Sergeant Adi Baruch wasn't supposed to be called up for reserve duty, but this time she insisted on being summoned, even though there wasn't an available position. "She served as an operations non-commissioned officer in the Home Front Command and refused to stay home," her mother Orit recounted. "She decided she needed to go south and contribute however she could. She was very proud of the uniform she wore. In the last photo she sent to us, on her way to the base, you can see the joy on her face."
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On the sixth day of the war, she put on her uniform, together with her father, Avi, and the two managed to take a photo together before she set off. "At 12:06pm, I received a message on Telegram that a man in his 30s and a young woman in her 20s were seriously injured from a missile strike in Sderot. The moment I read that, my heart stopped, and I couldn't breathe. I called Avi and told him something happened; I just felt it."
When she tried to call Adi, there was no answer, and her brother was able to locate her mobile phone at Barzilai Hospital in Ashkelon. When the family arrived there, they received the heartbreaking news of Adi's death. "We were sure she was injured, that we'd be taking her home." At the hospital, the mother met Adi's commander, who told them that Adi had asked him for another evening with her family before starting her reserve duty.
"The funeral was on Sunday. We managed to see her before the burial; they opened the casket, and we said our goodbyes. She looked peaceful. It was as if the smile from the photo she sent to Nevo 50 minutes before she was killed remained on her face. Without fear or worry, proud of what she represented."
At the end of the funeral, after everyone had moved away from the grave, Nevo Yannai, Adi's boyfriend of 6 years, knelt down and proposed to her. "They had talked about getting married, and Nevo had already bought a ring. He had planned to propose on her birthday," the mother recounted. "He said he needed to hear himself ask her to marry him, even if she could no longer hear it."
On Saturday evening, just before revisiting Adi's grave, Orit opened her daughter's computer. Among the songs she found there was one written in January of that year, which hit her like a punch in the gut.
"If I ever die before my time, I want you to celebrate life and not mourn my death. Rise every morning with a smile and longing in your heart, and don't let a single moment of your lives be wasted. See the world for me, cherish every fleeting moment, and occasionally smile at the clouds – I'll be there. I'm sorry for the pain I caused. Know that I am in a good place, missing and loving you deeply."
For Orit and the family, this message is like a testament she left behind after her passing. "This message is so true to her, such a joyful girl asking everyone to remain happy."
In her daily life, Adi loved seeing life through a lens, capturing people's happiest moments. "At the age of 15, she started taking photos with a camera she found at home, and since then, her hobby turned into a profession. She had a unique eye; she knew how to capture the moment while being an active part of it and bringing joy to those around her. Her diary is filled with weddings she was supposed to photograph. We still need to inform the engaged couples that Adi won't be coming."