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On Oct. 6, I was a Paralympic athlete with a master’s degree, devoting the entire year to one goal—pursuing my dream of competing in the Paris 2024 Paralympic Games. When the war broke out the next day, everything changed. For five months, I couldn’t travel to compete. Friends of mine were killed. My cousin was killed. My perspective on life shifted completely. I was no longer the same Ilay.
Yuval Yoffe, my cousin, was like a younger brother to me. I attended the Tavor pre-military academy, and four years later, Yuval followed. He stayed on as a counselor, then enlisted in a combat unit. At 17, he tore his ACL, which lowered his medical profile, but Yuval refused to give up. He insisted on serving as a fighter and joined the 7th Armored Brigade. He quickly advanced to officer training, graduated with honors, and became a platoon commander in the tank commanders’ course. On the fourth day of the war, Yuval was killed in Kisufim.
Even now, I carry Yuval with me wherever I go. In our grief, my family chooses life every day. After his death, we founded a nonprofit in his memory—Remembering Yuval Yoffe. We’ve launched initiatives in his academy, in the armored corps, and in our community. We are continuing the good he did and the path he began. Where his life ended, we keep going.
Yuval used to say, “If you can do something—you must.” That’s how he chose to be a fighter, an officer, someone who always stepped up when needed. He did everything with a smile. Even when it came to the tasks no one wanted, Yuval would say, “Say yes, volunteer.” He always saw the people behind the mission. Every day, I try to be a little more like him. He left behind so many values. Sometimes, I still can’t believe he’s not here.
Yuval was also a gifted athlete—a soccer player. The game was a huge part of his life until his injury ended it. Alongside the Hapoel Kfar Saba supporters group, we honored him. Just this past Sunday, when the team was promoted from Liga Bet to Liga Alef, we felt his presence. His values are rooted deeply in the team. Even in that win, Yuval was with us.
On Oct. 7, I also lost Yiftah Yavetz, operations officer in the Maglan unit. Our relationship was special. It started with his father, Gilad, chairman of the Maglan veterans’ association, and grew into a close bond with the entire Yavetz family—especially with Yiftah.
I saw him three days before he was killed. I was giving a talk to Maglan commanders, and Yiftah walked me to my car. When we got there, he invited me to stay for coffee. That became a 50-minute conversation I’ll never forget.
Yiftah was one of the first to respond to the attack on Nahal Oz. He reached one of the most dangerous and complex areas, just two months before his scheduled discharge. He had plans. He had dreams. He had a life ahead.
He was also a talented tennis player. He could have pursued a career as an elite athlete but gave it up to join Maglan and lead. He closely followed my journey in Paralympic tennis. I turned to him often—for advice on sport, life, direction. Israel was set to host a major tournament in October 2023, just days after that Black Saturday. Yiftah had already planned to take time off and be there for me. He was a man of depth—one hand on a book, the other on a rifle. He left behind light and clarity on how to continue his path.
When I returned to competition, I chose to honor both Yuval and Yiftah. I played wearing a shirt bearing Yiftah’s name and mentioned Yuval at every tournament. They are with me everywhere. Every hour. There isn’t a day I don’t wake up and try to choose life. Returning to the court was hard. My body was there, but my heart and mind were far away.
Even now, as soldiers continue to fall, I question where I can make the most impact—on the court, representing Israel, or somewhere else. I visit wounded soldiers in hospitals, support the families of my fallen friends, speak to young troops who’ve already seen too much. I try to keep giving, connecting, and reaching others.
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This war struck the most personal and vulnerable part of me. Life changes. Plans fall apart. But we must keep going. We can’t change what happened, but we can shape what happens next. I try to show every wounded soldier I meet that life after injury is possible. Sport connects. It saves. It heals. Even without competition, it gives strength. Sport saved me too. It gives me air to breathe. Every day, I choose to wake up at 6 a.m. and train. Not for medals—but for my soul.
Before I am an athlete, I am an Israeli and a Zionist. At the start of the war, I felt that my greatest contribution was simply being here, with my people. Yes, representing the country and winning medals matters. But I will never forget the friends who gave their lives so that we could continue living here. And I have no doubt—there will be good lives here again. Am Yisrael Chai.
Ilay Hayut, 27, is a Paralympic tennis player and a former fighter in the IDF’s Maglan unit. He was severely injured in the summer of 2018 and left disabled.
Brought to print by Stav Ifargan.