With God’s help
28 Adar II 5768, 5 March 2008
The Third Annual Memorial Service for Talia
Last Wednesday, a Qassam rocket landed in the grounds of Sapir Academic College, near Sderot. In one moment, a student’s life was cut short, and the lives of his family and friends were changed. Just as last week, so exactly three years ago, on a Wednesday, a bomb fell upon me while I was a student at Sapir College. In one moment, Talia’s life was cut short, and all our lives changed beyond recognition...
Three years have passed since then...
Three years without Talia,
Three years without a telephone call one minute before Shabbat, with Talia at the other end of the line saying: “I only called to say Shabbat Shalom”,
Three years without someone to give us periodic reminders of birthdays, wedding anniversaries and family events, both near and distant,
Three years without a text message on the mobile asking who would be with Mum and Dad for Shabbat,
Three years without a friend whom I could telephone, before whom I could lay out my thoughts and who would contain them gladly and with empathy at any hour of the day or night.
Three years without my little sister.
In two days, we shall mark Rosh Chodesh Adar II. In a certain sense, I find symbolism in the fact that Talia was killed specifically in the month of Adar. The Megillah tells of Queen Esther, who placed the welfare of all her people before her own life when she said: “For how can I endure to see the evil that shall come unto my people? Or how can I endure to see the destruction of my kindred?” (8:6). Like Queen Esther, Talia, whose second name was Esther, always placed the welfare of everyone before her own. She always cared for her family and the many friends she acquired over the years, all without asking for or expecting anything in return.
For me personally, another aspect of the month of Adar also represents a thing and its opposite: joy and sorrow intertwined. On the one hand, in this month, in Adar I, I lost my only sister. On the other hand, in this month, in Adar II, my eldest daughter, Tzuf Talal, who is named after Talia, was born. For me, the birth of the great joy of my life less than a month after Talia was killed signals that, with her death, joy did not disappear from the world entirely. The spirit of joy that she represented for so many people continues to blow through our lives, and sparks of that joy are embedded in us and in our children for ever.
A year ago, Jeremy stood here and asked all of us the searching questions that were in his heart at that time, concerning the nature of death and the difference between one person’s death and another’s in the civilian or military society in which we live. Last night, as I sat to write these lines, the recognition and understanding arose in me that one person’s death is unlike another’s not only in the manner of death — whether as a result of a road accident, a terrorist attack, illness or war — but also in the legacy and guidance that the person leaves to those who continue in their path, as it is said: “In their death, they commanded us to live.” For every one of us, Talia represents different forms of goodness, joy, caring, empathy, a listening ear, friendship, investment and more... Anyone who continues their life with a greater emphasis upon one of these values because they knew Talia is, in fact, continuing her legacy and carrying a spark of Talia within their heart.
For me personally, it was specifically through Talia’s death that I learnt to value many things that I had taken for granted, such as the value of family unity, joy, concern for those around you and, of course, welcoming every person warmly, whoever they may be.
Talia,
You left us for a place said to be a world that is entirely good. Pray on our behalf and shine upon us a little of the unique light that was within you, to help us progress towards making our world a better world too.
May your memory be blessed.