my eldest daughter. Roni, who never got the chance to come here.
Roni, who was supposed to keep living, traveling, loving, laughing, cooking, listening to Taylor Swift, sitting with her friends, starting a family and raising children.
Roni, who was a gift, a girl of just 19 years and seven months. Roni, who sat in the operations room at Nahal Oz and was one of the “eyes of the country.”
Roni filled me with pride during her life, and she continues to do so today, with that huge smile of hers, even here in Córdoba, Argentina.
Today, in a way that is almost impossible to grasp, her eyes keep watching.
Not from Nahal Oz. From Córdoba, Argentina.
I stand here as Roni’s father, thousands of miles from home, and feel that my heart is making a journey I never asked to take.
I am carrying Roni with me from Israel all the way to Argentina.
Her smile. Her courage. Her story. The sense of responsibility she carried, and that will never allow us to forget.
There is also great symbolism here in the name Diego, a name that today takes on a new meaning for us.
Diego will continue to watch over the Jews of Córdoba here, in a place where we hope the protection will be better, more alert and, above all, will never allow the kind of disaster we know so painfully well to happen again.
Roni is looking down from above with her smile, as if saying: Mom and Dad, even today you are doing something good for other people.
That is the greatest meaning of Project Oz.
To take the pain we left behind in Israel and turn it into action. To take memory and turn it into protection. To take the names of our girls and turn them into a mission. Roni will never again be able to sit in front of those screens. Because of this project by the Jewish Agency and Keren Hayesod, other girls will sit in front of screens. They will watch, identify, warn and do everything they can to protect people.
And here, this is the small measure of repair we can make in a world that changed for us on October 7.
Today, in Córdoba, I am not only a father who has come to a ceremony in memory of his daughter. I am a father who brings Roni with him and asks her, even if only in my heart: My Roni, keep watching.
You may no longer be here in your body, but today, for the first time, your eyes continue to see. Your smile continues to shine through more and more people. “Do everything with a smile,” you used to tell us, “and everything will be easier.”
Today we are here, and we are smiling a little. We are trying, Roni. Because of you. For you. For everyone who needs someone to watch over them.
In your memory, Roni, beloved of our hearts