Tali's Story
Tali isn’t just my niece. She once told me we share a soul, and that is exactly it. I became friends with Tali's father when I was 15 and eventually married his brother. When I look back at family photos, from an early age, Tali always had her hand in mine, or on my leg. We were physically, emotionally and spiritually connected. Tali was a gentle toddler and grew into a courageous, outspoken and adorable child. When she was 13, she called from a kibbutz near the Jordanian border during a class trip and conveyed the terror she had just experienced—that her best friend and neighbor from infancy had been shot and fell on top of her, telling her, “Tali, I’m dead.” She described her other six friends shot dead by the guard on the Jordanian border, and I knew life would never be the same for any of us. Tali made several trips to spend time with me in NY, and we talked and talked, but there was no trauma therapy that I knew of then.
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She took care of my son Ami when he was a toddler and once took him shopping with my credit card—and no expressed limit—and bought him $900 worth of clothing. She spoiled him and to her dying day refused to disclose how many chocolate chip cookies she gave him for breakfast every day. When Tali was young, I played with her in fields of red and yellow wildflowers. Ami and Tali would take walks on the moshav and one day brought me a rose that I dried and still have. Tali was never bashful about telling me what she thought directly. Never. Including offering parenting advice for both my sons, Ami and Misha, before she even had her own children. She was right, too.
Tali grew into an outrageously funny adult, always ready to scold—and then we’d break into laughter. She put me in my place and told people what they needed to hear. Directly. She said that was the only way people would understand. She was fun, hilariously funny, and no topic was off limits. I mean absolutely none. Tali and I always believed we traveled through time together, and while the healing we did didn’t save her physical life, it completed a cycle for us. An ancient cycle—from my being unable to protect her once, to always being her protector while she was quiet, to pulling her up so she could stand and ask for what she needed this time around.
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When my dear soul learned she had cancer that had already metastasized, we worked every day meditating and healing emotional wounds that she believed caused her to get sick. The unresolved trauma from the shooting, the loss of her friends, and the guilt surfaced. This time, equipped with training, we did everything we could to heal her emotionally and physically while she received treatment meant to prolong her life. After a year, she was almost completely cancer free, and we celebrated her life and future. Until it came back—and the next year was the most painful of our family’s life, as we watched her manage her pain and prepare to leave her beloved parents, sister, and, most of all, her children.
When the atrocities of October 7th happened, she looked at me and said, “Everyone is going to experience trauma, and we will have a country in trauma—and they will turn out like me.” She believed her trauma caused her illness. “How will the country survive this?” In that moment, I knew I would open a center in honor of her journey on earth and her journey home—and that it would be on the land where our cycle began so very long ago. I told her I’d name it Mercaz Tali, and she nodded knowingly. She said she would help me from heaven and that we would create a center based on the healing work, trauma release, and talk therapy that healed her body the first year and her soul before she journeyed to the light.
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Tali leaves behind her devoted parents, Moshe and Aviva, her loving sister, Moran, her best friend and cousin, Oshrat, and her precious children—Noam, Linoy, and Shira—the jewels in her crown. “Sheri,” she exclaimed more than once, “why do I keep seeing pictures of crowns and keys?” God wants you to open your keter, Tali, so that He can speak with you and hold you close. She resisted, but finally began to speak with God once again.
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Tali also leaves behind an incredible family filled with her beloved uncles, Sasson and Aharon, Avi and Rafi, and her aunt Ahuva. She leaves behind a huge family that I have had the great privilege to be a part of. Lastly, Tali leaves a legacy of hope to all those who visit Tali’s Gardens—a place of healing for body, soul, and mind through the gentle hands and hearts of over 40 healers and therapists.
