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החלל שלי
There is no English translation to the word "חלל".
You can say "casualty". But it does not...it can not capture the meaning of "חלל". It does not convey the depth of the emptiness. The hole that suddenly formed in your life. The never-ending craving to see them again.
I never lost one of my immediate family circle. But I to, felt a shade of this ache. I grieved for years over a 17 years old girl that was murdered, a girl who was my adopted little sister for over 8 years. By the time she turned 17, we had became nearly pear-graded friends, Liz and I. Despite the age difference. I could see us becoming good friends over the period of several years, when the year gap will loose it's meaning.
Not to be.
She was on her way back from school that day, along with several friends. They have stayed a bit longer than usual to work on a preference that Liz was to participate in.
She was sitting right next to the bomber when the explosion took the life of her and 16 other youngsers, in what I had lables later as "the school bus bombing". ( since all the dead where kids). There was nothing left of her to bury. Liz, beautiful, talented,gifted Liz, was gone. Just like that. I could not grasp it.
I of course heard of the bombing as soon as it happened. And I have began immediately to call all my Haifa friends and loved ones, checking to see if anyone was hurt.
I could not get to Marina. Not for a good, agonizing, several hours. And I have tried to find information in any available means, including media sources.
Those hours of uncertainty and dread, are not something I can forget.
And than the phonecall came.I can still recall vividly the shock of hearing Marina cry " Shiri, Liz's gone, Liz's gone, what do I do? I want to die too".
And I cried out " not Liz, not Liz
It's a sense of paralyzing shock, like a sword in my guts. Shock, and yet not surprise.
I wend to the funeral, of course. I wrote her a poem, that Marina read out loud in a voice choked with tears.
Funny, how sharp is the recolaction, still after all those years. The voices, and the faces, and the tears, and the " It can't be happening" feeling, and the sound of stones falling.
They buried her in the Terror Victims section. I can remember the anguish of looking at that section and seeing how very large it had grown. And how very full of children.
How many cites in Israel had to build a Terror Victims section, I wonder? Probably far too many.
And for months and months I tried my best to provide support for Marina and her parents, who were completely broken; coming every week from BS to visit them and trying to provide a steady and stable support, and presence.
But, ultimately, I failed. For it had proven too much for her. She has left the country and cut off anyone who was involved with this, with the breaking of her life. She has never recovered.
So in the end, on that bloody day in March 2003, I have lost them both.
You can say "casualty". But it does not...it can not capture the meaning of "חלל". It does not convey the depth of the emptiness. The hole that suddenly formed in your life. The never-ending craving to see them again.
I never lost one of my immediate family circle. But I to, felt a shade of this ache. I grieved for years over a 17 years old girl that was murdered, a girl who was my adopted little sister for over 8 years. By the time she turned 17, we had became nearly pear-graded friends, Liz and I. Despite the age difference. I could see us becoming good friends over the period of several years, when the year gap will loose it's meaning.
Not to be.
She was on her way back from school that day, along with several friends. They have stayed a bit longer than usual to work on a preference that Liz was to participate in.
She was sitting right next to the bomber when the explosion took the life of her and 16 other youngsers, in what I had lables later as "the school bus bombing". ( since all the dead where kids). There was nothing left of her to bury. Liz, beautiful, talented,gifted Liz, was gone. Just like that. I could not grasp it.
I of course heard of the bombing as soon as it happened. And I have began immediately to call all my Haifa friends and loved ones, checking to see if anyone was hurt.
I could not get to Marina. Not for a good, agonizing, several hours. And I have tried to find information in any available means, including media sources.
Those hours of uncertainty and dread, are not something I can forget.
And than the phonecall came.I can still recall vividly the shock of hearing Marina cry " Shiri, Liz's gone, Liz's gone, what do I do? I want to die too".
And I cried out " not Liz, not Liz
It's a sense of paralyzing shock, like a sword in my guts. Shock, and yet not surprise.
I wend to the funeral, of course. I wrote her a poem, that Marina read out loud in a voice choked with tears.
Funny, how sharp is the recolaction, still after all those years. The voices, and the faces, and the tears, and the " It can't be happening" feeling, and the sound of stones falling.
They buried her in the Terror Victims section. I can remember the anguish of looking at that section and seeing how very large it had grown. And how very full of children.
How many cites in Israel had to build a Terror Victims section, I wonder? Probably far too many.
And for months and months I tried my best to provide support for Marina and her parents, who were completely broken; coming every week from BS to visit them and trying to provide a steady and stable support, and presence.
But, ultimately, I failed. For it had proven too much for her. She has left the country and cut off anyone who was involved with this, with the breaking of her life. She has never recovered.
So in the end, on that bloody day in March 2003, I have lost them both.