A Bahraini journalist mourns the sudden death of Eitan Na’eh, Israel’s first ambassador to Bahrain and UAE

EDITOR’S NOTE: Eitan Na’eh served as Israel’s first diplomatic emissary to the United Arab Emirates and the first full ambassador to the Kingdom of Bahrain following the signing of the Abraham Accords in September 2020. Last week, at the age of only 62, Eitan died suddenly and unexpectedly of a heart attack.

MANAMA, BAHRAIN — This is the story of a friendship that began at a crossroads of history.

When my country and Israel signed the Abraham Accords, it was a monumental diplomatic step.

But for me, it was also the beginning of something deeply personal: a bond that had nothing to do with politics and everything to do with genuine human connection.

A short while after the accords were signed, I met Eitan Na’eh, Israel’s first ambassador to Bahrain, and then his wife, Cheryl.

Little did I know then that Eitan and Cheryl would become some of my closest friends.

After they left Bahrain, our friendship endured. Eitan used to say that there are friends for a season, friends for a reason, and friends forever.

He always told me that we would be friends forever — and he was right.

When that beautiful heart of Eitan stopped, something deep inside all of us stopped with it.

A part of our hearts broke in a way that will never fully heal.

I think of Cheryl. I think of her precious tears. And I think of Maya’s and Itai’s tears as they said farewell to their father.

In this past week, I have not even had the courage to hear Cheryl’s voice.

No words of condolence can express what I feel.

I find myself waiting for the moment when our eyes will meet — and maybe, in that moment, I will finally be able to express what my heart has been carrying.

Cheryl is not only the wife of my friend.

Over the years, she became like a sister to me.

And there is a special kind of pain in watching someone you love suffer while knowing there is absolutely nothing you can do to ease that pain.

This helplessness — this inability to fix, to protect, to change anything — breaks us into pieces in a way words cannot describe.

Eitan will continue to live through his children, Maya and Itai.

And one day, when little Romi — his granddaughter, of whom he was so proud and who brought him so much joy — grows up, we will tell her who her grandfather was.

We will tell her about his kindness, his values, and the beautiful heart he carried.

I do not need to look at photos to remember Eitan.

There are people who remain in our hearts and minds without pictures.

There are memories. There is laughter. There were moments of support, moments of joy, moments of sadness — moments that brought us together and made us family.

I want to write about Eitan not only as an ambassador — though he was a remarkable one — but as a friend.

He was a patriotic man who believed in peace and truly wanted a better world for everyone.

He walked into every room with a smile that could light it up and a laugh that instantly made people feel at ease.

He had a rare presence: warm, sincere, deeply human.

He used to say that if we could all see the humanity in one another, we would realize that we all want the same things: a better life for our children and a safer, kinder world for future generations.

He was a man of peace in the truest sense.

He believed that even small efforts toward understanding could help create a better world.

He believed that dialogue mattered, that relationships mattered, and that trust between people mattered even more than agreements on paper.

But this is not only my story with Eitan.

This is the story of many of his friends.

In Bahrain — and everywhere he served — Eitan had a rare gift for turning professional relationships into genuine friendships.

He listened. He cared. He remembered details about your life, your family, your worries, and your hopes.

And no matter how busy he was, he always made you feel that your time together mattered.

Cheryl was an essential part of that story.

Together, they opened their hearts and their home, and through them many of us learned that diplomacy is not only about meetings and protocols, but about people, trust, and sincere human bonds.

We spoke about many things — about life, about our children, about the future of the region, and about the kind of world we want the next generation to inherit.

He truly believed that, deep down, we are far more similar than we are different.

There are many people who pass through our lives.

Some we know for decades, yet never truly become close.

And then there are those who walk into our lives for a much shorter time — and somehow become part of our souls, part of our hearts, part of who we are.

Four years of friendship with Eitan and Cheryl taught me that time does not define the depth of a relationship.

The heart does.

He was also a man who accepted challenges.

He took on difficult missions not for prestige, but because he believed he could make a difference — even if that difference was small.

He believed that every small step toward understanding mattered.

Today, when I think of him, I don’t think only of an ambassador or a public figure.

I think of a friend.

I think of a brother.

I think of a man who filled every room he entered with kindness, warmth, and an infectious smile.

And so, the story does not end here.

It lives on through his children, Maya and Itai.

It lives on through little Romi.

It lives on through Cheryl.

And it lives on in the hearts of his friends — friends who truly loved him and who will carry his memory with them always.

This story began with the Abraham Accords — with a moment of history.

But what it became is something far greater: a reminder that beyond politics, beyond borders, and beyond titles, it is human connection that truly lasts.

And that is Eitan’s legacy: a legacy of friendship that transcends diplomacy and lives on.