Shachaf Bergshtein, 33: Lifelong kibbutznik was a devoted runner
Local security team member killed battling the Hamas invasion of Kibbutz Kfar Aza on October 7
Shachaf Bergshtein, 33, from Kibbutz Kfar Aza, was killed on October 7 battling the Hamas invasion of the kibbutz.
A member of the kibbutz’s local security team, he was posthumously recognized as a fallen soldier with the rank of sergeant major in the reserves. Shachaf, an active IDF reservist, had also been called up for reserve duty that day but was killed before seeing the message.
Shachaf was missing for a week following the Hamas attack, until his family was finally informed that his body had been found. Little is known about the circumstances surrounding his final moments.
He was buried in Tel Aviv on October 14. He is survived by his parents, Shlomit and Dov and his siblings Yaakov, Tal and Levona.
Born and raised in Kibbutz Alumim near the Gaza border, Shachaf was heavily involved in all kinds of sports throughout his life, according to a local eulogy. He played soccer and basketball, matkot (paddle ball) at the beach, practiced yoga and above all was a devoted runner, regularly racing around the kibbutz fields in the early morning hours before work. He also volunteered as a guide to run in partnership with those with impaired vision.
In 2009, Shachaf enlisted in the Orev unit of the Nahal Brigade’s elite reconnaissance unit, first training as a paramedic, according to an Orev eulogy. After his release, he remained an active reservist, always showing up when called for duty, most recently in August 2023, when he received a notation of excellence for his service.
Shachaf studied hydraulic engineering and worked overseeing the irrigation of crops. After living most of his life in Alumim, Shachaf moved to Kfar Aza a few years before his death but continued to work in the agriculture of Alumim. He was remembered as a doting uncle to his nieces and nephews, a caring friend who was always on hand with his pickup truck to help people move, and a devotee of physical fitness.
On what would have been his 34th birthday, his sister, Levona, wrote on Facebook that they went to celebrate the day “at the sea because we probably would have found you here in the middle of summer — sitting in the shade of the Otentik [sunshade] on a comfy beach chair, then getting up to play matkot and then running into the sea, jumping into the water.”
Levona wrote, “This is your 34th birthday, but you will remain 33 forever… I hope everyone here can take something from Shachaf, the friend he was, the endless generosity, his unique hobbies, his full enjoyment of life, because as Shachaf himself said at some point in 2009 — ‘It doesn’t matter how many years there are in life, it matters how much life there is in the years.'”
His brother, Yaakov, wrote on Facebook marking a year since he was killed, noting all the times and places Shachaf’s absence was strongly felt.
“In all of our apartment moves, my hand went to press your name in my phone and ask for help — who else could I request help from without feeling bad, who would come and advise us how to pack and unpack things and do everything with a smile with a huge heart,” he wrote. “Your absence is felt in long conversations with our parents, in every conversation with Mom and Dad I think, ‘Where is Shachaf when you need him?’ To talk to Mom for hours, to tell Dad good morning at the start of every day in the fields.”
When things got busy with the kids, Yaakov wrote, “I would imagine you here, lightening the load, taking the kids anywhere they asked… Going to the desert without you, out on a trek doesn’t compute, the trips and the nature isn’t the same anymore.” When their sister Tal got married, “you weren’t at the chuppah, not on the dance floor… it was so easy to imagine you there in the middle, drinking a little, smoking a little but mostly smiling and happy, as you always were.”
“But the place you are most missed is inside me. I want you to come and tell us, ‘Yalla, enough crying, get up, keep going’… but it’s hard. The tears flow and your absence is felt in every place, at every event, in every breath.”
