The forgotten mourners: How GFIDF is giving a voice to the girlfriends of fallen soldiers

Tamar is the co-founder and chair of GFIDF (Girlfriends of Fallen IDF Soldiers), an organization she founded with her mother, Phyllis Heimowitz, more than two decades ago. Atara, who joined the conversation, is the girlfriend of Sgt. Ariel Sazonov, who was killed in action on November 6, 2024, during the Israel-Hamas War along the northern border of Gaza. The two women, connected by tragedy, are united in a mission to ensure that young partners like Atara are seen, heard, and supported.

The inspiration behind GFIDF dates back to 1997, when Tamar’s sister, Michal, lost her fiancé, Lt. Avi Book, during combat in Lebanon. Amidst the grief, the Heimowitz family quickly identified a painful truth: girlfriends of fallen soldiers were not officially recognized by the state and therefore received no institutional support.

“Michal was completely devastated,” Tamar recalled, but when her family spoke to the bereavement officer at the Shiva, no one would help them because Michal wasn’t considered part of the bereaved family according to law.

Asserting that the IDF and the Defense Ministry have a moral obligation to the soldiers who fell to take care of their girlfriends, Tamar and her mother were determined to take action.

After pulling many strings, they finally reached the head of IDF manpower at the time, the Rosh Aka. He acknowledged the gap but explained that the military couldn’t directly provide services. However, if they formed a nonprofit, the army could support it financially.

Four days later, GFIDF was born.

Now in its 27th year, the organization has served as a critical support network and lifeline for hundreds of bereaved women (and men) whose partners gave their lives in service to Israel.

Tamar recalled how, during Michal’s shiva, some visitors told her sister: “You’re so young, you’re so beautiful, you’ll immediately find someone else.” Michal was four months away from getting married.

“If you take a girlfriend the week before her wedding, or a wife the week after, they’re in the same place,” said Tamar. “No one would dare say this to someone a week after the wedding, but they do dare say it to a girlfriend.”

But because she was ‘just’ a girlfriend, her grief was seen as temporary and replaceable.

Atara echoed how painful this dismissal and lack of tact is: “People would say, ‘At least you weren’t married,’ or, ‘You’re lucky you didn’t have kids. It would have been harder.’ But I just lost the love of my life. People not only don't recognize the pain—they also take away some of the pain that I already have and they start to, like, make it smaller.”

“No one would dare say this to a parent or sibling who lost their brother, son, or wife,” she added, or tell them “there’ll be someone else, someone else will take their place. Don’t worry, you’re still young.”

“They would never say such a thing as they’d understand that this person was their whole world, and they know what special place they held in their heart, and that there’s no replacement.”

Even as they were reeling from personal loss, these women found themselves having to fight for the right to mourn.

GFIDF has provided a platform for them to grieve. "This is a huge change,” Tamar reflected. “The recognition of this unique grief is really part of the healing.”

Atara put it simply: “There’s an organization there telling you that they recognize you. They look you in the eye and they see you. They don’t just tell you about the organization. They’re telling you you have a place to cry, and to fall apart. There’s a place for your grief and for your loss.”

She shared how Ariel had planned to ask her father for permission to marry her, how he was going to propose, and even what song he would play in the background. “The kids we’re not going to have together, or the dog—all these things,” she said.

Shifra added how hard it must be do move forward when you are so used to be a couple, a unit, “Everything that you do afterwards is, you know, the first thing that you do without that person.”

Now, Atara has to learn to live with this pain. She described though, how Ariel is with her wherever she goes: “I still remember his last words. I’m still waiting for him to call.”

It was Lt. Avi Book, in fact, said Tamar, who initially recognized the importance of supporting grieving girlfriends and taking care of them, before he himself was killed. Before his death, Avi and Michal visited the families of his fallen comrades, many of whom had girlfriends left behind. Michal actually has a letter that Avi wrote to her, about the need to support these young women because of what they lost—an eerily prophetic message that shortly after, became part of his legacy.

