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Memorial Day
It was 9 years ago, that Memorial Day had become personal for me. Or to be more precise, on 05.03.2003.
On that day, a terrorist boarded bus number 37, which was full at the time with school children, and bombed himself.
In the powerful bombing, 17 youngsters were killed. Among them was Liz Katman. She was 17.
I knew Liz since she was 8 years old. Her sister, Marina, was among my 2 best friends. At least once a week, I visited Marina at her home (since my mother did not approve of my having friends over.)
Liz, who was a highly intelligent and friendly child, was with us on many of my visits. She and I grew quite close over the years, and she became almost an adopted little sister of mine. I adored her.
When news came of the bombing, I was at a Statistics lessen. I had a bad feeling as soon as I saw the number - especely since I been trying to reach Marina without success for hours.
She was sitting right next to the bomber. There was nothing left of her to bury. Liz, beautiful, talented,gifted Liz, was gone. Just like that. I could not grasp it. Just a month earlier I saw her, singing at Marina's wedding. I remember I thought than fondly of how she has grown, how easy it is to talk with her just like she is a friend my age. To this day I can't hear the song " La tet ( לתת) without tearing up: It was the song that Liz sang for her sister on her wedding.
Marina has never really gotten over Liz's death. She was her only sister, and she worshiped her. I tried to give her as much support as I could. I was there at the funeral, at the Shiva every day, and I visited after nearly every weekend, every time I was home from collage.
But after a year or so, Marina started avoiding me. She stopped answered my phone calls, she was never home when I visited her parents. I tried very hard to maintain contact. I loved Marian, and while I understood than being with me is in a way a reminder of Liz, I did not want to loose my friend.
To no avail.
So in a way, in that bombing, I lost them both.
I have never forgotten Liz. I do not need a Memorial Day to remember.
But every year, on Memorial day, I recall most vividly the adorable girl that hanged out with her Big sister and her best friend, I recall her singing and preforming. And I recall the day when it all ended so cruelly. I recall the shock, the grief that did not abate for months, the sense that something in me was torn apart.
I will always remember.
On that day, a terrorist boarded bus number 37, which was full at the time with school children, and bombed himself.
In the powerful bombing, 17 youngsters were killed. Among them was Liz Katman. She was 17.
I knew Liz since she was 8 years old. Her sister, Marina, was among my 2 best friends. At least once a week, I visited Marina at her home (since my mother did not approve of my having friends over.)
Liz, who was a highly intelligent and friendly child, was with us on many of my visits. She and I grew quite close over the years, and she became almost an adopted little sister of mine. I adored her.
When news came of the bombing, I was at a Statistics lessen. I had a bad feeling as soon as I saw the number - especely since I been trying to reach Marina without success for hours.
She was sitting right next to the bomber. There was nothing left of her to bury. Liz, beautiful, talented,gifted Liz, was gone. Just like that. I could not grasp it. Just a month earlier I saw her, singing at Marina's wedding. I remember I thought than fondly of how she has grown, how easy it is to talk with her just like she is a friend my age. To this day I can't hear the song " La tet ( לתת) without tearing up: It was the song that Liz sang for her sister on her wedding.
Marina has never really gotten over Liz's death. She was her only sister, and she worshiped her. I tried to give her as much support as I could. I was there at the funeral, at the Shiva every day, and I visited after nearly every weekend, every time I was home from collage.
But after a year or so, Marina started avoiding me. She stopped answered my phone calls, she was never home when I visited her parents. I tried very hard to maintain contact. I loved Marian, and while I understood than being with me is in a way a reminder of Liz, I did not want to loose my friend.
To no avail.
So in a way, in that bombing, I lost them both.
I have never forgotten Liz. I do not need a Memorial Day to remember.
But every year, on Memorial day, I recall most vividly the adorable girl that hanged out with her Big sister and her best friend, I recall her singing and preforming. And I recall the day when it all ended so cruelly. I recall the shock, the grief that did not abate for months, the sense that something in me was torn apart.
I will always remember.