It happened yesterday between 10:30 and 11:30 in the morning. He was helping to set up electricity for some of the houses and so strapped himself to a pole in the fashion that such work is done. While he was working, a trigger happy Arab from Salchia shot him in the back.
The entire kibbutz was shocked and stricken by his death. People gathered and stood together in small groups for comfort. No one said anything. The quietness and still ness were uncanny. And all the time, various pictures of Ari flashed through my mind, but the one that was the clearest -was that of Ari standing on a flat stone near the stage of the amphitheater in Killingworth lecturing at the seminar . . . That picture of Ari, young and vital, will always remain with me.
I cannot really describe the great feeling of despair that took hold of us at his going and the manner of his going. It is still incredible. His body was taken to the Mazkirut building, and from there, carried and driven to the little cemetery near the garden. The people followed near and behind the coffin. There was an escort of men with guns to protect us. Only the clump-clump of hundreds of boots walk ing through the mud could be heard. Kieve said a few words before the coffin was lowered into the ground. He spoke about the conflict in Ari's nature: How he loved beautiful things a good book, music, art, a glass of wine-and how he had, on the other hand, the desire to come to Eretz Yisrael and take part in its upbuilding. Kieve spoke about his years in the movement, his years at sea, and his work with the ships He spoke simply and beautifully.
Rose Breslau
Furrows, April, 1948