Today, that mission lives on. Thanks to the work of GFIDF, when the IDF comes to inform the family that a loved one has fallen, they are now obligated by law to ask whether the soldier had a boyfriend or girlfriend, and if so, whether the family would like them to be notified formally.

“The whole system is set up to give each person what they need,” Tamar continued. “Some girlfriends want to talk, to attend events, and for people to come visit them during the shiva. Others just want to know that we’re there.”

For Atara, this support extended to her family as well. Ariel had been part of her family for years, joining trips, buying gifts for her siblings, and giving her mother presents. “He was like a son to my parents,” she said. When he died, her father cried for seven days, and her mother admitted she had never seen him like that in 25 years. “They lost a family member and a son-in-law,” Atara said.

Often, the women helped by GFIDF later volunteer or even join the organization full-time themselves.

Now, Atara draws strength from the community around her. “Seeing these women continuing their lives, this ‘crazy women power,’ was very meaningful. It makes us feel seen and gives us the right type of support when we need it.”

“I’m broken. I'm wrecked. I lost the most important thing to me in the world. The person that I chose. Even if we didn’t get married, I knew we were going to get married. We had a plan.. And then you [society] were like, you weren’t married. Okay. Bye."

“I lost my life. It’s that simple,” she said, "I lost the life I deserved to have and that I had.”

“If he would have been here, he would have made sure I would be taken care of and everything he could. And when he's not here, there's no one to do it for me now. And I think that's what the organization really comes to do. And they do it in a way that no one else does.”

The organization literally saves lives, she said. “I think it’s something very special.”

“GFIDF supports these girls throughout their entire lives whenever they need,” Tamar said. “When a soldier falls, the partner gets support from many circles—her family, his family, his friends. But getting support from other girlfriends who went through the same thing is unique. They can connect. Other people wouldn’t understand.”

She added: “The goal of GFIDF is to enable these partners to pick up the slivers of their lives and then, in time, live a happy and fulfilling life alongside their grief and not within its shadow. This is not something that you do that goes away. It influences their entire lives. But with the right support and the right help, they can really go on to live a very happy and fulfilling life—which, I’m sure, is what the soldier also wanted.”

Hotlines and support groups were quickly established. Even so, the scale of the war can make one's grief feel diluted, noted Atara, as their partner is 'just' another one of many fallen soldiers. Each time there is a new report of another soldier, or another siren, the trauma resurfaces. “But within GFIDF, everyone is seen."

GFIDF has also launched a testimonial project for partners to share their loved ones’ stories. “Being a soldier makes them heroes,” Atara said. “Everyone has their own story, dreams, and challenges. Their lives mattered beyond the uniform.”

Atara also shared her person initiative, a nonprofit she founded named Flowerman, inspired by Ariel, who used to giver her flowers very Friday, thereby continuing a tradition of giving flowers to loved ones. In this way, Atara wanted to channel her grief into something living and beautiful, bringing comfort and joy to others while honoring Ariel's memory. The project became a way to support those in mourning and remind them that even in loss, small acts of care and beauty can make a difference.

Tamar also shared a personal lasting legacy: her sister married a friend of Avi’s; their five children include two named after him. “In this way, Avi's memory lives on" she reflected.

Atara added an insight that she takes from Ariel, who always encouraged people to be kind to one another: “Be kinder and patient every day. People are walking around carrying broken hearts.”

Both emphasized honoring the sacrifices of fallen soldiers. "It is our job is to help those who paid the price," said Tamar, while Atara added how important it is to "fulfill their will" and to be better people.

However, funding the organization since the war has been challenging. Although, 90% of GFIDF’s budget came from the Defense Ministry before the war, it now covers only 65%, with donations filling the gap.

In order for the organization to continue doing it's incredible work, more funding is critical.

For the forgotten mourners—girlfriends and boyfriends who lose their beloved in Israel’s wars—GFIDF is more than an organization. It’s a home, a voice, and a testament that their grief matters.