Yitzhak Zuckerman.

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One of a kind. A towering giant. A rare combination of power and attractiveness.

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A friendly comrade, a man of wine. He had a refined sense of humor and profound culture and many books that he had loved, he had admired.

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A wholesome panorama. While he reflected a man, who is strong and confident, a man was created for inspiration and leadership, he was a lonely man.

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More than once, in the midst of a meeting here, you saw that he was there, with the people who were and had perished, he and his power growing in his silences, as if refuses to utter completely, what must be said one day and that which has suffocated within him. He was not like those who abandon their people in their trouble.

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He remained there. Until the bitter end was he there.

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And here he was one of the founders of this magnificent museum that will transmit to generations the chapter of the destruction and the revolt, and he is like a life prisoner within its walls, in the pictures and the books and the documents in the drawers of darkness.

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One must be very strong in order to live one's entire life within these two worlds, an ambassador from there in the midst of a turbulent experience of resurrection, without a constant "alas", without unbearable bitterness.

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Glowing with respect. Reflecting authority. Not only because of his height, to which you must raise your eyes while speaking or while listening. As such, in other living circumstances, he was meant to be here to deliver ideas, to express the truth and to lead a movement.

 

The man from there.

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Maybe he could not have done otherwise. A wounded hero. One of the leaders of the lonely and desperate revolt known to any rebellious man on earth. He was as engrossed in those annals as in a double life.