Zahava Cohen, mother of the late Ben Benyamin Cohen's Aruk (Iraqi Vegetable Patties) Recipe

“A Place at the Table” is a commemorative project that documents the favorite dishes of those lost on October 7 with the help of their families.  

If there’s one thing Zahava Cohen misses most, it’s the sight of her son Ben waking up on Friday mornings to the aroma of freshly fried schnitzel and aruk (Iraqi vegetable patties). He would descend the stairs from his room on the top floor of their home in Moshav Beit Hashmonai, head straight to the kitchen, and eagerly open every pot, marveling each time at her cooking.

“The schnitzel and aruk at Friday lunch were his greatest joy,” Zahava says. Fridays were a day off for both her and Ben. By 10 a.m., most of the cooking was done, and Ben had already snuck his first schnitzel, she adds. Later, her husband Rafi would come home with fresh rolls, her son Tal would join them around lunchtime, and her three men would sit together, eat, and catch up. Ben loved stuffing his roll with schnitzel, aruk, matbucha, and eggplant. “I really, really loved spoiling them on Fridays, and I miss it so much,” she says.

On their final Friday together, they were midway through dinner when Ben received the exact location of the Nova music festival. “He didn’t even know where Re’im was,” Zahava recalls. After Rafi explained it to him, Ben was a little annoyed at how far it was. Still, he decided to go, heading out with his closest childhood friends — Yeftah Dan Twig, Dor Toar, Eden David  Moshe, and Tamar Gutman. None of the five came back alive. 

At 10 p.m., Ben’s friends picked him up, arriving in two vehicles. “Before they left, Rafi said to Yeftah, ‘Take care of Ben,’ and I told Ben, ‘Take care of Yeftah’ — they were the two mischievous ones of the group,” Zahava recalls. 

On Saturday morning, when the sirens began blaring, the group was among the first to flee, but they were also among the first to fall into a Hamas ambush. At 8:10 a.m., Ben stopped answering his phone. The last contact was with Yeftah, who said they were under fire and had to hang up. Yeftah managed to hide in a shipping container and send his location, but before rescue forces could reach him, he too was killed by Hamas gunfire.

“The grief and loss were unbearable, each time they found another friend’s [body]. We went from funeral to funeral,” Zahava recalls, reflecting on the hardest days of her life. Ben and Dor were the last to be found, after 19 agonizing days. Zahava’s only solace is knowing that Ben is now with his closest friends. They are buried together, side by side.

Ben was born in 1996, with a significant gap between him and his two older siblings, Moran, the eldest, and Tal, the middle child. As the youngest, Zahava says he brought light and joy to the family. He was a bright and creative child — and mischievous. “Emotional development and maturity came more slowly for him,” Zahava reflects on her son, seamlessly shifting between her perspective as a mother and her perspective as a longtime kindergarten teacher. 

 When Ben was 5, his grandfather gave him a small shofar, which he later replaced with a larger one as Ben grew up. “He would blow it whenever he had the chance to bring joy to others — at parties, friends’ weddings, and one time he blew the shofar in the middle of a crazy traffic jam, making everyone in their cars laugh,” she says smiling.

 Ben embraced life, surrounding himself with good friends, nature, and animals. He raised a horse and two rabbits, who peacefully coexisted with his bull terrier, a dog once considered dangerous, but thanks to Ben’s unique abilities, was calm and gentle. In the winter, he would go to Mount Hermon to ski, and on clear nights, he liked venturing into the desert with a telescope, a gift from his two siblings, to watch the stars.

Ben was a devoted gardener, helping cultivate an orchard in their yard. He was excited each time a flower or fruit appeared. Now, the orchard has begun to wither, no matter what Zahava does. “It feels the absence of Ben,” she says. At the funeral, Zahava promised her son that she would continue to live as he did — curious, friendly, full of life, and with a faith in God.  

The tradition of having aruk for Friday lunch comes from Zahava’s mother, who taught her how to make the Iraqi vegetable patties. The bond between Ben and his grandmother was very special. As a kid, he would visit her every Friday to help clean the house, and in return, she would reward him with her famous aruk. 

The difference is that they would eat grandma’s aruk in fresh bread from Ramla market, not in rolls, and without schnitzel. “This is an Israeli twist, added to our household over the years,” Zahava explains. While the recipe remains the same, Zahava adds her own secret — a glug of arak into the aruk mixture before frying. She learned this trick from her son Tal and it helps neutralize the frying smell and reduces oil absorption.

Did you prepare the dish? Share a photo of it and tag it #A_Place_at_the_Table  to honor the memory of the late Ben Benyamin Cohen.