I'm back home from work, getting ready for today's picnic. We are going to the National Garden. It has become a tradition of sorts: Third time in a row we are doing this. This year the group will be fairly small, only 7-8 people, but. ( There is a birthday party tomorrow at K, so those 4 need to organize stuff ).

Had a row with Limor, and am annoyed with her, for all that I acknowledge was also in the wrong: I invited her to joins us last week. But I did not call until today to confirm. So, she is sending a somewhat "polish" SMS: " You did not call me, so I understand there is nothing organized for today"?

Well, I called and told her I thought it was settled on Thursday. She started yelling at me, using guilt tones to perfection - she was worse than my mother, and that says something, y'know? Anyway, I grew some spine the last month, so I had no patience for that, and reacted in a less than apologetic voice. She ended up by nearly hanging on me, and telling me she does not want to come. I send an SMS apologizing for my mistake and asking her to come anyway, and there is no response. Oh well. I am not at all sure that this relationship is healthy for me, for all the spine that I have developed, so it might not be such a loss. I still feel bad, because I know she was hurt. But really, I am not the only one who was in the wrong here.


Oh, dear L will be delayed as usual. So much for our plans for an early arrival.

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.

Today is the Holocaust day.

This day was always quite personal for me. Both my grandparents (from my mother's side) were Survivors. Each lost an entire family, each lost six children. My aunts and uncles, who I will never know.

And so, my mother lived a restrected and unstable childhood. She had to take care of her mom, who woke up screaming from nightmare about her lost children every night. Her whole life were shaped under the shadow of the Holocaust.

And on a lesser scale, so were mine. Since everything that was wrong and harmful in my childhood is the result of my mother's trauma. My mother's chocking hold of me. Her " You are such an ungratful daughter, you care nothig if I live or die. You are killing me." Her numerous and often unrational fears. Most of this can be explain by her being very much a "second generation" child.

It makes her often crul behavior understandable. It does not make it excuseable. Or less hurting.

Every year on this day, my mother almost obsessivly digs into this wound, tells and retells the stories about what They did to her parents and how hard was her childhood. Every year. I have come to dread talking with her.

And every year, it does not get easier.