 villages of Lebanon and behind us, to the south, the white lights of the northern Israeli communities in each idea of being able to see into the future. Join us as we meet the people changing our planet and discover the inventions shaping tomorrow. Israel Business Beat, Sundays and Wednesdays, 9.30pm GMT. It's tough to get past all the noise and get to the heart of the story even tougher to make sense of it all. I'm David Matlin and each weekday I'll take on the most important topics breaking down the issues so you can decide for yourself. Zoom in each weekday here at I-24 News. Back to Jerusalem, Naftali Bennett is speaking. I heard he was killed in an encounter on the way to the Sujud post. For me, Yohav was not a settler or Ashkenazi or religious. He was a warrior. He was my brother. I met when my soldiers and I arrived to stay for a few days at the Rikhan outpost. The outpost was taken back then by Golanian fighters. As we entered the post, one of the fighters, a charismatic guy with a huge smile, Danoch, everyone called him. He immediately provided us with a meal and arranged a place for my soldiers to sleep. Although he was not the official commander of the outpost, he was certainly the living spirit. Any problem you have, Danoch will take care of you, always with a smile and love. One evening, a truck arrived at this remote post. A quartet of military musicians came out of it. Cello, violin, guitar, called on everyone. Come to the dining room. There is a performance of a band. We all came and they started playing. We heard classical music. Mozart or something. This is a Golanian outpost. The warriors looked at each other with amazement. We did not understand where we got this music from. After a few seconds of embarrassment, Danoch came up with a smile and asked one of the soldiers, give me your guitar, please. He organized four of the soldiers who were able to play. They played and we sang songs of Zohar Argov into the night. A few weeks later, it was announced on the radio that Staff Sergeant, Avichai Danoch had fallen in the battle in Rehichan while running under heavy fire. I did not want to believe the news. I checked it out. It was Danoch. For me, Danoch was not Yemenite or Second Israel. He was my brother and he was a warrior. That was the reality of our lives back then. Every few weeks, we were here of another encounter with casualties, in ambushes, in other actions. We were there in Lebanon, all of us together. What's next with the urban, secular, with the religious, from Beersheva and from Tel Aviv? Right with left, Jews with non-Jews. What brought us together was natural, something that should not be even talked about. Together, we guarded during the long nights. Together, we slept in the stuffy rooms in the outpost. Together, we set out into the darkness. Each risked his life for the other. We were brothers. There in southern Lebanon, I started to know people from a different background than mine. In endless conversations on guard or playing wist, spending the time speaking about home, about the girlfriend or not having a girlfriend, about our plans for after the service, arguing about politics, always grumbling about the fact that there are people in Tel Aviv who are now in restaurants or pubs and we're here in a completely different strange world that people would not understand. I grew up in Haifa to parents who were born in the US and didn't even know there was such thing as Ashkenazi or Sephardic. And then I hear about what it's like to live in a kibbutz or living in Ashkelon with eight brothers, what it's like in a secular high school, what are the traditions of our Druze community. I met soldiers who came from development towns and also soldiers who lived in Vilas. There in outposts in southern Lebanon, I fell in love with our wonderful people. We all, in our hearts, fell in love. It was impossible not to. We were together. Many of my friends stayed there. Young people, 19 or 20, they will remain our brothers forever. I cannot speak on their behalf, but I believe that if they could, they would have asked of us, continue to live together, do not let disagreements tear your part. My brothers and sisters, we have a strong IDF, excellent security organizations. The Guardian of Israel neither slumbers nor sleeps. We are on guard against the near and distant threats. As one who bears the ultimate responsibility for Israel's security, I can clearly state, our strength is greater than that of all our enemies. But, if God forbid, our mutual guarantee is broken, or if we allow anger and hatred to seize us, then at the same time, our enemies will take advantage of it to harm us. To my regret, our people carry the scars of the disagreements of our forefathers. This is the truth. My brothers and sisters, our state of Israel, this is the third time that there is a sovereign Jewish state in the land of Israel. Previous two times, we have not endured the eighth decade peacefully. This is the most important lesson in our history, and I will not tire of repeating it. For the first time, our first state, in the days of David and Solomon, it survived eight years as a United Kingdom, but then in the 81st year, because of internal conflicts, the country split in two, and we lost forever most of our people, the ten tribes. In the second time, during the Second Temple, Monion Kingdom existed for 77 years as a United State. Towards the end of the period, there was again a severe internal conflict within us, and it was the Jews themselves who invited the Romans into Israel. We lost our independence. We became a humiliated protectorate of the Romans. We even lost that protectorate. At the end of the Second Temple, the heat of purity and hostility, Jews burned each other's foods, inflicting defeat. What a terrible price. In the late 2000 years in exile, under humiliation and disasters, all because of giving up to brotherly hatred, now God willing, we have a third chance. Our state of Israel, my brothers and sisters, there will not be another opportunity. We are now in the eighth decade of the country. The decade we have never, we were given an opportunity to correct the sin of our ancestral brotherly hatred and to get rid of the straight of factions that destroyed our people. Let it be clear, the decision is in our hands. Let's dispel the anxieties from one another. Let's deal with the argument, not with the claimant. Let's listen to each other. Yes, we will argue with each other, but never hate one another. And above all, let's remember that we are one family. Our duty towards the fallen, which is also our duty for the future generations, respected guests. Every day I think of my friends, my brothers in arms, who've fallen. I think about them a lot, not just on Memorial Day. Sometimes in a beautiful moment, in Abat Mitzvah, a trip to Judea Mountains while driving, when hearing a song on the radio, the image of those who are part of me comes to me, those who will not return. I grieve for you, Jonathan, my brother. You are very dear to me. These words from David's lament and the nickname, my brother, accompany us till today. From the dawn of Zionism through the war of independence, we lost our best sons and daughters on the guard of existence of the State of Israel. On this day, we all embrace the families who have lost the most precious to them out of the sanctity of this day, out of longing for those who are not with us. We swear to preserve this home, which was their home, the home they sacrificed their lives for. May the souls of our fallen brothers be bundled in the bundle of life. Naftali Bennett speaking there in memory of the victims of the Israeli military operations at a ceremony in cooperation with the IDF widows and orphans organization still with me in studio. Your main takeaways in moving speech. Owen, briefly, I'm going to start with you. Yeah, obviously, two of the key features for Bennett. Number one is personal story and putting out as bona fides as a combatant. Of course, the moving stories about those he fought with. And also, of course, Bennett's core political message, the importance of different parts of Israeli society.