Ori Moshe Borenstein, 32, a Canadian-Israeli reservist, was killed in an ambush while serving with the IDF in Gaza on Oct. 10.
He died as a hero, protecting others in his convoy, his father Avi Borenstein said in an interview from the family’s home in Israel.
Ori, who held the rank of Master Sergeant, was called up to reserve duty for three consecutive months after the Oct. 7, 2023, Hamas attack on Israel. An engineer who was working at a robotics company, he was called up again this year, shortly before Rosh Hashanah, this time as part of a logistics unit that was ferrying supplies to troops inside Gaza.
On the day before Yom Kippur, his military convoy was ambushed. Ori and two other soldiers had the most powerful machine guns, and they joined their fellow soldiers in the fighting. All three were killed, but only one other soldier had significant injuries.
“Ori was one of three real heroes,” said Avi. “Each one was doing the maximum to help their friends. The tragic event could have been one with 10 or 20 killed.”
Avi, who grew up in Toronto, made aliyah in the 1980s. He and his wife Dalya, raised Ori and his four younger brothers in Moreshet, a community in northern Israel.
Ori’s middle name Moshe was in memory of Avi’s grandfather, who was killed in Poland during the Holocaust and Avi’s brother who died in a drowning accident in Israel.
“It’s the second generation of a father burying his eldest son, making it even more tragic,” Avi said.
Ori, a name that means ‘my light,’ was born a Shabbat during Hanukkah, his father said. “It was a very befitting name.”
“He just embodied his name. He was just light. He had a beautifully bright presence,” said his cousin Danya Koplowitz, who lives in Toronto. “He was the kind of guy who was the life of his party.”
She last saw Ori in April, when the whole family came to Toronto to celebrate the 100th birthday of their grandfather, a Holocaust survivor. After the party, when Ori’s parents and brothers returned to their hotel, the two of them stayed up late, catching up.
“Any time we saw each other, it was like no time had passed. Even though we were cousins it was like we were those kind of friends as well,” she recalled.
He loved music and breakdancing, always learning new moves to entertain at his friends’ weddings, Koplowitz recalled. But at the same time, “he held a responsibility with him. He was the protector, the older brother.”
Ori was the glue of the family who kept in close touch with his cousins, she said. He left her a voice message on the morning before Yom Kippur, just hours before he was killed.
“He maintained relations with every person he said he would be in touch with. He was the kind of guy he didn’t have one best friend, he had like 30 best friends and each of them was such depth of friendship,” she said.
When his younger brother got married, Ori was the one who organized special dances and T-shirts for the wedding. “He was the project manager of all the social activities in the house,” Avi recalled.
After years of waiting for who his father described as ‘Mrs. Right’, he was about to propose to his girlfriend when he was killed.
After high school, Ori attended a pre-military academy—and then joined a hesder yeshiva, which combines military service and religious study.
Avi recalled he initially wasn’t thrilled when Ori joined this unit, which meant his son would serve five years in the IDF, which is longer than the usual enlistment.
“I was more of a practical person, but he was always looking for deeper meaning.”
He joined a combat unit and was one of the few who trained to operate one of the heaviest machine guns, Avi said.
After the army, Ori travelled to India and Kyrgyzstan. He bought a drone to take photos during his trips, and later studied engineering and robotics.
After being informed of Ori’s death, the family had to make a quick decision about where to hold the funeral. They wanted to bury him close to home—but outdoor gatherings in the community are limited to 50 people, because of ongoing rocket fire from Hezbollah terrorists in Lebanon. Not long ago, two rockets had hit their village.
Meanwhile, Yom Kippur was less than a day away.
In the end, Ori was buried near midnight in Jerusalem on Mount Herzl, the national military cemetery. Three busloads of people came from Moreshet, a community of 400 families.
“He died as a national hero and he deserved to be buried in a national cemetery,” Avi said. “In hindsight, it was the right decision.”
At the funeral, the rest of the family spoke about Ori, but Avi’s remarks were political. “I raged a little bit,” he said. “I was upset at the world. I was upset with Israel. I was upset, like so many Israelis, with all the tragedies on an ongoing basis, so many killed.”
He pointed to the lack of support from the United States, as Israel wages war in Gaza and now Lebanon. “I said ‘Where’s the America that liberated my father from the trains going into Germany and liberated my father and so many Jews in the Holocaust? Where’s the America of then?”
But while he is angry with government and the army’s most senior decision-makers, the lower ranks of the army, which sends soldiers to visit, and his neighbours have consoled the family.
“It’s the bravery of the young soldiers, on one hand, and the bravery of the Israeli citizens, most of them, not all of them, helping one another and supporting us,” he said. “We have a remarkable yishuv (settlement) that we live in, a remarkable country that we live in with people helping one another.”
He and his wife haven’t had time yet to absorb the loss of their oldest son.
“He was a very fun guy, serious but fun. We’re so proud of him, we only have good memories.”